Maslow

Hobbies are important. They keep your mind sharp, your body active, and your spirit happy. Some people enjoy painting, some play a musical instrument, and some run or play a sport. Maslow's hobby was perfection.

This hobby started in high school, where he graduated first in his class with straight As. He was very proud of his record. Mrs. Bigelow who had seen his talent praised him for being her "perfect little student." It made him feel good. He decided, during the graduation ceremony, he would always get straight As wherever he went, whatever he did. He had discovered he was born with the gift of perfection, far be it from him to reject this gift.

Maslow continued his hobby in college. He chose to major in economics, believing it a science, and therefore, possible to accomplish with perfection, which he essentially did - save the professor who did not understand one of his brilliant arguments. But, he was able to appeal to the college and, with legal council, upgrade the paper from an A- to an A.

Half-way through his freshman year Maslow began to question his definition of perfection. He was troubled to find so many activities impossible to perfect. He quickly found that the other students, being so far from perfect, were difficult to integrate with his beloved hobby. Perfection seemed very far from their goals or aspirations - a horrific realization. They even questioned his ability to be perfect, despite his perfect explanations to the contrary - a paradox he found difficult to resolve. He pondered the scarcity of his very special gift, and subsequently, his uncharacteristically vital importance to the world.

Returning to his home town over spring break, Maslow visited Mrs. Bigelow's classroom. He stood in the back and reminisced about the bliss of high school algebra as she lectured. After class was dismissed Maslow approached her desk. She was pleased with his performance at college and congratulated him. She had always felt a connection with Maslow, being a self-proclaimed perfectionist herself.

"I hear your first semester was perfect Maslow. I'm very proud of you."
"Yes, Mrs. Bigelow, I did get straight As. But, I, well..."
"What is it Maslow? Is everything OK?"
"Well, it's the other students. They..."
"Remember what I told you. You must not listen to them. They are only jealous of your abilities."
"But how do you do it?" Maslow asked. "How do people like us co-exist with all this imperfection? I find it rather frustrating. Perfection is my life, my dreams, my only hobby."

Mrs. Bigelow turned and gently pushed a book case to the side, revealing a small opening. She walked in, and motioned for him to follow. They walked down a long, narrow staircase, with cold, damp rock walls and a low ceiling. The hall widened a bit and they entered a dark, open space. She struck a match, lit a small oil lamp, and turned to look at him, light from the flame flickering on her face from below.

She spoke quietly, as if to herself. "Maslow. My most brilliant pupil. My perfect student. You remind me so much of myself at your age. I know how you feel and I need to be honest with you. You will face the same challenges I have, and you must be prepared."

Maslow couldn't remember Mrs. Bigalow ever speaking like this. Her language had always been completely formulaic and beautifully logical.

"I regret it, but I loathe to listen to the petty frustrations of the droves that revolve through my classroom and into the world each year. I can only dent their lazy, hopeless minds. Let them wallow in hedonism like the rest of the world. But you, my shining star, you! I sculpted you into a being of perfection. You have been conditioned to be the most fierce defender of truth, a machine incapable of error, down to the crosses on your Ts. You followed my every instruction with flawless attention to detail. You knew you were perfect. I could tell. What happened Maslow?"

"The others. They distract me. They think I am capable of error."

"You are not. Their definition of perfection is useless. How dare you! You suddenly decide that there are models of perfection other than mine?! On what grounds? You know you can't accept or deny their estimations until they have been thoroughly examined. And, to do so is a waste of your time because of the obvious and overwhelming evidence to the contrary. You know better than this, Maslow."

"I'm sorry Mrs. Bigelow. I can't help it. I'm just not perfect. There is a possibility your estimations of me are not accurate..."

*****

Maslow's convulsing chest raised into the air, his back forming an arch as the waves of electricity pounded through his scull. Tears welled and then ran down Mrs. Bigelow's cheek as she held the lever firmly in the ON position. Shivering slightly, her eyes closed, shutting out the jagged, muffled screeching.

Resolutions

Alright, time to get a one day head start on some resolutions.

1. Don't drink any cheap champagne.
   
2. Listen to more music.
3. Escape the spiraling thought vacuum of politics.
   
4. Brew better beer.
   
5. Write down a good story or two, maybe a song.
6. Keep head out of sand; below clouds.
   

Kennedy

I'm convinced Kennedy would win in 2008 hands down. Check out this speech.

Although I still think anyone who goes into politics is slightly insane, even our most honorable examples.

Isabel Paterson

When the Berlin Wall fell in 1989 I was 12 years old. It was something so foreign and vague, off in a distant universe. To imagine a population shackled in chains was impossible from my perspective - and equally, I imagine, a free society from theirs.

Only later did I discover the significance. When the Soviet Union collapsed, a great experiment was concluded. In 1917-22 the people of Russia overthrew a monarchical tyranny as the Americans had in 1776.

I know this post is out of line. I just saw the video (link below) and couldn't help writing down some thoughts. Maybe one of you will bite one of these days and tell me why I'm completely off the mark. Until then, I will enjoy my stomping ground :) so, anyway...

In a society already enslaved, it was the ideology that promised the most that was the most popular. The short-sighted deception of the Bolsheviks was so persuasive it convinced an army of followers to engage in bloody domination of their own people - crushing all who disagreed with them. Then, according to the ideology, the people handed all power to state. This was the very opposite solution that was chosen by our American forefathers and mothers when they broke free from tyranny. Thus the beginning of the great experiment.

The rest is history. The Soviet people soon, once again, became subjects of tyrannical rule. Millions were slaughtered to preserve the state.

Now, in our country, we are handed the same choice. With the power of government in bed with corporations, our plutocracy is quickly devolving into a soft form of fascism mixed with a socialist-friendly welfare state that is being taken advantage of by generations.

