Murphy’s Bye-Laws

Perusing the local paper’s website today for the foolishly ridiculous took only a few seconds to find the following story: Campbell lawmaker says gun prohibition takes away rights.
The headline is dangerously misleading and has very, very little to do with the actual story; rather it appears to be aimed at the discrediting of the lawmaker, who I would guess is unpopular at this paper. While the legislation does indeed interfere with rights*, the fact that this councilwoman said so is moot.

The headline should read “Policy-making Patsies Prevent Production in Prototypical Pandering Performance”. Ok, maybe not, but it is all true. This “emergency” legislation took away a person’s opportunity to add some productive service to his community. Zoning laws had already made this man’s opening of a firearms repair business more difficult, the council then sought to make it impossible. Based on the comments under the article, the council is surely pandering to the police force (who’d have imagined the police want a disarmed populace?) and other weak-kneed, uninformed citizens.

The fact that this person had thought to ask permission of government to try and make a living is repulsive. Governments create jobs?! HAHAHAHAHA! That’s laughable. This unidentified man should refuse to pay his property tax because he cannot use his property the way he sees fit; a way that does absolutely no harm to the people around him. Is the City of Cambell also going to become a dry town, not allowing the sale of alcohol to protect its citizens from the vastly more dangerous threat it causes? Or ban the sale of automobiles or hammers or stairs, since all of these things are very dangerous tools? Perhaps the practicing of law should be outlawed; we all know how dangerous a lawyer can be!

Even though this story is mostly focused on guns, I won’t rehash all the pro-and anti-gun arguments. I will say in closing, though, that prohibiting the sale of guns wouldn’t likely prohibit the sale of service on guns. Maybe this person has a case, after all.

*Read The Law of Conservation of Rights to see why rights cannot be taken away.

Ferris Bueller, with his carpe diem attitude and despite his carless existence, is known to have quipped that life moves pretty fast, and if one doesn’t stop to look around once in a while, one could miss it. In 1986 this bit of wisdom was true. On the brink of 2010 this wisdom holds as true as it did then. Life seems to have its foot firmly pressed to the accelerator. Why does life move so fast? And what’s the deal with -isms, anyway? Keep reading and some order will reveal itself from the chaos.

I quote Henry Miller in my email signature as saying, “Chaos is the score on which reality is written.” I also find this to be true. Call it a worldview. Fate, destiny, preordination; these all only exist in the imaginations of those who prognosticate what has already happened. The delicate imbalance of a single object with the entire universe – the forces acting on it, the forces acting IN it! – depends on an infinite number of variables. This whole equation raised to the power of everything else in the universe is the equation for the chaos we refer to as The Universe – or in Henry Miller’s words, “reality”. The fact that many things happen predictably over and over and over again shouldn’t diminish the perception of the uncontrolled and random nature of the universe. What we humans perceive as controlled, predictable, or even constant are but a mere snapshot of a universe in flux. Our human existence is a single frame in this Kevin Costner-length epic. So how can a snapshot seem to move so fast and be so out-of-control so much of the time? Well…

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The solstice has been on the brain. First the poem, now a whole new post. This post isn’t specifically about the solstice alone, but about all four points of inflection upon the ellipse of Earth’s  orbit. We mark our seasons by these inflections, one season terminating and another beginning at these orbital points: the equinoxes in spring and fall and the solstices in summer and winter. But what most people associate with the seasons are actually the weather and not the position of the sun in relation to the horizon, which of course are related, but weather being very tangible.

Let’s call the season delineations we currently have the astronomical seasons for obvious reasons. The weather associated with the astronomical seasons (the weather season) don’t fall neatly into the delineated times, though. One season’s associated weather likely bleeds into the preceding season giving the appearance that the season’s weather arrives first, like a Secret Service security team before a presidential stump speech.  That is because the weather is greatly affected, if not wholly produced, by the angle of the sun. The astronomical season markers are marking extremes, meaning both sides of the extreme will be very similar. If we had weather-delineated seasons, these markers should fall precisely in the middle.  Winter would encompass the months of December, January, and February; Spring would consist of March, April, and May; Summer containing June, July, and August; and leaving Autumn with September, October, and November.

