First, I don't care. To use an incredibly tasteless football-related metaphor, I don't have a dog in this fight.
I went to a private school that wasn't USC, and, quite frankly, I took glee that we outranked the USC-like member of our consortium in national rankings of liberal arts colleges, even though we were a science and engineering school. I didn't even think about going to UCLA, though I got in. I was so certain I didn't even visit the campus, even though it was about 20 miles away.
BUT
I have to share an observation I made during a previous big UCLA-USC game.
A couple years ago, I was on a metrolink train heading toward Los Angeles, where, apparently, there was a big matchup. I couldn't tell you what sport.
I observed that the USC fans were on their smartphones or chatting casually with each other. Many were older, and were clearly not undergraduates. It's possible some weren't even alums, but I have no way of telling who is an alum and who is not. (Even the license plate border test might be flawed.)
The UCLA fans tended to be college-age, and were all studying textbooks. I peeked, and noticed that they were chemistry texts. They had their faces painted, etc., but apparently they had a test coming up.
Now, I'm not saying that UCLA students are more studious than the USC students. I didn't quite see what the USC fans were doing on their phones. Maybe they had already studied for the day.
I'm not saying that UCLA has a narrower fan base, confined to its students, while USC fans span the gamut of Southern Californian fauna. Presumably, those UCLA alums are doing something worthwhile to advance society, like working in hospitals, or public service, or becoming captains of industry.
I happen to know one Republican mayor of a Southern Californian city that, because of his connections, morphs from a stalwart conservative to the biggest supporter of a state-sponsored, left-leaning, Prop 30 tax gorging institution.
I'm also not saying that, to my knowledge, USC hasn't produced a titanic coaching legend like John Wooden, is overpriced, or exhibits the traits of defensiveness, arrogance, and hyperbole indicative of a significant inferiority complex vis a vis its cross-town rival and its East Coast competition.
I'm not saying anything, really. Just observing. :)
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Thursday, November 15, 2012
You are very special
Yes, you are.
If you're reading this, then we are probably Facebook friends. And, believe it or not, that means something.
It means I spent some time contemplating and weighing the benefits and costs of maintaining what seems like the tenuous of connections. But remember: Facebook is my window to the outside world, to people scattered across the globe, from various points in my life. And so, the finger of judgment hovered, and sometimes lingered. But it ended up judging in your favor.
What does it mean, then?
It might mean that I think you're doing an amazing job studying/working things that I find both esoteric and amazing. I appreciate your commitment to knowledge and understanding, however specific or broad, or your dedication to your craft.
It might mean that I appreciate the standard you set in character -- that I still remember your kindness, your compassion, your thoughtfulness toward others.
It might mean we've laughed a lot -- a lot. As I grow older, humor is becoming increasingly important. Someday, it might surpass kindness, or generosity, or even courage. I don't think it will ever surpass truth -- I think humor is often profound truth wrapped in a comprehensible way.
It might mean that I find your thoughts and ideas fascinating. Or frustrating. Or downright ridiculous. But in any case, I appreciate your unique perspective (and in some of your cases, it's got to be unique).
It might be because you've taught me about family, about what it's like to be a good mother or father. Even though I don't think I'll ever raise children, I draw from your struggles, your heroism with the ordinary inconveniences and trials of parenthood, and am proud of your love for these little, vulnerable beings. I can put up with a lot of bullshit and ridiculousness from a person as long as I am convinced that they are a good parent.
It might be because I served as a mentor or teacher to you, and I care about you -- yes, you! -- enough to keep the door open. I've learned a lot about myself in guiding you, and for that, you have my gratitude. As long as you don't disappoint yourself, you'll never disappoint me.
But in all cases, it's because there is at least one thing about you that I find admirable. I should tell you specifically what it is, and I might, especially if it encourages you to focus on that and stop doing all the other nonsense that drives me nuts.
Thank you for your patience. In matters of care and consideration of others, I'm often negligent. You deserve better, and I hope to be able to deliver.
Thanks for reminding me of my honor, and of what this life has to offer. Please continue to remind me.