Right now we need to ask ourselves if we are going to trust the state to take care of us like the Soviets? Are we going to listen to the minds of Lennin, Marx, and Trotsky, to repeat the side of the experiment that failed in 1989 - perpetuated by the growth of state power in recent years by Bush II? Or, are we going to follow the great minds on the winning side: Mises, Kennedy, Reagan, Freidman, Greenspan, Taft, Spooner, Isabel Paterson, and back as far as Bastiat, Mill, Jefferson, Locke, Smith, Condorset, Franklin and Washington. And, before that, Socrates and Aristotle.

The Soviets could have saved their country in the 1980s if there was a tradition of liberty among the population. They could have legally restored power to its rightful place had their people been able to believe in themselves and their neighbors. We have that tradition. We are the bearers of the flame of freedom. We have the history, the intelligence, and the will to succeed. It is our responsibility to hold the flame of high as an example, and not blow it out through sedentary acceptance of what the state gives us (and takes away). We are the proof that individuals are the masters of their destiny and all peaceful individuals who agree are free to join us.

Money on Trees

Okay, so while enjoying dinner and a few beers at a friend's place a discussion ensued regarding the destruction of our economy perpetuated by policies of the Federal Reserve. Somehow I'm always the only person in any given room with that interpretation.

As you can imagine, describing the complicated way our currency is manufactured and distributed, and illustrating the the dangerous cocktail of our fiat monetary system blended with public debt and fractional reserve lending is not a conquest for the faint of heart. Of course, it was designed that way. If we could all understand this stuff and could describe it over a couple beers it wouldn't have become a problem in the first place, or there would be massive outrage.

The first hurdle I was confronted with was a disappointing one as it demonstrated the long road ahead - the myth that our currency is coined/printed/created exclusively by the U.S. Treasury.

So, today's lesson, for my benefit as much as anyone's, is to describe how money is created, and how the system is designed to spiral into a bloated monstrosity and collapse catastrophically.

1. The Federal Government decides it needs some money to attack Canada. It prints a piece of paper with nifty designs and some words. They call it a "Treasury Bond" or "Treasury Note." These are IOUs to the Federal Reserve.
2. To convert these IOUs to bills, the Federal Government gives this bond or note to the Federal Reserve. The Federal Reserve classifies these IOUs as a "securities asset." To us (who fund the Federal Government completely), this Treasury Note is debt that we will have to pay back in the future. To the Federal Reserve, this is an asset, because it assumes we will pay it back with interest (with Income Tax).
   
3. Since this is an asset, it can be used to offset a liability, which the Federal Reserve does by printing a piece of paper with nifty designs and some words. This time they call it a "Federal Reserve Check." (Nothing backs this but the assumption that taxpayers will be fleeced of their earnings to pay it back).
   
4. The Federal Reserve Check is given to the Federal Government, who endorses it. Then, they deposit it in one of the 12 privately owned Federal Reserve Banks. It is a government deposit, and used to pay government expenses (businesses, entrepreneurs, etc.).
   
5. The Government Checks are deposited into commercial banks, where they are, again, treated as assets. 90% of this can be lent out, depending on the reserve ratio. This is called the "Fractional Reserve System," and is how all banks function - lending out the vast majority of their money. A loan is always considered an "asset" because it is earning interest. Banks want to make as many loans as possible to earn the greatest amount of profit.
   
6. The recipient of a loan deposits the loan proceeds into their bank account, where the process repeats itself, over, and over, and over, and over again. The fiat money created by this is 10 times the size of the original debt created by the federal government.
7. We attack Canada. Using money printed by the Federal Reserve cartel. It's counterfeit, and unconstitutional (only congress can coin and print currency) but congress likes unlimited wealth - it gets them power and votes - so they don't really mind.
   
8. Too many foreclosures cause a liquidity crisis.
   
9. More printing. More inflation. People are less able to pay back debt. The Fed needs to decide between financial collapse or rampant inflation. This really could get ugly.
   

Look on any bill and you will see "Federal Reserve Note." Yes, there is a signature of the Secretary of the Treasury, but in reality, a dollar is simply a promise by the American to pay back the Federal Reserve with interest, lining the pockets of the shareholders of the Federal Reserve (or funneled it through tax-free institutions such as the Ford Foundation - in which they avoid the income tax altogether...rrrr).

Throughout history, every single fiat currency, one not backed by a hard asset (usually gold), has devalued to the the paper or metal it is made from. I'm not saying the sky is falling, but I also can't say it isn't. Most disturbingly, something tells me when any of us regular folks get a clue it will be a moment too late.

(Here is a good site with diagrams and stuff)

Benazir

A sad day indeed. A reminder that the front lines of civilized society are vulnerable and perpetually under attack from the army of enslaved minds conditioned to trivialize life, especially their own.

All truth passes through three stages: First, it is ridiculed, second it is violently opposed, and third, it is accepted as self-evident. -Arthur Schopenhauer

Darkness haunts and will pretend
That power trumps truth in the end.
Some will feed it even still,
From their souls, their broken will.

Dreams that starve it are of glass,
Fragile stems and blades of grass.
Hold them high they're sure to shatter.
Lock them up they cease to matter.

Bring them to a special place
To install reinforcing brace.
Tenacious care to make them swell,
To trounce the darkness, fears dispel.

Descent

<
Sir Fluffy the Wonderpillar
I ride among the silver snow,
A soft heart clad in spines and steel.
Hands grasping tufts of fuzz,
I'm lifted high and glimpse the path,
Then buried down into the powder.
The earth shakes, his roar is louder,
Gracious as his breed allows.
Closer by the inch my dream,
A toehold on the other side.
>

Volcanoville

The metropolis of Volcanoville, as its name suggests, was situated at the base of an active volcano, Mount Caution. Indeed, it was built on top of a lava field which spanned the entire valley, called Burning Man Gulch. Luxurious houses spanned the width of the gulch, from one rock face to another, towering vertical cliffs on both sides. It was a bustling city with crowded markets supported by a lively mining industry, Lava Rock International Inc.