Of course, weather is messy. Down in the dirty chaos of atmosphere, moisture, dirt, and wind there are no specific points to demarcate a change in seasons based solely on weather.  Perhaps this is why it would be best to not delineate the seasons so much as simply mark the progress of the year with those four extreme days. But knowing us humans, it is always about us and what we want and what we feel and how something affects us with little regard to facts or logic. So we’ll continue to have wintry weather in late fall and summery weather in late spring, etc, etc.

A new poem has posted under the poetry tab entitled “Solstice Solace”.

I’ve written on these pages before about how seasonal transitions would be a significant time to mimic our sun and pull an about-face in some manner. Some wait until New Year’s Eve to lie to themselves about change. Maybe the complete lack of significance to the new year holiday (or it could be the champagne!) contributes to the dismal success rate of new year’s resolutions. So this year try it out on a solstice and see how it works.

Some related posts:

Season’s Change

Spring Metamorphosis

New Year’s Resolve

Have you ever felt like striking out on a voyage across many seas, beyond all prior skill and experience? The old romantic notion of the sea has been enchanting men to become sailors for centuries. Something about the unreachable horizon or the energy of the undulating ocean draws us to it. Just by glancing at the titles of a few books on my bookshelf, the desire to go to sea popped into my head – the same desire that had enchanted me when I purchased the books – even though I have never been on a boat larger than the Staten Island Ferry or on a body of water larger than Lake Erie (and then only 1/2 mile to a mile out in a small 12′ fishing boat).

The oceans and the seas are a great wilderness with the power to destroy the most technologically advanced tools. From the largest ships to the smallest crafts, it is the skill of the captain and/or crew that matters most. The seas are probably the greatest of wildernesses; larger than any other, impossible to tame or terraform, and still not under the false jurisdiction of some arbitrary authority. The seas as we see them today are essentially the same seas that people have seen for millennia, a testament to the untameable nature of the seas, and a far-reaching connection to our species’ history.

Edward Abbey, among others, had written about mankind’s need for wilderness. The need for someplace wild, untamed, and potentially dangerous. He is quoted to have said (or written), “We can have wilderness without freedom; we can have wilderness without human life at all; but we cannot have freedom without wilderness.” as well as, “Wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of the human spirit, and as vital to our lives as water and good bread.” Couple these statement with a fundamental need for freedom, which I believe we all have, and wilderness seems pretty important. The wilderness acts as a bridge between our ancient ancestors who survived in this environment as a matter of course and had to overcome it in order to progress and, dare I say, evolve. Connection continues as we become, in the wilderness, a part of the universe on equal footing to the rest of existence (as opposed to sitting atop of it) and integrating ourselves with it, sharing the energy that resides in this existence.  It also keeps us connected with parts of ourselves we need to nourish to survive: our vitality. The wildness inside of us that wants to go toe to toe with all the natural forces of the world. We thrive on this natural chaos. Our society hasn’t tamed the wilderness so much as tamed ourselves.

My Watered-Down Wilderness

I can’t say I’ve ever been in real wilderness. The furthest into wilderness I can claim would be merely watered-down wilderness, barely out of earshot of a highway somewhere, and never losing sight of the shore. But even these mild tonics are enough to sustain me. Such powerful medicine may take some getting used to, and is most certainly addicting.

The oddities of my moods still strike me as peculiar. When in a mostly non-political mood and not thinking of any of the usual outrages, disappointments, theories, and solutions, I always seem to come up with some metaphorical post tangential to politics. When thinking in terms of all those political quagmires I tend to sprout seeds of wisdom completely unrelated. That is the story today as well. I hadn’t intended to write a post about Thanksgiving, being thankful or gracious, or any of those things. I hadn’t intended to write much of anything, but the concept of the turkey for the national bird and the similarities between domesticated turkeys and the American citizen were just too good to pass up.