Thanks for reading.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
"I Voted" sticker variants
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The classic version, good for discounted booze, a sugar cookie, and discounted oysters if you live in the Los Angeles area. |
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Sadly, I was beat to the creative punch by about four years by this guy. But it inspired the next sixteen. |
True story. |
18 stickers, one for each electoral vote Ohio is using to hold the entire country hostage. Have fun today!
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Reintegration
Crap, I always hate this part.
David sat on one side of the floating raft, reminiscent of an amusement park water ride. He looked at the polished, overly-expensive sides. It was better than looking at what lay ahead.
"David? David! David?"
He remembered, a bit too late, to squelch the instinct to turn around. The price he paid for a tardy brain signal was finding himself face-to-face with another David.
Well, he thought, at least he still looks like me.
In fact, there were around forty Davids on this raft, all coasting slowly to the reintegration chamber ahead. Why it took so long, he didn't know.
"Hi David! It's David! David David David! Hahaha!"
One of the side effects of multielement time travel was the creation of less-than-perfect shards, or copies of the original person. Occasionally the shard would be psychopathic, or philosophically inverted, or otherwise unsuitable for the job. Some would be deformed. All defective shards would be incarcerated upon creation and not released until reintegration.
Sometimes, they would have to be destroyed. The scientists said that the loss of a shard or two wouldn't affect his reintegrated self, though he always harbored doubts. He always felt a bit more... hollow... after a reintegration process short a few shards.
But most weren't psychopaths. Some were just... weird. Like this moron.
"We're going to the bright light! The bright light! Tra la la la la la!"
The first time he was being reintegrated, he tried to kill one of the annoying ones. But the technicians stopped him.
"Don't do it -- that's a part of your personality!"
"The fuck it is. There is no part of me that's like this dimwitted moron!"
But they stopped him. And it bothered him that he was part moron, deep down, somewhere in his psyche. He also knew, by the technicians' response to his attempted shardicide, that they were lying about the effects of reintegrating with fewer shards than were initially created.
He surveyed the large, open, metallic chamber. The sides, floor, and ceiling were unadorned and unbroken, except by occasional splotches of equipment and, of course, the river of glowing goo.
To tune out the babbling idiot next to him, he thought about how the program.
He was part of an elite group of agents responsible for protecting or repairing aspects of the timeline. They were chosen for the strength and consistency of their personalities and the ability to function under duress, important both for the multielement process as well as the missions proper.
I guess an average person would be stuck on a raft of weirdos. Maybe this is why I don't go out anymore.
Not all shards were created equal. Beyond occasional personality divergences, the process could generate a maximum of 16 shards at a time. Experiments involving more shards were ongoing, but he wasn't informed about them. The joke among agents was that the first 32-shard process generated a bunch of three-foot midgets. The truth was probably a lot less funny.
For complicated missions, it would sometimes be necessary to generate shards from shards. Sadly, the number of viable shards would decrease rapidly in subsequent generations. For that reason, no agent had been able to complete a mission that involved less than third-generation shards. At that point, it was classified a failure, the agent lost -- not enough viable shards would remain in the facility for reintegration -- and another agent would be sent to finish the job. David didn't know if there were any missions that were just total failures. In spite of his cynicism about how the program was run, the nature of temporal meddling could mean that new missions would just go back to the point when old missions were started, thereby providing infinite chances to get it right.
Despite this, some agents never came back. The cynicism resurfaced, and he concluded that it was because a failed mission mattered, while a success that involved an agent death was still a success. One didn't tempt the temporal gods through the pursuit of perfect outcomes. Or pester the director with rescue mission proposals.
And the missions could be hard. David had lost 11 shards -- two first-generation, nine second-generation -- during a mission last year. Shard 11 was able to blow up the power plant and return home, but died of radiation burns. Again, the scientists had assured him that reintegration would be complete and healthful, though they did insist he take a month of leave and scheduled intensive personality therapy afterward.