Volcanoville was fortunate enough to reside on top of the world's only natural deposit of manstone. This natural resource was highly valued for its scarcity and intrinsic beauty, and all types of jewelry were fabricated from it. Its characteristic opaque, amber hue was unmistakable and the envy of all who hadn't the enormous wealth required to afford it. It was Volcanoville's only export.

Lava Rock International had the mineral rights to all of Volcanoville's manstone, and extracted the large oblong deposits from enormous mines that rested beside and even directly beneath the city. The excavation would progress like clockwork, requiring the skilled cooperation of thousands who took great pride in their work. Many families claimed to be the fourth or even the fifth generation of Mount Caution miners.

As well-paid as the miners were, no one in the city could justify even the smallest piece of manstone themselves. It was certainly an unneeded extravagance. However, the town folk were constantly blessed with its illustrious beauty whenever they gazed high on the cliffs where the owners of Lava Rock International had constructed their mansions out of it. The benevolent Wiertz family had owned and operated the mines since before anyone could remember.

One year, to the dismay of the Wiertz family, the mines were falling well behind their quotas. The miners were forced to do without raises and their vacation time was cut in half to make up for the difference. Try as they might, the miners simply did not discover enough chunks of manstone no matter how much they dug. Without the sales, Lava Rock International began losing revenue. In an effort to trim expenses, many miners lost their jobs.

The revenue shortage led to a massive economic catastrophe for Volcanoville. The shops dependent on business from the miners began to close. In a desperate attempt to hold onto what little income they had, the miners formed a union and went on strike. All mining operations ceased completely.

The next day Mount Caution erupted. The subsequent lava flow pounded through Burning Man Gulch burying all of Volcanoville and its inhabitants under twenty feet of molten rock. The news shocked local towns and the tragedy was met with deep sympathy from around the globe. The daily newspapers included an account of the day's horrors from the perspective of the Wiertz family, who concluded their detailed description with a heartfelt eulogy.

Despite the destruction of most of their machinery, with some public funding, Lava Rock International, under the sympathies of its owners, was able to initiate recovery operations with surprising efficiency.

Human Ad Space

Short on cash I decided to go to HumanAdSpace.com to investigate the possibility of selling my forehead as advertising space. One guy's noggin went for $50,000 for 30 days. He just wore some temporary tattoo for a month. This seems like really great work if you can get it.

Imagine paying off a college education for 30 days of work. Imagine pulling a bum off the street, slapping design on his forehead, and giving him a down payment on a home. These folks haven't sold their soul to Reebok, Target or Head On. They're just renting it out for some startup cash.

I know, it might seem awkward to show up to Christmas dinner with "TYCO" across your brow, but think of the lively conversation piece. And I'll bet they'll pay a handsome finders fee if you can round up some recruits. Maybe next year's Christmas miracle will be a stamp across from every seat and free toy trucks for all.

Of course, being paid by the square centimeter, forehead economy will be an important skill for school children who will need to barter with retailers. What a bright future when all walk together with no obligation other than to make a public spectacle of ourselves for a certain number of hours each day.

May our future children be granted the serenity to accept the things they cannot change; the courage to change the things they can; the wisdom to know the difference; and an enormous megatron of a forehead.

Cast Away

I love this movie. I have to watch it whenever it's on. It was tonight - I even dealt with the commercials. "Cast Away..." From the rat race, then from the island, then from Wilson, then from his former life entirely (besides the Cherokee), and finally, to a new life. Choosing to risk almost certain death in his escape from the island he emerges capable of withstanding the ultimate heartbreak, and is prepared to forge on.

To keep breathing. It's just not an acceptable way to live. We aren't built for it. Something eventually pushes us out to sea to risk everything, even whales. Maybe we're all drifting, with just a speck of hope driving us.

I put this one right up there next to Groundhog Day.

Penelope Press

Well, it could be worse. "Infusion Press," isn't going to cut it. Upon further examination the website is taken, and there are other companies named similarly. And it sounds less cool when I haven't been drinking anyway. So I marched into the Minnesota Secretary of State office this afternoon and filed the papers. It is official, I am now the sole owner, investor, and employee of....drum roll...
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Penelope Press LLC

(I know - I renamed the title so you already knew that. Or was it reverse psychology?)

Any logo ideas? Maybe P.J. Whiskerhausen will make an appearance.

Rock

The company has been named. To be disclosed after it's official (and the website has been registered). Hint: it is related to beer. It's also related to herb. Soon, it will be related to the most kick-ass books on the planet. (Especially if you're into music notation). Just thought I'd give y'all a heads up cause I'm pumped.

Sticks and Stones

The following morphed into the poem "Milton," (the previous post) but I figure it doesn't hurt to disclose an inspiration for it...

***
Naivety is not only a terrible thing to waste, it's almost impossible to maintain. When curiosity pushes you to investigate motive, a speculative and dangerous path awaits.

They generously offer to save you from disappointment. They remind you others will laugh. They ask what past success qualifies you to push forward. They distract, dismiss, discourage. They accuse you of pretension, plagiarism, and egomania. They are disgusted with your unwarranted passion. They are quick to point out a grammatical error or misspelling. They do not suggest improvements, and sometimes you are ashamed to assume they exaggerate their enthusiasm when pointing out your flaws. You regard it as another one of your flaws. It is.

These things are all acceptable, even necessary. They force you to ask these questions of yourself. They are often honest, sincere, and good-natured. They are for your own good. From a genuine source, you ignore them at your own peril. To dismiss them is to reject your own improvement.