I’ll start with a little background of the wild turkey as the national bird. The distinction of wild versus the domesticated bird are pretty important, so don’t confuse them. Ben Franklin is the source of this story, which apparently only surfaced in the letter to his daughter and was

never officially advocated. He did advocate for the rattlesnake, the vengeful creature of the famous (and mostly misunderstood these days) Gadsden flag. John D. MacArthur has this excerpt from the letter on his page where most all of my information for this post originated:

“For my own part I wish the Bald Eagle had not been chosen the Representative of our Country. He is a Bird of bad moral Character. He does not get his Living honestly. You may have seen him perched on some dead Tree near the River, where, too lazy to fish for himself, he watches the Labour of the Fishing Hawk; and when that diligent Bird has at length taken a Fish, and is bearing it to his Nest for the Support of his Mate and young Ones, the Bald Eagle pursues him and takes it from him.

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“With all this Injustice, he is never in good Case but like those among Men who live by Sharping & Robbing he is generally poor and often very lousy. Besides he is a rank Coward: The little King Bird not bigger than a Sparrow attacks him boldly and drives him out of the District. He is therefore by no means a proper Emblem for the brave and honest Cincinnati of America who have driven all the King birds from our Country . . .

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“I am on this account not displeased that the Figure is not known as a Bald Eagle, but looks more like a Turkey. For the Truth the Turkey is in Comparison a much more respectable Bird, and withal a true original Native of America . . . He is besides, though a little vain & silly, a Bird of Courage, and would not hesitate to attack a Grenadier of the British Guards who should presume to invade his Farm Yard with a red Coat on.”

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It’s been better than a week since the quest behind the Fat Man Running fan page on Facebook came to a conclusion. Was it a successful conclusion? What were the goals – beyond actually running the race?  Valid questions, all.  Other valid questions could include: a query about the Fat Man’s future activities, especially as they relate to running, specifically; was there something to be learned in this whole story; and, finally, am I writing this in an appropriate medium where I can save the work without fear of the dreaded memory hole?

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The fund-raising options have been boiled down. There are no official forms for the MS Monster Stomp. My next option was to set up a PayPal account and accept the donations to deliver to the organizers of the race. This cost money and has a few other hoops I didn’t want to jump through. So instead of insisting on a middleman (this isn’t for my ego or glory, so no need for me to be in the middle of this transaction), I will just direct those who would wish to donate something directly to the National Multiple Sclerosis Society’s website.

https://secure3.convio.net/nmss/site/Donation2?idb=1291788400&df_id=13060&13060.donation=form1

To encourage donations, I think it would be helpful for people to let us know on this page or my blog if a donation was made. No need to list how much – and comments can be made anonymously at www.pintofstout.me. It isn’t a big deal if nothing is said at all, but I thought it would help encourage others to donate if they saw that other donations were made. Dang, I feel like NPR here – and now Ira Glass would like to guilt you into becoming a member.

Thanks for the support.

Jeff

The G20 Summit, something I would normally ignore, has come to my proverbial backyard and has drawn my attention to the protesters and the ratcheted up police-state that spontaneously sprout up around such glaring symbols of exploitation, injustice, and power. When I first heard of the event coming to town I was inexplicably anxious to be there and find some way to protest. This reaction, springing from anger and frustration with nary an outlet, was inexplicable because I had decided some time ago that protesting is not my thing (after an April 15th protest at a US Post Office) and that I cannot stand to be in a very large crowd – especially when a good portion of the crowd are bend on violence (talking about the LEOs, of course). Returning to my senses, I instead started mental preparations to absorb all of the misinformation about anarchists that would flood the news. As some of this flood is now bearing down upon us, I thought I might try to levy some sense to keep my feet dry.