At least reintegration left only one real David at the end. Early efforts at multielement time travel didn't involve reintegration, which had the nasty side effect of agents not being certain who was the "real" one, and developing nasty psychological complexes over it. Initially, they tried killing all the shards except one, and only belatedly realized the nonviability of later-generation shards.
No, he thought, these are the golden days of this program. Even with stupid shards.
The stupid shard had gone back to bothering a shard in the fetal position two rows back. "Hey! Whassa matta wit you?" Another shard was masturbating.
David grimaced, then sighed. Well, he said, no one ever accused me of not being complicated.
David sat on one side of the floating raft, reminiscent of an amusement park water ride. He looked at the polished, overly-expensive sides. It was better than looking at what lay ahead.
"David? David! David?"
He remembered, a bit too late, to squelch the instinct to turn around. The price he paid for a tardy brain signal was finding himself face-to-face with another David.
Well, he thought, at least he still looks like me.
In fact, there were around forty Davids on this raft, all coasting slowly to the reintegration chamber ahead. Why it took so long, he didn't know.
"Hi David! It's David! David David David! Hahaha!"
One of the side effects of multielement time travel was the creation of less-than-perfect shards, or copies of the original person. Occasionally the shard would be psychopathic, or philosophically inverted, or otherwise unsuitable for the job. Some would be deformed. All defective shards would be incarcerated upon creation and not released until reintegration.
Sometimes, they would have to be destroyed. The scientists said that the loss of a shard or two wouldn't affect his reintegrated self, though he always harbored doubts. He always felt a bit more... hollow... after a reintegration process short a few shards.
But most weren't psychopaths. Some were just... weird. Like this moron.
"We're going to the bright light! The bright light! Tra la la la la la!"
The first time he was being reintegrated, he tried to kill one of the annoying ones. But the technicians stopped him.
"Don't do it -- that's a part of your personality!"
"The fuck it is. There is no part of me that's like this dimwitted moron!"
But they stopped him. And it bothered him that he was part moron, deep down, somewhere in his psyche. He also knew, by the technicians' response to his attempted shardicide, that they were lying about the effects of reintegrating with fewer shards than were initially created.
He surveyed the large, open, metallic chamber. The sides, floor, and ceiling were unadorned and unbroken, except by occasional splotches of equipment and, of course, the river of glowing goo.
To tune out the babbling idiot next to him, he thought about how the program.
He was part of an elite group of agents responsible for protecting or repairing aspects of the timeline. They were chosen for the strength and consistency of their personalities and the ability to function under duress, important both for the multielement process as well as the missions proper.
I guess an average person would be stuck on a raft of weirdos. Maybe this is why I don't go out anymore.
Not all shards were created equal. Beyond occasional personality divergences, the process could generate a maximum of 16 shards at a time. Experiments involving more shards were ongoing, but he wasn't informed about them. The joke among agents was that the first 32-shard process generated a bunch of three-foot midgets. The truth was probably a lot less funny.
For complicated missions, it would sometimes be necessary to generate shards from shards. Sadly, the number of viable shards would decrease rapidly in subsequent generations. For that reason, no agent had been able to complete a mission that involved less than third-generation shards. At that point, it was classified a failure, the agent lost -- not enough viable shards would remain in the facility for reintegration -- and another agent would be sent to finish the job. David didn't know if there were any missions that were just total failures. In spite of his cynicism about how the program was run, the nature of temporal meddling could mean that new missions would just go back to the point when old missions were started, thereby providing infinite chances to get it right.
Despite this, some agents never came back. The cynicism resurfaced, and he concluded that it was because a failed mission mattered, while a success that involved an agent death was still a success. One didn't tempt the temporal gods through the pursuit of perfect outcomes. Or pester the director with rescue mission proposals.
And the missions could be hard. David had lost 11 shards -- two first-generation, nine second-generation -- during a mission last year. Shard 11 was able to blow up the power plant and return home, but died of radiation burns. Again, the scientists had assured him that reintegration would be complete and healthful, though they did insist he take a month of leave and scheduled intensive personality therapy afterward.