Of all that we are subjected to, it is most dangerous to misinterpret a healthy dose of constructive criticism for a vicious attack aimed at our failure. That is never the proper interpretation. If true, an attack can be the most welcome source of improvement. If false, it is of no use to you anyway.

This is a long way to say "sticks and stones," and may be obvious, but I think it's important to remind ourself of the reasoning for these things. You can get by in life without ever the need to question another's unseemly motives, as evil as they seem. Their utility is evident in their usage and results. On the unfortunate day they are aimed at your exploitation, it will be the day you have been waiting for.

How Milton Saved Gruffwood

The town of Gruffwood spanned a mile
It sat upon a river isle
And on its banks sat Milton Brown
The smallest, quietest kid in town

There he'd whittle little sticks
Collect great piles of stones and bricks
Every moment he could spare
Without a doubt you'd find him there

Slow, or different from the rest
The folks in town were harsh at best
But he didn't care much what they said
Down to the banks he'd go instead

Reaching up into the sky
His little sticks had piled high
Awkward, crude and on display
He loved each one to their dismay

Then one day the kids from school
Who taunted all who were uncool
Followed to his special place
They threw the sticks and made him chase

"Milton, Milton, you're so dumb
Carve your sticks and cut your thumb
Selfish, selfish, give me one
Let's spread them out for everyone"

Milton hurried all around
Every one they tossed he found
So they threw one in the drink
And Milton dove, without a blink

Swept away, the current strong
The boys and girls, they ran along
But when they reached the island's end
He disappeared around the bend

A busy manhunt then began
They swam, they hollered, climbed and ran
They did not find him but could see
The new and grim discovery

Water rose high on the banks
All around the island's flanks
The ferry broke free in the flood
The isle was sinking fast in mud

Sandbags passed along a line
They prayed the island would be fine
But then the water rose too fast
They feared a breach would take their last

Then while walking in despair
A boy approached poor Milton's lair
Picked up a stick and soon he found
Into its side a number ground

He picked another just to see
And found it numbered differently
When combined he found they link
They fit together with a "clink"

Attaching numbers one through nine
They seemed with ease, to fit just fine
Others who began to grieve
Watched in awe, they couldn't believe

Many joined him in the cause
Each stick was joined with great applause
It stood atop a little ridge
Good heavens, could it be a bridge?

But soon with water on the shelf
The platform wouldn't support itself
A torrent raging just below
Some cried, "we're doomed, the town's too low!"

But then a splash befell the crowd
And then a voice was clear and loud
"The stones, throw them out you see
A great support it's meant to be"

All joined in and picked a stone
And to the river each was thrown
Not one boy or girl stood
Each brought the biggest one they could

Kerplunk the stones plopped caked in sand
And dropped atop the pile grand
Until they broke the surface when
The bridge was built right over them

When the last from town had crossed
Beneath the current, island lost
They searched, but Milton couldn't be found
Carved in a rock placed on the ground

"Remember Mr. Milton Brown
His bridge saved Gruffwood, all in town
He left no note, not even bones
What's left of him are sticks and stones"

Happy Sunday

A calm December Sunday morning sans Vikings game. I enjoy some coffee and maybe some toast and play with Penny for a few moments. The day is open to spend however I please. On a day like this one could almost forget their hard earned money is being frittered away to relieve lending institutions that engaged in fraudulent practices. It hardly crosses my mind that the government is fleecing regular people to protect the interests of the elite private financial system. No, on a day like today one can just sit, relax, and forget that the value of their home has dropped tens of thousands of dollars because unsavory lenders knew they had a safety net of taxpayer dollars when their illegal, predatory behavior finally threatened the economic system as a whole. I'll just put my feet up, sit back, and take a deep breath to savor the same air enjoyed by all the well-intentioned public servants doling out my retirement to the well dressed gentlemen who might need it to over tip the friendly flight attendant on their private jet.

Maybe I'm wrong, and it is a day to think about these things. Maybe it's a good day to grab some face paint, put on a head dress and peacefully chip in to take our country back.

Carol

Carol walked onto her porch to find a package had been delivered. It was bright orange with a note. "Herein lies the secret to the meaning of life. Open and it will disappear." She picked it up, brought it inside, pondered opening it, but decided not to. She placed the box on her mantle.

There it sat, for years. On her mantle. "Open me, open me" it screamed every time her eyes were drawn to it's blaze orange wrapping paper. Finally, one day she gave into her curiosities and opened the box. Inside she found a note. It said "wasn't this more fun before you knew?"

Descent

<
Evergreens adorn the path,
and browns, and teals, and pinks.
I reach a giant chocolate cone,
and save it for a rainy day.
Its weight and promise a wash.
Crossing bows are over head,
I swing from one but climb instead.
It begs me higher to the top.
I drop before the way is clear,
Onto a giant fuzzy battle caterpillar.
>

Yay, Christmas is back

How is it even possible that this is still an issue? How it it possible that his was ever an issue? Have we really solved all of the real problems? I know, by mentioning it I'm perpetuating it, but again, I wouldn't speak if I didn't think I had a valid point. And it's this or nothing right now anyway. Hey. Jackasses! Stop using the 'war on Christmas' as an excuse to victimize your neocon bible thumpin' self-righteous sheeple. Can't you just go back to popping pain meds and molesting alter boys like the rest of your hypocritical brethren and stop telling us what to think?

