Collin's Choice

Collin looked through the glass at the silver coils and various colored offerings. Ziplers, Spleed-its, and his old stand-by, animal crackers, sat side-by-side. They all looked appealing. He could almost already see the coil turn around the bag of animal crackers, pushing it forward to drop against the floor with a crunchy, wrinkled plastic thud. He loved that thud. He held the two quarters in his doughy hand. Famous Ramous cookies, Blickers... The break room was quiet and empty, but there was muffled shouting from the meeting room next door:

"The color of the bag means everything damnit! Look at this data. Look at it! Red and yellow equals hunger, and hunger equals sales. The stats don't lie. Our testing has concluded that customers approach the vending machine, look at the red packaging, and experience hunger, then they buy..."

Collin held the first quarter half way into the slot, not quite ready to commit to his purchase.

"Gentlemen, do you know who pays your salaries? That's right. Overweight, overworked cube zombies drooling for a sugar fix. I don't care if his artwork belongs in the Louvre, if it doesn't suck quarters from pockets and into those coffers, we don't have any use for it. Read the data. Red and yellow damnit!"

The quarter dangled in limbo. Collin thought about his morning, carefully polishing the final hue of his design.

"And what the hell is this shit? Abstract art? Maybe I need to remind you that I don't care about your department's depth of artistic talent. I care about the smiles on our shareholder's faces. I care about your own damn 401ks and pensions. If yellow alone means one extra bag of Rimplies gets sold for every hundred, as the data reads, I don't care if my three year old designs it with finger paints."

Collin listened to the shouting, knowing they were discussing his project. As its designer, he had barely slept the past three days finishing the work for the proposals. "Ribbed Rimplies" was his first solo project, and he was determined to impress management...he barely heard his middle manager's meager voice respond to the executives...

"Sir, I'm sorry for the mix-up. Based on the positive sales figures for Round Rimplies, his previous project, you expressed interest in granting more freedom to Collin. He must have..."

"I didn't ask for Picasso. By 'freedom,' I expressed my confidence that Collin would properly interpret the fucking data and know that it was his responsibility to put square blocks in square holes. This isn't rocket science and it definitely isn't art class. He should know the formula by now."

He hardly noticed the quarter slip from his hand and fall into the coffer. It splashed the lake of quarters inside. He had grown paralyzed by the exchange next door. The project manager continued...

"Now march right back to your nice new corner office and do what I pay you to do. Tell Collin to reserve his talent for the county fair and get back to work on a feasible design."

"Yes sir."

A stream of footsteps emanated from the meeting room. Collin emerged from his daze and stared again at the bright packaging in front of him: Round Rimplies, Red Rimplies, Rhubarb Rimplies. He shook his head, then slowly lifted the second quarter to the slot and dropped it in. He pressed two buttons on the keypad to nudge the bag over the edge, then reached through the door to retrieve his animal crackers. He would need the energy. It was going to be another long evening.

The Implant

It's installed much like the regular implants you received at birth. All the standard ones are basically little artificial computers affixed to brain tissue. As you know, these permit modern humans to do all the everyday things required to live in civilized society: see infrared, hear in ultrasonic frequencies, and so forth. They allow you to control the advanced muscle fibers throughout your body and resolve complex mathematical formulas instantly and intuitively. Without all these enhancements you would be a pathetic creature indeed, barely able to run 10 miles per hour, and then, only for short distances. You would certainly not be able to resolve the real-time calculations necessary to navigate our hypersonic transportation network. Much less. For what tiny bio-chemical power you had you would require a constant supply of oxygen and water, and would be dependent on regular intake of mildly toxic organic matter for sustenance, often including animal tissue. Barbaric animals we once were. As you know, we have put all these things behind us. Even the most basic implant packages installed into society's poorest infants provide enough power for complete and perpetual autonomy. When we replaced the prison of biological metabolism with permanent and abundant bodily energy, we essentially gained complete control over our human condition. Forgive the history lesson, here. It's just part of the 'standard enlightenment protocol.' Well, alright, look, I'm not going to waste your time. You know all this. I'll skip to the last page here. Ahem... This was only the natural, inevitable result of the prehistoric 'awakening' that somehow adorned humans with consciousness and intellect thousands of years ago. We have assumed total responsibility for this awakening, and have become nothing less than masters of our destiny. The physical universe, including our own biology, has been conquered. Now we, the reasoning race, volunteer this final upgrade to free humanity from its only remaining malady.

Your unique, undifferentiated stem cells have been cultured with the latest nanotechnology in a slurry of neuron-enriching fluid. For you, and the entire human population, we have grown a specially-engineered supplementary perfrontal cortex. This implant is anticipated to be the last one required from human science. After installation, it will grow interconnecting neurons, which fuse with your current organic brain tissue. These implants are unlike those of the past...