At least reintegration left only one real David at the end. Early efforts at multielement time travel didn't involve reintegration, which had the nasty side effect of agents not being certain who was the "real" one, and developing nasty psychological complexes over it. Initially, they tried killing all the shards except one, and only belatedly realized the nonviability of later-generation shards.
No, he thought, these are the golden days of this program. Even with stupid shards.
The stupid shard had gone back to bothering a shard in the fetal position two rows back. "Hey! Whassa matta wit you?" Another shard was masturbating.
David grimaced, then sighed. Well, he said, no one ever accused me of not being complicated.
Friday, November 2, 2012
How I engaged in voter coercion
I was nine years old when I first "voted". It was 1992, and H. Ross Perot was shaking up the political establishment with his funny ears and his aggressive, detailed critiques in his infomercial ads. I liked him, and I encouraged Mom to vote for him. I went in with her to the booth, and made sure she voted Perot.
When I was 13, I enjoyed watching Norm MacDonald play Bob Dole on Saturday Night Live. In particular, there's a skit about Bob Dole living in the "Real World" house. Sadly, the clip appears to be lost and not on the Internets, but here's a transcript.
Bob Dole: Who the hell ate my peanut butter?! Peanut butter!
Chris: I guess I did. Why?
Bob Dole: Yeah, well, now it's gone! Next time, ask! Nobody eats Bob Dole's peanut butter without asking!
Chris: Whatever..
[ cut to Annabel summarizing the scene ]
Annabel: Bob needed to work on his "people skills"..
[ cut back to the scene ]
Bob Dole: You wanna chip in, that's a different story. Otherwise, keep your grubby hands out of Bob Dole's peanut butter! [ throws the empty jar across the floor ]
[ cut to Annabel summarizing the scene ]
Annabel: So I called a house meeting..
Needless to say, I pushed my mom to vote for Bob Dole in 1996.
So, there are two cases in which I coerced a Democratic, minority woman's vote and caused her to vote against her economic interest. I'm sorry.
When I was 13, I enjoyed watching Norm MacDonald play Bob Dole on Saturday Night Live. In particular, there's a skit about Bob Dole living in the "Real World" house. Sadly, the clip appears to be lost and not on the Internets, but here's a transcript.
Bob Dole: Who the hell ate my peanut butter?! Peanut butter!
Chris: I guess I did. Why?
Bob Dole: Yeah, well, now it's gone! Next time, ask! Nobody eats Bob Dole's peanut butter without asking!
Chris: Whatever..
[ cut to Annabel summarizing the scene ]
Annabel: Bob needed to work on his "people skills"..
[ cut back to the scene ]
Bob Dole: You wanna chip in, that's a different story. Otherwise, keep your grubby hands out of Bob Dole's peanut butter! [ throws the empty jar across the floor ]
[ cut to Annabel summarizing the scene ]
Annabel: So I called a house meeting..
Needless to say, I pushed my mom to vote for Bob Dole in 1996.
So, there are two cases in which I coerced a Democratic, minority woman's vote and caused her to vote against her economic interest. I'm sorry.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Why I am proud to be a Democrat
Thank you, Demosthenes, for a spirited speech, and an articulation of so much that we admire in both Republicans, and in Americans in general.
Demosthenes and I agree on a number of things. We agree on the innate goodness of the American people. We agree upon our proud traditions and values, and our quest to form a more perfect union.
I am glad he extends such courtesy to our party, and I shall do him like service. The Republican party, in its history, has been the lead for some of the most wonderful movements in our history. It was a Republican President that freed the slaves. It was a Republican President that created the national park system. It was a Republican President who created the Interstate highway system, a national science policy in the face of Sputnik, and ultimately proved the strongest voice against American imperialism. The Republican party has been a party of progress during much of its time, and has many accomplishments. Many of our great leaders come from those ranks. As I extol my party, I take nothing away from the Republicans. It is good and right that we each take pride at our history, at the calls we got right, and the role each of us has played in this American pageant.