I don't care if the word Christmas is outlawed, I'll use it with the same casual disregard for the Jewish, Muslim, or whatever. There is absolutely nothing that the media can do to make me change my whimsical, shameless, unconscious use of the word. They can't make me enunciate it differently. They can't make me scream it or whisper it. If someone takes offense, it ain't my problem. That's what it is to me, and that's all that matters. End of story. Sometimes I call fun bags knockers. Sometimes I call Dweezle a one-eyed trouser snake. I've even called the Penny a wicked, self-loathing poltergeist. If the meaning is misinterpreted, I'm not sorry. End of problem. Go fix your petty, shriveled pea-brained priorities and leave me alone. Learn to not care about the insignificant. When you do they've won. Oh, and Merry Mother F****** Christmas.

Memo

You can compel a man to refuse unlimited wealth as successfully as asking him to refuse falling in love. This is a certainty, and it is how we have negotiated the course of history. It has provided the machine that keeps us on track. No doubt wealth can cause as much misery as love when handled improperly, but love is beyond understanding, so we focus on wealth. It provides us a tool for damage control in a global society that seems determined to destroy itself. By managing the distribution of wealth responsibly, we are humanity's greatest weapon against tyranny and abuse of power.

Be thankful we are its masters and not the throngs of unsavory individuals who claw each other's backs on the way to the top. We cannot change what motivates them any more than we can control their methods. We can only steer the carat this way and that. The free world depends on choice, so we must continue to give them the illusion that they have it. This is how we do business. This is how we advance human prosperity, and do it according criteria beneficial for everyone. We give order to the world and only ask it to return the favor.

The Senorita

What is truth? Is there such a thing?

The senorita opens her eyes to the early morning sun, which speckles through tiny holes in the siding. She stretches, rubs her eyes, and walks outside onto the beach where the white waves rumble against the sand. Droplets of dew still glisten off the cool grass. She approaches a yellow wildflower, holding it in front of her nose. She smiles, plucks it from the ground and gently places it into her hair. She closes her eyes, opens her hands at her sides and enjoys the light breeze on her palms.

Is there truth in it?
I have no idea.
There's truth in this - I shall now be beerd.

Book Report: Grapes of Wrath

Well, movie report. I saw the Grapes of Wrath last night with Henry Fonda. I was in the retarded English class in high school so this was my first exposure to the story. Being set in the Great Depression, this one contrasts nicely with Lord of the Flies. It is similar in that it speculates on the nature of man, but is many orders of magnitude bolder in its approach - having the courage to propose our nature within a historical setting, which will inevitably be studied and understood with greater accuracy in the future. That shouldn't, however, distract from the desperate circumstances the Joads were exposed to, which, by all accounts, were understated by Steinbeck for the sake of clarity. What can we learn from the Grapes of Wrath story, and how do we interpret it today given the wealth of information available to us on the subject.

Tom Joad is released from prison on parole after four years (for manslaughter) and meets Jim Casy, a former preacher Tom remembers from his childhood. Unsure of himself and the circumstances Jim no longer feels qualified preach. Together they walk to Tom's childhood home a few miles away to discover it abandoned, so they continue to his uncle John's place a few miles away. Tom finds his family's farm has been ravaged by the dust bowl and repossessed. Forced off their land, the family has packed a truck with all their belongings. All of their hopes are staked on California, where they hear there is work for grape pickers.

Along the way they meet crowds of others forced of their land who are also seeking a better life in California, responding to the same advertisement. They hear the need for pickers is a myth - that too many adds were printed. Grandma and grandpa die on the way. Still, they have no choice but to continue.

Upon their arrival they find no work. Indeed, many others had seen similar adds and flooded California in desperation. With oversupply of labor, the corporate farmers are able to hire workers for pennies on the dollar. Conditions are terrible. When the workers form a union and strike, violence erupts causing Jim's death and Tom to kill again. Tom escapes, but is now an outlaw easily discernible by a scar on his face.

The family finds better conditions on a government resettlement camp, but it is underfunded and incapable of providing for all the needy. Being a fugitive, Tom is hunted by the law and must flee to protect the family. He promises to be a tireless advocate for the oppressed.

It the book, according to Wikipedia, Tom's pregnant sister breast feeds a starving man in the book's only non-futile act, showing hope in humanity. (This was not in the movie.)

Okay, so you get the jist. Fortunately, being a tireless advocate for the oppressed, many others have continued along Tom's path and we now know the cause of the Great Depression, and thus the main factors contributing to the oppression.

Whether you side with those giving the Monitarist explanation or the Austrian School's explanation, public debt and policies of the U.S. Government and Federal Reserve encouraged the recession to spiral into a depression. Roosevelt's New Deal prompted an increase in corporate taxes, which starved employers for cash, limiting employment and raising prices. Irresponsible borrowing followed by empty promises from well-intentioned but short-sighted (vote hungry) politicians turned a recession into massive economic turmoil. Of course, the result was an outcry from the people for help, followed by more action that had an even greater destructive effect.

It is possible that the Joad's were forced from their property from real "act of God" strife. A natural disaster such as the dust bowl can have serious consequences, and there is no doubt individuals suffered great hardships. But a nation-wide economic disaster was not a result of the dust bowl, nor was it a direct result of the stock market crash. It was the result of abuses of power, misguided economic meddling, and government involvement by individuals who couldn't have imagined the terrible consequences of their actions.

Regarding the Great Depression. You're right, we did it. We're very sorry. But thanks to you, we won't do it again.
-Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke to Milton Friedman on Friedman's 90th birthday

Fortunately, we now have a historical textbook case to demonstrate how an economy is destroyed. We also know Grapes of Wrath is a part of the curriculum of many school districts. In High Schools across America, I sincerely hope the book is discussed within its historical context, as a cautionary tale to our young people in order to prevent the conditions that opened the door for such oppression. There is reason to suspect otherwise.

As for Steinbeck, ending the book with the woman breast feeding a starving man is a relief to me (as I really like Steinbeck). It demonstrates the amazing capacity for individuals to help one another when given a chance to do so - even under the most awful conditions. As the book says, the people will go on. I believe we will, despite the invisible powers that continue to bleed us of our prosperity. We will not fail because of our inexhaustible compassion for one another as individuals.