Former intellect-enhancing implants have permitted hyper-intelligence, which allowed humans to take control of the physical universe. After the introduction of these implants, we first became conscious of the nature of our capabilities. We escaped Earth and terraformed other planets. Escaping our solar system, we conditioned our bodies to consume resources of foreign worlds for survival. We learned to adapt to virtually any atmosphere, breathe methane, endure extreme temperatures, and convert minerals to biological energy. Then, as implant technology improved, we almost spontaneously achieved the ability to engineer perfect solar systems with a virtually unlimited supply of ideal, Earth-like planets. The population of humanity became limited only to the amount of matter available in the universe that could be transformed to hospitable environments. As we had perfect ability to arrange atoms, and manufacture elements in any way we needed, all we required was actual matter itself to provide for billions of idyllic worlds. This, of course, is the history of our present condition, having every existing subatomic particle under our complete command at all times.

The question has often been asked...where do we go from here?

The implant that is about to be installed will free you from the last remaining ailment...from perfection. It will remove you from the idyllic conditions of our current universe and place you back into an environment of perpetual challenge. It will temporarily deactivate your other neural implants and introduce you into a simulation of the most intellectually fulfilling time from our history...the very first years of our breakthrough into technological sufficiency. You will experience life on the original seed planet, Earth, at the dawning of our time. You will experience every moment, from infancy to old age, as if you were a frail, organic being in the 21st century. You will live this thrilling time without knowledge of your true condition, subject to all the severe limitations humans endured at this time. You will experience life as it was before we had gained control, with exposure to true fear, frustration, anger, and happiness. You will experience eating, drinking, and breathing. Unlike your current condition of perfect autonomous control, you will be dependent and surrounded by seemingly insurmountable barriers and limitations. You will sincerely believe you are virtually helpless, just as all humans were at that time.

In order to experience this alternate reality, you must have no distractions from the actual universe. Your commitment will simulate a lifetime from organic birth until organic death. You will have no knowledge of your true condition, as this life could not be truly experienced without all the long-obsolete risks. You will be subject to things you have never experienced, such as real fear and the possibility of death. You will exist in a time with exciting consequences and the long-lost possibility of failure. You will not know your true condition for the duration of the implant's life, which will endure for the exact length of the simulation. It is the only way to ensure authenticity. Rest assured, you will awaken into your perfectly modified self upon completion of the simulation.

This is the final achievement of humanity, and one universally accepted by each member of society. We can make no guarantees regarding your happiness or success, as you will be given free will along with other implant recipients. We can only say that your experience will be authentic.

Congratulations, we are pleased to present your first exposure to life. Please sign on the dotted line and enjoy your simulation. You are welcome to retain all memories of your experiences if so desired upon your return. We hope you have a pleasant life. Please sit back and relax as we install your implant.

Quote of the Day

It seems only fair to remind the reader that intellectual honesty has its dangers; arguments read perhaps at first in curious fascination may come to convince and even seem natural and intuitive. Only the refusal to listen guarantees one against being ensnared by the truth. -Robert Nozick "Anarchy, State, and Utopia"

It seems only fair to also remind the reader that listening indiscriminately, especially to those most forceful about gaining your attention, can also guarantee one will be ensnared by falsehood.

I think it deserves to be added that the truth doesn't envy, or yell, or flag you down and urge you to listen. It doesn't have any need to interrupt your 'reality' television. It doesn't seek to expose itself at all. It doesn't impose, but simply exists for anyone brave and curious enough to discover it. Perhaps the most universal signal of truth is that one must dig to find it. As for listening, if you want the truth, it's probably best to turn one's ear to the quietest voice. Anyway, I get his point. He is saying that he is confident in the integrity and persuasiveness of his material - nothing more than intellectual advertising. It's definitely incentive for reading further. I hope he comes through.

Mabel's Greeting

Mabel pressed the button on the control panel, elevating the top half of the bed so she could recline and open her mail. Today was her birthday, and she happened to have a large stack of letters waiting for her. The nurse, who was seated next to her, tore open an envelope and handed her a greeting card. She took it in her frail hand, inspecting the cover:

For the greatest grandma ever

A shadow of concern fell upon her face. She looked at the nurse for a moment, who encouraged her to open it. She looked back at the card and slowly turned the cover:

On your birthday, I just wanted to let you to know that I am thinking about you, and that you are truly loved.

Your great grandson,
Luke

It was a card from her only great grandson, Luke. Mabel had watched Luke grow from a rambunctious toddler to an enterprising young man. She thought about his straight blond hair and cheerful demeanor. He was always a kind and gentle boy. Mabel held the card in front of her for a moment, and the nurse finally reached for the card to hand her another one. But Mabel was still and vacant. A tear fell down her cheek and she pressed the card with both hands against her chest.

The nurse paused and placed her hand on Mabel's shoulder. "Luke must be a fine young man."

Mabel closed her eyes and nodded her head. After several moments, she looked at the nurse and held the card up so both could see. She turned the card around and pointed to a small insignia in the lower left corner:

A Facebook Greeting®

It was a stock greeting sent to her automatically by the service, as most greeting cards were these days. The nurse looked at Mabel.