The gentleman is right that the forces of obstructionism and division are the real enemy. But here is where I must begin the long, disagreeable, but necessary process of disagreement with him. The Republican party is a shadow of what it once was, hostage to forces it long ago rejected and fought, and threatens to take the nation down with it as it stumbles toward implosion. For love of country and your honor, sir, I pray you tend to your house, for it is in considerable disorder, and your less distinguished colleagues do great disservice to the memory of your former greatness.
One of the gravest false choices that has been shouted at us is that the state can be strong only at the cost of the individual. No, no, no! I cannot stand by and allow these fearmongers malign our Republic, and in so doing, diminish the individual.
Our nation is a group of individuals, bound together by our love of freedom, our duty toward its protection, and our commitment to each other. We know our history -- that too frequently the liberty of some have come at the expense of others, those too weak, without an advocate, without economic independence, without the legal right to own property, or vote, or decide matters concerning their own body. We know that without a society of laws and common principle, the lesser elements will set us against each other, to their own gain.
We have seen it again, and again, and again, and we must oppose it, for this is the snake in the Garden.
Your party has celebrated the individual, and yet will not safeguard her when she needs food for her children, clean water to drink, affordable healthcare that she might be a mother, a wife, a grandmother to other great Americans. What you offer is not the emancipation of the individual -- you offer the freedom of the wilderness, the freedom of the lion's den.
That is not liberty -- that is callousness, a dereliction of our sworn duty as citizens and leaders. I reject the notion that we seek a state that dominates the life of the citizen. I also reject the notion that we owe our fellow citizens no protection against raw nature. It is a false choice between the two, and I reject both utterly.
This nation has, when it is at its best, stood for freedom from hunger, from oppression by interests both public and private, freedom from fear, freedom of choice, freedom to walk clear beaches and choose who you want to work for and who you want to marry. This nation is about freedom -- a freedom that often must be defended by the state against private interests that seek, for one reason or another, to curtail it.
We have shown that good people working in government are no different from good people anywhere else -- they have a job to do, they have rules they must follow, and they want more or less the same things those who work for companies do. Enough! Enough with the artificial divisions!
Now let me focus on what the Democratic party stands for, and not what it is against. For to be against principles and policies without offering better alternatives is not American at all.
I believe passionately that we can judge a people by how they treat its most vulnerable - whether it be children, or women, or minorities, or the disabled, or the poor, or its non-citizens.
I am proud to be a Democrat because I believe in the wedding of principles and pragmatism. No generation has been free from difficult choice, from the crucible of old and new challenges. And ours is no exception.
I believe, as Viktor Frankl did, that liberty without responsibility is not freedom. It is the beginning of the end of freedom, for it is passion and defiance without wisdom and vision. It is not responsibility imposed by the state, nor the sacred text -- it is the responsibility that thoughtful souls realize in the dark of night, in their own struggles and their own blessings. It is the responsibility that is such a part of our identity that it transcends the identity divisions of faith, race, and nation.
I am a Democrat because, while I accept the imperfect nature of human beings, I believe that humans can be better than they are. I believe that men and women of sufficient courage can rise above the circumstances of birth to become more productive, more ethical, and more free. I am, despite everything, an optimist.
I am a Democrat because I believe in a nuanced partnership between expertise and democracy -- that a confident, open society can generate the best solutions if it both trusts its experts and guides the policy agenda in a manner consistent with our uniting principles. We do our people the greatest service when we trust them to face real facts honestly and in an adult manner, and do them great disservice if we seek to obscure what science tells us in more comforting, and more fatal, lies.
We must base our legislation on facts, not fears.
I am a Democrat because I want to be on the right side of history, to stand in support of, instead of opposed to, the arc of human history in which individuals become more free, and our identities become more rich and complex.
And yet, as much as I care about legacy, I am also a Democrat because I believe our duty is, first and foremost, to the present. It is to people I know and love who enjoy less than full citizenship, for whom daily life is filled with a hundred insults and obstacles that serve no purpose whatsoever. Whether inspired by differences in race, gender, religion, sexual orientation, or economic status, these acts hurt not only the target, but also diminishes the attacker. In my humble service, I do as well as I can to wed these high principles with a more primal desire to see justice, to preserve and protect those I know and love, even those who do not love me back, because of values that are bigger than any of us.