Bottling and Names

I woke up and bottled a bunch of beer this morning. Coming down from what happened to be, for many reasons, an hectic and bewildering week it was nice to just sit and watch the bottles slowly fill, one after another. Tasting was required so I ended up having a hearty liquid breakfast. I'm not complaining, and probably won't start until well after the Vikes game.

I still haven't decided on a name for my company, despite some excellent suggestions. Here are some other possibilities. (I've extended the requirements to include celestial bodies).

Penelope Publishing (Penny's full name)
White Dwarf Press (is this racist?)
Supermassive Books
Tankard Press
Red Shed Books

Thoughts? So hard. Brain tired.

The Sisters

Welcome to the underground. This bunker is deep beneath the mountain and surrounded by a cavern of wires, dials, buttons and monitors. Situated in the center is a magnificent garden lush with brilliant flowers and coconut palms fed with light from the Bennett generators and water from the underground springs, that sprinkle from above patting the large leaves. In a quiet moment a great waterfall pounds, almost imperceptibly in the distance. There is also an orchestra of birds unlike any from the overground. It is a peaceful place, undisturbed by the perils above. Here the nine sisters gather each day to work.

The forum is surrounded by white pillars and flowing drapes. This afternoon was like any other. Poly walked from behind the marble podium and approached the front row of seats, calling the meeting to order. Cleo rushed in late and took her post at the laptop, collecting herself and nodding that she was ready. The day's topic was happiness, but that is all we were told. There is great bustle in the mousaion these days, so the sisters are still a bit anxious from the morning shift. We could tell they were delighted with the subject, having covered sadness, anger, and loathing all in the same week. But this was a subject of scarcity in their line of work, and proceeded with apprehension. The language they use is exotic and inpenitrably cryptic by anyone but the sisters. Even "L'il Red" the ubiquitous supercomputer surrounding us cannot decipher it. We only know their results, and neither their methods nor motives. We only know they are helping.

It is reasonable to assume the discussion began with the most precious segment of the overworld's resources, the children. The sisters are diligent with the children, who, because of their mere inconsequence, are relatively safe. But, to their great stress, happen to be devastatingly receptive and relentlessly mischievous. Such great care is taken that they are seldom dealt with directly, usually only through a teacher or parent. In a case of extreme precociousness, they have been known to do their work in the opposite direction, but this is an anomaly, and hardly worth mentioning. Incidentally, even more exceptionally rare and equally as precious, is an individual we call the firewalker.

This individual is the ultimate embodiment of the conscientious open mind, a contradiction so profound only the most resilient, audacious and self-aware can achieve it above a certain age. Fortunately for the sisters they are often disregarded by the population of the overworld as inconsequential, even nutty. Additionally, while self-aware, they have no idea they are indeed a firewalker. Another contradiction infinitely frustrating to the sisters. But, beyond their irresistible curiosities, they are of particular concern. Their behavior, although harmless, can appear to be so profoundly and senselessly mischievous that there is sometimes a genuine concern about who is in charge (although the sisters have been known to play games with each other using these individuals - which is strictly forbidden.) Most importantly, the sisters must protect them. Their rarity and influence make the firewalker the overworld's most valuable resource, and although strong, their will can be broken by the careless and ignorant. There is hope for the overworld because of them. I'll let you know if we see any.

Anyway, I digress, there is much to see in Helicon.

Watch it

now

(Props to Michaela for prompting me to dig this up. It brought a smile to my face after a long day).

Goliath

RYAN! Read this one. It was a beautiful, sun-drenched day when the markets capsized. There were just too many defaults - not just in the sub-prime market, but everywhere. We all spiraled into a recession of unprecedented magnitude. All was sacrificed to save the banking system itself, which had the effect of lowering the value of the dollar to about 1 cent.

I asked for a raise that day - 10,000 percent to keep up with the cost of living. I didn't get one, so I quit. There was a general rent increase of 10,000 percent. They stopped paying. Their owners couldn't pay the mortgage as a result.

Here is what went down: The collapse of the system was caused by an extension of what had been happening for quite some time. There are three main players in this game (forgive the biblical references, but this disaster was of biblical proportions):

• Big banks "Goliath"
• Medium Banks "Building and Loan"
  
• Mortgagees (owners) "David"
  

See, the Building and Loan banks owned all these loans but couldn't collect their debts in order to pay back Goliath. Goliath forgave the debts of the Building and Loan banks (a bailout). But, the Building and Loan banks continued to collect payments from David. They had no choice - they needed to stay in business. But that doesn't seem fair to David, does it?

It isn't. And more, it was actually the federal government who gave it to Goliath to bailout the Building and Loan banks. So, David is also paying taxes to fund Goliath's bailout. Again, no choice. David must to pay his mortgage to house his family and pay for puppy chow. He also must pay his taxes. So David is now struggling to pay the Building and Loan banks because the bailout increased the money supply causing inflation. The price of everything went up. The value of the dollar went down. His tenants stopped paying rent. His house went into foreclosure. He refused to leave. With rent so high there was nowhere to go.

What happened next was this. The Federal Reserve, in a last ditch effort to avoid disaster, decided to continue lowering interest rates. Adjustable rates had already been frozen so folks could continue to squeeze out payments (which failed to help). This all served to perpetuate the illusion that the system was intact. But, without gold backing, the dollar was actually facing imminent collapse. Suddenly, when people realized what was going on, all debts were forced to be forgiven for everyone at once! No Choice! (The truth hurt for many - some well groomed puppies starved).