"Now, Mabel, just because Luke used a greeting card service to send this to you doesn't mean he doesn't mean it. I'm sure Luke is thinking of you today."

Mabel closed the card and reached into the top drawer of her nightstand. She pulled a stack of four cards and placed them on her lap. The nurse watched as she held one up, comparing the messages.

Great grandmother, you have always been there for me, and on your birthday I want to remind you how much you truly mean to me.

With love,
Luke

"Well, Mabel, isn't that nice. Luke seems to really care about you."

Mabel overlapped the cards so one was folded into the other. Then she slid the inner one up until the signature of both cards was visible, one above the other.

Each signature was in blue ink, which contrasted with the black text above. While it looked as if each could have been signed individually, the signature on both cards was perfectly identical. After comparing the two side-by-side, it was obvious that the signature was printed by the greeting card company.

"Yes, Mabel, Facebook Greeting Company asks all their clients to scan and submit their signature. Then, they print the signature on the interrior of the greeting cards before they send them out. Mabel, it is very likely that he composed this message himself."

Mabel seemed inconsolable. She just looked down at the several cards and slowly shook her head. The nurse continued:

"Mabel, I know that Facebook Greeting Company allows its customers to automatically generate messages based on client and recipient profiles. I know it is possible Luke didn't write this note, or even remember your birthday. But, he certainly spent the time to log you into his friends and family database. And, he certainly filled out a profile that would allow for appropriate messages to be crafted for you. I'm sure Luke is a busy young man, Mabel."

Mabel slowly reached into her drawer again, pulling a yellowed piece of paper from underneath a stack of papers. She held it in front of her so the nurse could see.

In Loving Memory of Luke Anderson
Born December 23rd, 1985
Died October 2nd, 2006

Interpreting Triangle Top: Moral Philosophy

My hope is that Triangle Top: The Tale of a Troubled Tribe is a book that works on multiple levels. I wanted to provide children a colorful, entertaining story, and deliver parents a depth of meaning that can be applied to many different aspects of the real world (business, politics, economics, society, philosophy, etc.). It is an analysis of a community of highly-specialized creatures dependent on each other to go about their daily lives. I think this is rather similar to our actual, real-world condition. If any truth exists in the story, it will accurately represent one or more aspects of our experience as members of a family/company/state/society or any group situation. Since moral philosophy pertains to all situations that involve groups, the following analysis outlines principles central to its conception and meaning...

Trumples represent any material thing desired by mankind universally. The closest approximation would be money.

Trumples = Money

Trylicans are severely handicapped monsters dependent on routine and resistant to change.

They always walk in the same direction instinctively. They have specialized skills that allow them to survive by working together. They cooperate out of necessity using the virtual limits of their abilities. John Stuart Mill, the utilitarian thinker says the following of individuals who might be described as "Trylican-like."

"He who lets the world, or his own portion of it, choose his plan of life for him, has no need of any other faculty than the ape-like one of imitation." -John Stuart Mill

Trylicans live perfectly happy lives by depending on routine, tradition, and imitation.

The manner in which the tribe attains the trumples is most definitely utilitarian. First, the Tweeble (the big hopping eye) kidnaps a Twarfer (the walking mouth) and binds him to a tree without his consent. This is a violation of the Twarfer's individual rights. The twarfer responds by twarfing (i.e. screaming). His screams do not fall on deaf ears...

Trollephants (walking ears with arms) are listening. They hear the twarfing and know that Twarfers twarf when they are tied to trumple trees. They are not tall enough to reach the trumples themselves, so they find a Titan (probably by listening for its footsteps) and push the Titan toward the twarfing. The Titan "taps the trunk," and "trumples topple for all the tribe."

In this way, they get quite a lot of utility by binding the Twarfer against his will, depriving him of what some consider his inalienable right to liberty. This makes the Twarfer a slave for the good of the whole. Yet, the tribe could not attain trumples without his twarfing, and compensates for the injustice by feeding (paying) the Twarfer bits of trumple.
Let's discuss whether the Tweeble's actions are justified. First, remember, the Tweeble himself is not free. His (and the tribe's) dependence on the tradition of violating the Twarfer's rights had purpose. It is required to acquire trumples. The Tweeble might argue he was bound to the obligation to tie the Twarfer as much as the Twarfer was bound to the obligation to be tied.

What's the difference? The Twarfer had no choice in the matter. The Tweeble's choice is to tie the Twarfer or do nothing and die of starvation as a result, along with the other Trylicans. Do the ends justify the means?

John Stuart Mill thinks so. Mill believes that not only is the Tweeble justified to tie up the Twarfer, but that he has a moral obligation to do so.

"A person may cause evil to others not only by his actions but by his inaction, and in either case he is justly accountable to them for the injury." -John Stuart Mill

Mill believes the Tweeble would be accountable for the Twarfer's starvation if he did not take action and tie him to the tree. Mill believes the Twarfer's rights are secondary, and the trumply consequences are primary, more than justifying the violation of rights.

Immanuel Kant disagrees with Mill...