There are many lessons and talking points to be taken from such a highly visible event: governments’ totally saturated role in economies; industries’ totally saturated role in government; the “Us vs. Them” attitude of law enforcement officers; the complete trampling of rules, rights, and passionate dissenters with zero consequences – maybe a promotion; the nature of propaganda and getting a message out; the superficial complaints of various protest groups about the fruits of injustice represented by the G20 rather than the root of the tree producing it; the media coverage and language used to cover the protests and why this propaganda is more effective than that of the protesters; and finally why should anyone care about any of this. I’m tempted to just stop the post now after that long list of talking points but, grudgingly, I’ll continue to flail my arms recklessly in the dark in hopes of hitting on some sort of point.

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For too long a common strategy for dealing with turmoil in my life had been retreat, avoidance, and running away. Things that bothered me stayed lodged in my psyche and scabbed over with neglect to fester into an infectious sore never to be addressed or healed. Addressing some of these sores, I think, has resulting in me setting an unexpected and quite random goal of running a 5K race. But what am I running for (or from)?

At first I thought that maybe I was driven by nostalgia. Aside from good grades in school, which was pretty much doing the minimum (if you want me to wear 25 pieces of flair, make 25 pieces the minimum), running was the only thing that I ever really felt like I was better than average at. My ascendance to this feeling was fast but also quite fleeting. After only a half of a season in cross-country where I was improving exponentially, it seemed, I changed schools to a school without a team. Whatever progress was made in the one season of track and the half-season of cross-country was halted and I lingered in mediocrity while still clinging to the feeling of actually being good at something. It took a long time to let that feeling go, all the while blaming my parents for the move. At first, I thought this was a ploy to try and regain some of that nostalgic feeling; to reclaim the personal achievement I just missed out on and the feelings surrounding those running events.

It later crossed my mind that the whole Multiple Sclerosis (MS) angle of the race and the fact that my father had just suffered major setbacks due in large part to his MS may have had something to do with it. With a minimal amount of reflection this reason turned out to be false as well. While I had concerns for my father’s condition, I was also less than sympathetic (see Regretful Reactions). See, whatever laziness I exhibit surely stems from my dad’s genes. Always a rather sedentary person, his debilitation from MS seemed like a convenient excuse for sympathy and lack of activity. Even when he was advised over and over again to exercise (even a little) to maintain as much strength as possible, the ass groove in the recliner and the muscles in his television remote finger were the only things developing. This contrast between a man who could, at one time, do things and chose not to and a man who was no longer able to do things even if he wanted to colored my sympathies and feelings about his physical condition. These mixed feelings and the added disappointment from other non-health related things (not to mention the blame I laid on him for my shortfalls and disappointments in high school) really tarnished any semblance of a relationship.

So while attempting to gaze to the outside for reasons and blame for a whole host of things, I ended up only seeing my own reflection in the glass. No matter how hard I looked or how the light shone on the pane, it was still only my own reflection that I saw. Then I realized that I was running to avoid becoming the kind of person I disliked about my father. I know most folks live a big portion of their lives trying to avoid this fate to varying success. After looking at that reflection for a while, I can now say that all the reasons I’m training for this race have everything to do with myself and little, if anything, to do with anybody else.

I run now because it was a concrete goal with an end and I am not very good at following through or finishing. A little effort? A little discomfort? It was always easier to just do something else. In matters of my own fitness and health, I’ve shunned advice and mainstream medical protocol (which I can still say I don’t regret), but I also ignored advice that made sense to me because of laziness and an unwillingness to change.  I don’t know that I’ll continue to be a runner when the race ends – I don’t think dealing with pain via a constant stream of ibuprofen is a good sign of something I should continue indefinitely – but I do think that some regular fitness program is in my future. I also think that goals previously thought too hard or unattainable will look like low-hanging fruit after running this race. I am still running from something, though: fear. I am leaving fear of failure, fear of adversity, and fear of uncertainty in the dust. And the habit of looking outside for the cause of problems is still standing back at the starting line.