So, in this way we are all Goliath. Every one of us. But we are also all David. And the knowledge of what is going on is David's stone. The sling is the ability to communicate this properly to everyone. Once enough people understand what is going on, the deception will dissolve. Mass outrage. Everyone simply can't continue like this until everyone is taking advantage of everyone else. For the sake of peace itself the people will take back what's rightfully theirs, and much turmoil will ensue while this happens. After this we will live once again in a free world - a world wary of Goliath's return.

The ones benefiting from this deception are living in either ignorance or fear. The knowing are increasingly terrified that the people will discover it. The beneficiaries of this delusion include every part of the influential world - mass media, government, wall street - anywhere a buck can be used to take advantage of it. It is truly a battle between the exploiters and the exploited - and the exploited are starting to wake up. Goliath holds the fools gold, and he thinks he makes the rules. But he will soon find that he has underestimated David's will and intelligence and will have pushed his love for peace beyond the event horizon.

What we are dealing with is a plutocracy. The rich happen to be very smart and very capable of sacrificing scruples to rob the rest of us without our knowledge. Often without even their own knowledge. Money isn't the real problem, it's the truth that we are losing! It's the rampant sacrifice of our language that's being lost - the rug of honesty has been pulled out from under us and replaced with a giant piggy bank. The piggy bank of good intentions. With so many sucked into the vacuum of false wealth and influence, those of us clinging to a thread, shoes in the nozzle, are screaming foul while the giant global puppy dog paws at us, calling us uncaring.

Right now truth is at a premium. It's enough to write a long and overly sirius blog about it. (With loathing I have the somber obligation to point out that the use of puppies was purely a demonstration of the core of the problem.)

Hawkins

I absolutely hate to have to perpetuate this news, but I have something to say. And it isn't sensational.

Our newest young mass murderer is now officially famous. He is now quietly thanking the news media from his toasty spot in hell - the eighth circle I believe.

Hasn't anyone discovered the value of selective listening? Haven't we realized no good can come from plastering this guy all over TV and the Internet. The media are indiscriminately whoring themselves out as usual using the public's fascination with psychotic killers. This one even left a "thanks in advance" note, saying he wanted to "go out in style." Enough is enough.

Newsflash for the news. You just slaughtered the next person who happens to be in the vicinity of the next juvenile who decides to "go out in style" and get their giant psychotic face smacked on the front page of every news site. Yes, some people who have decided to kill themselves already consider themselves dead. Those without honor are sometimes ambitious enough to take advantage of their newfound fame incentive, especially if it means mowing down as many unsuspecting bystanders as possible. After all, no one hears about the guy who just hangs himself in his basement - no love for that...The least I can do is go to a crowded shopping mall and snatch my 15 minutes. People will be moved and inspired by that, it's poetry, I can be important - yes, some are inspired - and it isn't a good thing.

And don't tell me gun control has anything to do with this Mr. Moore. Some additional guns in the area could have saved many of those people. Anyway, there are plenty of other ways to engage in mass slaughter using equally creative and accessible techniques, which of course, I do not see the need to detail.

Now there's the rest of us. What is our responsibility? How about thinking about the victims and their families and forgetting about the insignificant wast of human tissue that did it. That person cannot be helped. How about thinking about the people we know who might snap? How about take that five minute news spot and call a buddy who's down?

We always hear pundits and radio hosts telling us how to live and what to think. How come they never encourage us to take a stand and help a friend through something like this? Probably turns out a massacre increases exposure for their sponsors.

The Beanie of Power

Frederick saw it by the side of the road. He could never resist a distraction and stopped to pick it up. It was a delightful, multi-colored beanie. It was the geeky type with a propeller and featured triangles of orange, green, and blue. He thought it amusing to plop it on his head for the bike ride home. As he pedaled it won him a variety of interesting looks, which made him smile. He was an extrovert and shameless slave to novelty. He couldn't have known that his brain was now encased within the perimeter of the glorious Beanie of Power.

Most things with special powers have inherent drawbacks. Like Spider-Man's web or Batman's cape. They really don't allow you to fly - just swing or glide. The Beanie of Power seemed just the opposite, virtually all it had were drawbacks.

Frederick fell off his bike into some grass in a remote field. He was surprised to discover he had gone blind, deaf, mute, and was completely paralyzed. After a minute of this he was not amused; three days later, even less so.

After the initial several weeks of terror wore off he was relieved to discover he felt neither hunger nor thirst. In fact, he felt alright. Then the boredom set it. That lasted about a year.

Eventually he began to feel comfortable with the environment. He began to appreciate the little things - the thought of eating key lime pie...balloons, lemmings, monkeys. These things still amused him, now more than ever, and without any distractions he was capable of giving them his full attention.

A few years later, as he pondered what he believed to be something of some significance he was suddenly very distracted. First the thunder of hearing, then the brilliance of light. He squinted. The beanie had been blown off by the wind. He saw it sailing into the distance.

Frederick resumed his train of thought as he began to pedal. He was less distracted the rest of the way home.

Traffic

It's everywhere these days. On the roads, at work, in my noggin. It all serves to give me the impression I'm traveling through life with my foot on the brake. From the ocean of red in front of me, everyone else seems to be doing the same thing. It's like we are all on this wonderful superhighway at 4 mph and no one seems to know why.

Every once in a while I see something so extraordinarily free from traffic. It reminds me that even when the roads are closed there are still trails to follow around them; that other people have looked at that same ocean of red and refused to follow along; not afraid to ask the questions that need to be asked. These wonderful souls try the improbable, things they know they shouldn't, even the impossible; they try anyway because to live otherwise is not an option.

What's really stopping us from putting our foot on the accelerator? Or why can't we all just have personal helicopters? Submarines? I think we can all agree that these are things that would rock. For now I will follow my slightest whim and see where it takes me. Random acts of harmless silliness, but unlimited possibility, they remind us we are alive.