"In law a man is guilty when he violates the rights of others. In ethics he is guilty if he only thinks of doing so." Immanuel Kant

For Kant, there is no question the Tweeble would be guilty by law. And, in ethics, the Tweeble would possibly be guilty.

What makes the Tweeble guilty?

He is ethically guilty if he thinks of violating the rights of the Twarfer.

But, remember, Trylicans depend on routine, tradition, and imitation. The Tweeble is not guilty, ethically, if he acts without thinking...in other words, if he acts according to tradition or imitation alone, and is truly unaware of the violation.

Thoughtless adherence to tradition, for Kant, provides somewhat of an ethical safety bubble. Provided one remains in a state of ignorance, utilizing nothing more than their faculty of imitation, they cannot be held ethically accountable. (A blind person cannot be held accountable for committing a crime that requires sight. Manslaughter, if completely incidental and unintentional, is morally neutral).

What if the Tweeble recognizes the ethical problem with his actions? Does he have a practical incentive to change his behavior? No, he has only disincentive. To change his behavior would be a confession of guilt, as his life had been devoted to the abhorrent practice of tying Twarfers. Furthermore, if he is capable of understanding the rights violation, he is also capable of understanding the conditions of his innocence: The answer to the question: "why did you do that?" - no matter how heinous - can always be answered: "because that is the way it has always been done." His simple innocence is plausible.

This is a powerful incentive not to think too much. It is, in fact, much more than that. It is an incentive to arrange one's life so that nothing must be done that has never been done before - to live according to precedence rather than reason. Living in a state of perpetual, thoughtless routine would require unchanging conditions like those the Trylicans enjoyed for their entire experience on Triangle Top. The benefits are profound. This is a recipe for peace, justice, blamelessness, and mutual reward. One might reasonably argue there is a moral obligation to bind one's sense of duty to proven traditions and routine over dangerous and unnecessary new experiences in order to preserve a state of moral purity unattainable any other way.

Conditions, however, are subject to change...

Travis is just like all the other Tweebles, with one exception. He happens to be the first one to identify the cliff (troubling terrain) over which the entire tribe is about to tumble.

He is suddenly, for the first time, unable to appeal to tradition. He observes the physical properties of the cliff and the direction of the tribe's advance. Through reason, which he cannot ignore or deny, he is necessarily bound to the reality that tribe's adherence to tradition will send them tumbling to their deaths. His former rule, that of not thinking, will no longer protect him. He is suddenly compelled to action, which would be justified by two moral theories that are often in conflict:

• Deontological (Kant): Based on the action's adherence to duty, recognizing individuals never simply as a means, but always at the same time as an end.
  
• Consequential (Mill): Based on action that produces a good outcome, or consequence, recognizing individuals as a means to the greatest good for the greatest number.
  

Deontological Reasoning:
Travis' duty is to "turn the tribe from total termination" if he is able. Rescuing the tribe is likely something Kant would consider congruent with the categorical imperative.

"A categorical imperative would be one which represented an action as objectively necessary in itself, without reference to any other purpose." -Kant

But, the Categorical Imperitive has more conditions. Travis must:

"Act only according to that maxim whereby you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law." -Kant (If another Tweeble saw this, they ought to do the same.)

And...

"Act in such a way that you treat humanity, whether in your own person or in the person of any other, always at the same time as an end and never merely as a means to an end." -Kant (Respect the rights of every Trylican, treating them always as ends, and not killing-off any for the good of the whole).

And...

"Every rational being must so act as if he were through his maxim always a legislating member in the universal kingdom of ends." -Kant

Basically, Travis must do everything he is capable of doing to rescue each individual in the tribe out of reverence to duty and for no other reason. He also must do so as if his every action, in his circumstance, he would will to be universal law. And, he must do so with regard for the rights of every Trylican. Tough gig.

Consequential Reasoning
The greatest good for the greatest number depends on Travis doing something. (See Mill's earlier quote on inaction). Travis must prevent great harm, and is quite justified by the harm principle in acting:

"The only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member of a civilized community, against his will, is to prevent harm to others. His own good, either physical or moral, is not sufficient warrant." -Mill

Since every member of the tribe is doing harm to one another, and they can be prevented from doing more harm, Travis has "sufficient warrant" to exercise power over any individual in the tribe against his will.

Incidentally, the former Travis, who was bound to tradition and imitation, has now converted to a thinking creature, which Mill respects and encourages...

"He who chooses his plan for himself, employs all his faculties. He must use observation to see, reasoning and judgment to foresee, activity to gather materials for decision, discrimination to decide, and when he has decided, firmness and self-control to hold to his deliberate decision." -Mill

While one might argue that Travis is obligated to use his faculties, he does choose his plan for himself. Like his earlier choice to continue tying Twarfers after recognizing the violation, he once again chooses against the suicidal option to do nothing. He does have a purely selfish utilitarian justification, as he cannot get trumples without at least one Twarfer, one Trollephant, and one Titan. His own life is also at stake here as it was before.