It may never be enough -- the path of principles demanded may never be fully lived up to. But I want to live in a way I can continue to look myself in the mirror, and look my mother and father in the eye, and say, "I don't know if I did enough. But I did something. And I will do more tomorrow."
I am proud to be a Democrat because it is a big tent, as America should be. I have known too many gifted individuals, of the highest qualities of character, intellect, and heart, to shut the door to any group, any creed, any people who have the desire and the fortitude to play their part in our unfolding greatness. No matter where they were born, or what they were born, or to whom, these men and women of talent and tenacity ought always have a place in America.
Those under this broad tent argue and bicker, often like family at Thanksgiving. But it is with thanksgiving I appreciate the strength of our Republic, that it can stand the confluence of disparate ideas united by our essential American spirit. It is through the dual traits of our diversity and our faith in our common dreams that makes our diversity our strength.
I am every bit as patriotic as my Republican colleagues, but find no reason to be as loud about it. I am proud to be a Democrat because I believe, firmly, that government is often a matter of the small and uncelebrated. It is a matter of tax incentives, a fair and transparent tax code, clear, effective regulation, protections such that we have healthy food to eat, clean air to breathe, safe cars to drive, and care for our elderly and disabled. It's about boring things, like highway bills, and electricity infrastructure. It is about policies that demand data, and expertise, and thoughtful consideration, but which will not have us lauded by generations hence. Sometimes, governance is mundane, and this is a virtue, our rhetoric notwithstanding. I am content to leave greatness to those who would seek it in the boardroom, the classroom, or the emergency room, or wherever outside this chamber that true heroes live and fight.
I am proud to be a Democrat because it is the party that best represents the spirit with which my ancestors came to these shores, and found opportunity even as they found challenges. I am here, in this great party, because I look around and see the future, a future of youth and ideas, guided by experience and wisdom.
I am proud to be a Democrat because I know that the best way to celebrate our military is to ensure they are not sent into harm's way unless absolutely necessary, until all other options have been exhausted, and then, only then, to do so with the reluctance, seriousness, and the weight of responsibility that belongs to those who would send them into danger.
I am proud of what the President has done, and how he has done it. I sometimes disagree with him on matters of policy, sometimes intensely. But I also stand in some awe at the great deal he has accomplished in four years, in the face of economic hardship, international hatred, fervent political opposition, and even his own coalition of disparate, centrifugal forces. He is a good man. Let me repeat, for it bears remembering: he is a good man. He is one of many good men and good women, including a Secretary of State that has played an indispensable role in guiding American foreign policy back on the right track. To both, we owe a debt of gratitude; to the nation, they express their gratitude for the trust placed in them.
***
The election draws nigh, and we can look forward to a mix of relief, celebration, disappointment, and uncertainty. But one thing is clear: we go into November 6 as Americans, and on November 7, we will still be Americans. We must not forget what that means, nor what was paid to achieve it, nor what we must yet do to maintain and grow our nation in peace and prosperity.
The election draws nigh, and we can look forward to a mix of relief, celebration, disappointment, and uncertainty. But one thing is clear: we go into November 6 as Americans, and on November 7, we will still be Americans. We must not forget what that means, nor what was paid to achieve it, nor what we must yet do to maintain and grow our nation in peace and prosperity.
I am but a lowly man. But through service in this chamber, for this party, for this President, and, most of all, for this great nation, I have become more -- I have become a citizen of a Republic that is unparalleled in all history, a Republic that has achieved, yet continues to strive toward greater and more perfect expression of the goals of civilization. Together, through common citizenship, and all it means, I have found purpose and hope, laughter and love. I express my undying gratitude to this country of mine.
Whatever your party, whatever you belief, I hope you exercise your sacred duty November 6, and vote. Know that voting is not the end of your service, but the beginning, one of many, many things that define our efforts to keep freedom free.
God bless you, and God bless America.
- Locke
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