P.J. Whiskerhausen

"They called it the fountain of life because those who drank from it tended not to die."

Mr. P.J. Whiskerhausen sat, observing the first line of his short story. He slowly crafted an eloquent tale, one that he quickly recognized was horrifically incomplete, even audacious, but couldn't resist. Sentences were added here and there, a patchwork of paragraphs, then pages pieced together; then volumes.

He went mad gradually, over a period of years, and began regularly mumbling incoherent nonsense. He became consumed with his work, and kept it hidden in an impenetrable safe which featured a horrendously complex combination. The safe was locked when he electrocuted himself in the bathtub. The cover page was left loose on his desk. It read "These are only words. They cannot hurt you."

Enlightenment 101

Considering humanity's powerful capacity for misunderstanding it is crucial to recognize the absolute necessity of silliness.

Descent

<
I labor, surrounded in the fog.
Daylight fades, feet riddled with pain.
Somewhere from the gray, a haunting voice.
The invisible song of insanity.
It warms one cheek, chills the other.
I turn, chin against my chest.
Infinite silence fills the rest.
I must resist.
A bead of sweat finds a tear,
and drops gently into the sweet unknown.
>

Social Darwinism

I hadn't heard that term in a conversation until last night. Well maybe once before. I guess I'm still learning the lingo for all this stuff. I guess it's the idea is that Darwin's law of natural selection, survival of the fittest, can be extended to include society.

This is all making me very tired. I'm sure there are a lot of interesting points to be made, but I also recognize the value in wasting my time making them. Placing a toe in the crucible of politics has given me an infinitely greater admiration for poetry, music, brewing and art. In these things lie the hearts of the honest. By challenging the wicked, twisted world of politics, your adversaries assume you are playing by the same rules. I do not have the patience and desire to be mocked and ridiculed for decades like Ghandi or the Honorable Ron Paul. When the war is waged, it is so devastatingly easy to sacrifice principle for politics. Besides, if I really felt strongly about something, I'd compose a kazoo arrangement about it or something.

Maybe Social Darwinism has got the best of me. Love for the advancement of sincerity is still placing your trust in another imperfect human representative (and the one with the most reason to disdain that awful gauntlet). Has the system won when well-meaning people (regardless of orientation) are so terrified of politics that none of them choose to enter? It's just that when the guy holding up the Constitution is the one people are throwing sticks at...aaagh..there I go again. Save me from myself. Oh Hillary, Barak, Giuliani - save me from myself I know nothing compared to you NOTHING. Take my paycheck away. No, no, no. stopitstopitstopit. LIE TO ME AND TELL ME IT'S OKAY LALALALA!

Anyway. Maybe life is politics. Maybe the conversation is intended to continue indefinitely. Maybe a conscientious person is taking the noble route when they open themselves up to attack. I'm not directing this to anyone in particular. I'm just lazy tonight. Letting the fingers roll. I do enjoy being lied to occasionally. Tell me I'm sane. I will not believe you, but I enjoy it.

Sean

As a fierce proponent of any honest opinion, the following was contributed to my blog by Mr. Sean.

"What responsibility do we have to mankind? Do we owe those who are otherwise unable to provide for themselves the chance to even begin the process? Some would argue that to do so would somehow cheat them out of what is rightfully theirs. Their motives are understandable. We all want to lay claim to what is ours, and when the someone (or some institution) takes it away, we become upset. Alas, let me appeal to the selfish side of humanity to make the case for helping others.

Imagine if we could just give the unfortunate the little boost they needed to make a better life. Instead of wallowing in their poverty, they themselves would be able to not only start the process of providing for themselves, but also start contributing to the success of other underprivileged. Perhaps philanthropists could take care of it all. The truly rich could spare a few dollars to help those out. But, there are too many for that. We all need to toss a little into the hat to make it work. When everyone contributes, albeit a little bit, we all succeed.

If that's true, why do we still have poor citizens in our liberal, "bleeding" country. Because no government or social structure is perfect. We will never achieve the utopia that we seek. But, that's not the point. The point is to try. The value is in the journey, not the destination. If we all keep trying, the best we can ask for is to help as many as we can.

"Wait, I thought you were going to appeal to my selfishness to make your point?" Sorry, sometimes I get caught up in feeling bad for other people. Well, it comes down to this. Our system, as imperfect as it is, only works if ALL of us help. In fact, that's the only way it can be affordable.

No one WANTS to see their hard earned money go to do things they can't see. But, I imagine we would feel the effects of not contributing to the "good of the whole" a lot more acutely."

My response:
I removed my previous whimsical response. It was dark and sarcastic, and when talking about such important issues there is no place for sarcasm - or any twists, spins, or attacks. I just found the above so preposterous. Its trite and dangerous assumptions left no hope for a reasonable and timely answer. (This exchange was during a social gathering.) No one is going to read this, so I won't bother, but I am simply amazed that individuals, very bright and thoughtful individuals that I respect, can accuse me of not feeling bad for people. Is someone excused from making such an accusation just because politics is involved? How many times does it need to be said that we need to base our decisions and arguments on results and not our intentions. I can weep rivers for the poor and it will not help them. Please appeal to my intellectual side, leave out the attacks, and I very much look forward to another reasonable discussion (as we've had many).

2/3/08 Let the record show that I may have misinterpreted Shawn here. While discussing these issues I often fail to illustrate the subtle differences between my positions and those of heartless bastards. It's easy to forget how often sound principles are expressed and applied in inappropriate ways. It is true that the concept of individual liberty is sometimes used as a justification for socially irresponsible behavior. I believe the preservation of individual liberty and its key role in virtually any personal success requires philanthropy. As a matter of fact, the folks who disagree are the ones who have, through irresponsible behavior, turned a voluntary tax system into one of coercion in the first place.