But, telling the tribe anything is taxing for a Tweeble. Travis, in desperation, ties a Twarfer to a Titan. He is unfamiliar with the responsibility of new knowledge, and ill-prepared to act according to reason. His purpose is communication. He wishes to "transmit the tale" of the tribe's tumultuous trajectory.
He courageously acts, but learns he not only lacks the mouth to communicate, but that the Titan has no way of perceiving the message he is attempting to transmit. He essentially discovers that effective communication with the Titan is not possible. He learns the benefit of trial and error; that we learn from failure.

This action has significance. Since this act does not have precedence, Travis acts outside of the safety bubble of tradition entirely, and thus unequivocally violates the Twarfer's rights intentionally. According to Kant, this action is certainly a moral crime. It would be a crime according the law as well.

Mill also seems to reject the moral worth of this action, since its consequences seem not to be helping.

It seems that we have agreement here: Tying the Twarfer to the Titan was not the right thing to do...

The chaos of the entanglement demonstrates the shock and confusion of many traditional beings simultaneously being exposed to something different. Anything other than tradition, for a Trylican, is a dangerous force separating them from their treasured trumples. They instinctively clump together, expecting, in vain, to acquire trumples from one another. The productivity and advancement of the tribe is slowed. (The slowing down the tribe was a detail that had to be cut from the text of the printed book.)

Those who interpret the story as espousing only the merits of cooperation did not observe how misled cooperation motivated them to participate in the fruitless pursuit of extracting trumples from each other in a senseless mob. The simple message, "cooperation is good," is also contrary to Travis' next heroic individual effort of dragging a Twarfer to a distant trumple tree...

Realizing he has no means to communicate with the tribe directly, he thinks of an original plan to rescue them. He aims to turn the tribe by using faculties that other members of the tribe actually do possess. He aims to produce twarfing from a trumple tree far away from the cliff. He hopes the twarfing will attract the attention of the Trollephants who will push Titans away from the cliff, thus turning the trajectory of the tribe.

Travis has learned that all original actions must be justified by reason; without precedence, they are not only morally suspect, but potentially disastrous. Reason demands that he respect certain conditions in order to effectively execute his plan. He must act according to the tradition/law/precedence (even if the law is corrupt). He knows that the consequence of rescuing the tribe by acting contrary to tradition would have the effect of justifying action other than acquiring trumples. The tribe depends on acquiring trumples for its sustenance, and also depends on imitation and tradition. Whatever Travis does, he suspects it will be imitated. As a Tweeble, he has only one choice. He must turn the tribe by tying Twarfers to trumple trees. There can be no alternative but death.

This is the first time in the story any Trylican does anything autonomously, that could be sincerely willed to be universal law, and treats others also as ends in themselves. According to Kant, Travis' trek to the distant trumple is the first truly moral act perpetuated by any Trylican.

Travis' course of action is also a moral act according to Mill, assuming rescuing the tribe is an end worth pursuing, and passes the test of whether the means justify it:

"All action is for the sake of some end, and rules of action, it seems natural to suppose, must take their whole character and colour from the end to which they are subservient. When we engage in a pursuit, a clear and precise conception of what we are pursuing would seem to be the first thing we need, instead of the last we are to look forward to. A test of right and wrong must be the means, one would think, of ascertaining what is right or wrong, and not a consequence of having already ascertained it." -Mill Utilitarianism

Travis uses imitation to his advantage. Since his actions are consistent with the tradition of tying Twarers, other Tweebles (those not paralyzed with despair) are comfortable coming to his aid. There is a possibility the imitating Tweebles comprehend the significance, and if so, could be acting morally as well.

Despair takes hold of Tweebles as they tie the twarfers. They cry, causing a great big mess.
Neither Mill nor Kant make a case that crying is an indication of moral worth. Folks are regularly affected to tears for trivialities, vain reasons, or possibly no reason whatsoever. (Of course, for the gravest reasons as well). I added this based on my observation that crying in the face of danger adds to despair, making conditions more hopeless, which adds to more tears. The self-destructive cycle is tragic, harmful, and universal (as we are all susceptible to it). However, to the degree it is a necessary end in itself, and with respect to empathy and emotion that would be willed to be universal law under the circumstances, I do not reject the possibility it is sometimes a categorical imperative. If the flood is interpreted this way, I would not object.

Now the plot thickens. The tribe dangles over the side of the cliff. The action that was previously immoral on both accounts (the tying of Tweebles to Titans) has the consequence of preserving the lives of many Trylicans.

The tears burst over the side in a waterfall, draining the flood, which allows the Tweebles to continue effectively tying Twarfers. Both of these events are completely unintended, incidental, consequences of Travis' plan.

For fun, Trylicans who had been expecting trumples are suddenly bewildered by their unfamiliar condition.

What is unfolding is a series of events that could not have been planned or predicted. Finally, after a tumultuous effort, one Trollephant finally hears the Twarfing and pushes one Titan toward Travis' Tweebles.
The Trollephant is acting according to tradition, but happens to be doing the right thing. Is the moral worth of his action dependent upon whether he can comprehend the nature of the events surrounding him correctly? Is this necessary for the Trollephant's action to have moral worth? We know that it is not enough that the act is consistent with duty, and that it must be carried out in the name of fulfilling a duty. But, he may have sincerely believed that he was fulfilling his duty while getting trumples for the tribe before, even as he was pushing them over a cliff. This suggests that in order for an action to have moral worth, it must be in the name of fulfilling the primary duty (rather than a means to something else), and comprehending the reasons, means, and possible ends for such duty, along with the alternatives. It suggests that reason, thought, and consciousness are required for morality. This contradicts the earlier claim, that thoughtlessness and "binding one's sense of duty to proven traditions and routine...[is necessary to]...preserving a state of moral purity."

Kant calls actions that are means to some end hypothetical imperatives. Therefore, anything done as a means to something else, even actions that aid in turning the tribe from total termination, are hypothetical imperatives that can be judged by their consequences. An action consistent with the categorical imperative is necessary and regarded as an end in itself and not merely a means; it has moral worth regardless of its consequences.

Despite the efforts of the Trollephants and Tweebles to retract the dangling tribe, the "Titans thrashed terribly" and "tens of Trylicans tumbled into the trough of tears below." This is an unintended consequence. Even the best efforts of the Tweebles, Trollephants, and Twarfers couldn't stop the helpless, dangling Titans from excusing themselves and their companions from the safety of the tribe. They act without precedence and not according to reason, but, in this case, panic and fear. They fall into the trough of tears that providence has provided them, incidental to the Trylicans' efforts. The torrent of tears happened to save the unfortunate Trylicans from death.

Remaining Trylicans are pulled to safety, and the tribe toddles toward tremendous tracts of trumples beyond.

The consequence of this tragedy is the loss of some Trylicans into the trough of tears below, and the turning of the tribe away from the cliff. The concluding text points out that "since telling tales was not tradition, all Trylican truths trickled into twilight, never to be twarfed again." In other words, when they eventually reach the cliff on the other side of the Triangle Top, they will probably suffer the same fate because they had not recorded and learned from history. (Tradition does have merit when fused with reason, and learning from history is arguably the most meritorious tradition humans have).

There is significance to the fact that "Travis was tossed into the trough of tears" (although, this is a bit esoteric). The individual who acts according to reason and opposes a popular tradition is an outlaw, and accepts full accountability for the results of their actions (good or bad, they cannot appeal to precedence). The Tweebles' way-of-life is challenged by Travis. Therefore, Travis is tossed into the trough (presumably by the other Tweebles). One could suspect the reasoning for this is utilitarian and two-fold, with one reason exposed and the other secret:

• The exposed reason is that Tweebles need trumple, and generally believe it cannot be acquired without tying Twarfers. Travis' act of tying Twarfers to Titans is contrary to their goals (generally) and not to be imitated in the future. While not exactly a crime, they use this as a scape goat to punish him as an example to the others in order to preserve their trumple-acquiring tradition.
  
• Secretly, they are also threatened by this "tenacious Tweeble" who thinks autonomously. They know they kidnap and assault Twarfers in order to acquire trumples. They fear they will starve without doing so. Yet, rather than defending these actions as necessary, they opt to toss Travis into the trough.

This suggests a popular willingness to kill an innocent Trylican in favor of defending a way-of-life that cannot be justified by reason. It reveals that the Tweebles will not only kidnap and assault to acquire trumples, but also murder (or attempt to murder) even the one who himself turned the tribe from total termination.

While the story had to be ended somewhere (and it's already complicated enough for children), there are finer points that could have rounded-out the message. Given more pages, I might have indicated that all the Tweebles contributed to the tossing of Travis. While any tradition that depends on murder is suspect, the unanimous agreement to toss Travis completely invalidates the last remaining justification for the Tweebles' way-of-life. Their last hope of justification was appealing to the blind, innocent, 'ape-like' imitation that prompted Tweebles to tie Twarfers. Yet, any innocent, imitating Tweeble would certainly not suddenly break tradition to participate in murder. This reveals that Tweebles are not thoughtless, and not dependent entirely upon imitation, but certainly capable of thinking for themselves. As such, if they do think for themselves, and prefer to kill rather than allow their traditions to be subject to scrutiny, they must not believe their traditions are justified.

This scenario should have saved the Tweebles and Twarfers the trouble and allowed them to have a greater sense of trust with one another (proving that, indeed, all Tweebles think). It should have dispelled the fallacy that Tryicans were bound to imitation and lacked reason. It should have been a profound reason to expect wonderful things from fellow Trylicans and emancipated the Twarfers.

Alas, they are Trylicans, not humans, and live in a depraved state of knowing, reasoning, but not having the faculty of communication. Therefore, they will be bound to their hopeless condition forever, only recognizing the fact that the others have reason upon facing calamity.

The story is essentially a critique of strict, traditional fundamentalism and moral absolutism, and I am always happy to discuss it further. Thanks for reading! -Mark

Quote of the Day

What may be the nature of objects considered as things in themselves and without reference to the receptivity of our sensibility is quite unknown to us.
-Immanuel Kant

I hereby award Mr. Kant The Sasquatch Files honorary rank of "Admiral Obvious." This puts him safely higher in rank than "Captain Obvious," a title which has long deserved its due esteem.

Health Care Hilarity

Senate Republicans are proposing a health care amendment "that would require not just members of Congress to enroll in any such plan -- but also the president, vice president, cabinet officials and all political staff."

As a person sympathetic to the health of humans in our country, there is no one more opposed to exposing the sick and injured to the same folks who brought us the housing bubble, the levees surrounding New Orleans, No Child Left Behind, and the multitude of other travesties that derived from empty political promises and departure from the natural economy. I am not in favor of exposing doctors and patients to bureaucrats for even poor folks, because anyone who is performing my brain surgery (or providing coverage thereof) should run the risk of being fired if they screw up. History has shown that people tend to do a better job when they have something to gain by it, and screw up less when they run the risk of getting fired. I am all for the sincere and compassionate mentality behind the public option, but it is really nothing more than the usual - interested politicians and businesses getting together to extract power and money at the expense of the least fortunate.

If everyone in Washington is bound by law to use the public option, there are two possibilities:

1. Government health care will be better than private health care due to legislation and coercion, depriving other health care ending in a government monopoly. (A public enterprise is never able to compete in the real world without money lifted from responsible and productive private companies). In this case, no one outside the Washington circle would be able to acquire decent health care. Perhaps this would force many concerned citizens to claw over more backs to win an office in government, just so they could care for a sick child or treat a debilitating illness.
2. Government health care will be worse than private health care due to legislation that fails to adequately lift funds from responsible and productive companies. In this case Washington will attract less potential candidates who need to care for a sick child or treat a debilitating illness. Also, this would prevent some with certain pre-existing conditions from entering politics altogether.
   

Either way, this scheme basically ends in total folly. And, if the politicians refuse to accept enrollment, what does that say about their confidence? What value are they placing on the lives and health of the poor compared to their own? Remember, they helped create many of these "poor" in the first place.

Cake and Beer

Christians believe eternal life begins after death. Atheists believe life starts and then it ends. Buddhists believe life begins again after death, but then you are a horse or something. Still others believe eternal life begins the moment one finds something worth dying for.

Let's dismiss Christianity for its superstition and Buddhism because it is just plain weird. Let's also clear the air of this paradoxical faith-in-no-God religion that political-minded populist pro-science-power lobbyist ministers call "Atheism." Now, it's just you and your soon to be corpse. Now we can talk about real, actual, death; I mean the kind of physical death we are all going to experience without question at some point in the future. That death allows us to think a bit more clearly on the subject so we can investigate the third position.

"Find something worth dying for?"

What the hell is worth dying for?

I don't mean seven-layer chocolate cake 'die for.' I don't even mean Surly Darkness 'die for.' I mean 'tie me up to a stone in the desert and let the birds pick at my eyes die for.' There isn't enough beer in the world for that, I'm afraid, and certainly not a delicious enough cake.

I've never understood that expression: "to die for." Beer, cake, those are more like things to live for, aren't they? These things are food. They give life. You could probably live on nothing but beer and cake for a long time. Beer and cake could constitute a person's entire sustenance for years, maybe even decades, and is probably not far removed in nutritional value from what some consider the "standard American diet." It probably even beats Culver's, or Taco Bell, but I digress.

What was my point? Oh yes, there are many things to live on. I live on green tea until about noon each day. I live on crab dinners with Belgian tripel. I live on riding my Magna in the summer, canoeing in the wilderness, writing, and wasting time thinking about philosophy. Now, what, if anything, is to die for?

For what would we be comfortable trading our existence?

I'm not saying consciously ending our own physical lives. That would be overkill. This is more of a "hell, I'm gonna croak anyway" sort of question. Yes, I am thinking about this as a consequentialist.

Maybe a good place to start is by looking back at folks who have kicked the bucket.

Let's take a dead person. Let's take Mark Twain/Samuel Clemens, the popular 19th century American writer. We don't need to know anything particular about the fellow besides the fact that he was alive at one time, and is now dead.

As far as we know, Mark Twain is still alive and in hiding. But, let's assume he died in the very real way we all will, and the contents of his skeleton have been picked clean by carnivorous insects.

Could this man prevent his death?
No.
Could this man extend his life?
Not really.

In celestial time, he awoke one day, said "hello world," and then was immediately stomped back into a random, scattered mass of molecules that comprise the surface of our planet.

First of all, the fact that he or anyone is alive in the first place is, in all probability, a statistical anomaly of galactic proportions. Remember, we have cut out superstition here to focus on what we know, and it doesn't look like the universe is teeming with intelligent life. We're just a happy accident.

Let's assume our lives are meaningless...

Or, if they are not meaningless, they are for the purpose of some hyper-intelligent alien civilization. (I'm guessing we are a randomness mechanism in their encryption protocol).

We can't.

Believe that our lives are meaningless, that is.

Stop it.

I do not need evidence.

It is not an assumption feasible by the human brain, or at least any brain of which I am familiar. If you honestly believe life has absolutely no meaning whatsoever, I would be surprised, and would wonder why you are reading this silly entry on the subject. "Don't you have something with even less meaning to do?" Here are some aspects of meaning:

Some meaning we do not choose: "Love ya mom and dad."

Some meaning we do choose: "I think it would be meaningful to write a bit about life's meaning."

Some meaning has truth: "Love ya mom and dad."

Some meaning is in error: "Jesus appeared on my toast because an omnipotent being intervened."

Some meaning is insignificant: "Look! A thing that looks like that other thing!"

Some meaning is powerful: [Obvious factor 12.]

Some meaning we realize: "Playing Russian roulette means I might kill myself."

Some meaning we do not realize: Obituary: "He died like an idiot playing Russian roulette."

Meaning = means.

Means imply ends.

So, what means would be so consequential to justify an end worth dying for?

Anything at all?

Nothing?

I submit that it cannot be nothing.

If nothing, Mark Twain's death and life had no meaning. But, I contend that this cannot be the case. Why? Because I acquired meaning from reading Mark Twain. His existence delivered something to which I cannot remove meaning. Therefore, even if he did not know his writing included meaning, it did. Did he die to write all that stuff? That's not for me to know...

But, he did spend time doing it...

And time is a portion of our limited lifespan...

So, it may as well be said that he lived/died for what he wrote...

Was it worth dying for?

Well, he spent a long time dying...

Many, many years...

And almost all of his dying was exercised relative comfort...

Even pleasure...

Maybe Clemens was prepared to die long before he croaked...

and the rest of his years were gravy.

Smart martyr.

Maybe he considered those bonus years the beginning of his "eternal life."

Who knows?

Maybe that's really all the Christians and Buddhists are really saying, and everything else is just posturing for overflowing collection plates.

Maybe Atheists have purpose and meaning they value more than their lives and live in comfort, free from fear or uncertainty. I am certainly not one to judge.

And with that, it is time for something to live for.

Hm.

Once I decide what that is.

I do not fear death. I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it.
-Mark Twain

The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.
-Mark Twain

Story Time

Hi kids. I'm an author from the neighborhood. Can anyone tell me what an author does?

An author writes stories, right?

And, if an author writes stories, that means a good author writes good stories, right?

Now, can anyone tell me what makes a story good?

Colorful, entertaining, fun, crazy, silly, funny? Yes, all those things. But, is that all that makes a story good?

What else could make a good story?

You can learn something from it, right?

After all, learning is why you're here at school, and learning is something we all do throughout our whole lives. We know that learning is very, very important. So, learning is definitely something that we should make very colorful, silly, and funny, and that's one reason I decided to become an author...because I like to have a lot of fun, and I like to learn, and I like writing stories.

I try my hardest to write good stories, and that means I try to write stories that make learning fun.

Now, real life is not always fun, is it?

Sometimes, real life doesn't seem like much fun at all, right?

And, one reason life sometimes isn't fun is because things happen accidentally.

Have any of you spilled milk before? Raise your hand if you've spilled milk. I did when I was your age.

Were you sad when you spilled the milk? I remember being sad when I did that.

Maybe not everyone in this room has spilled milk, but we've spilled maybe juice, or water, or lemonade, or maybe it was something else you spilled. Or maybe it was another accident altogether.

Well, for now, if you haven't spilled milk, I want you to pretend that you accidentally spilled milk instead of the other mistake you made.

It can be anything at all, even if it is embarrassing. You don't need to tell me what is is. It can be your secret.

You see, as an author, I can use "spilled milk" to resemble any small mistake you have made, because I know that you can use your imagination to understand that what you did that was a lot like spilling milk. This is called a "metaphor." A metaphor is a symbol, so for you, "spilled milk" might be the same as a toy you broke, or a time when you hurt someone's feelings accidentally. All of these are mistakes a lot like spilling milk. Metaphors, or symbols, help authors tell good stories.

Why were you sad when you spilled the milk?

You were sad because you didn't want to be a "milk spiller."

You already know that good authors must write good stories.

You also know that good children drink their milk...they don't spill it, right?

Nobody wants to be a "milk spiller!" (At least anyone who didn't try to spill milk!)

Well, I have a very special secret for you...

Your mom and your dad...

Your grandpa and grandpa...

Your brothers and your sisters...

and every single one of us has spilled milk.

And everyone felt bad about it, just like you did. They didn't want to be a "milk spiller" either. And, those of you that are using your imagination, you know what you were afraid of being called.

Maybe a "toy breaker."

Maybe a "feelings hurter."

I have been those things. Yes, I have hurt my friend's feelings by mistake...

Well, everyone in the world has made mistakes like that too.

But, let's continue to use our metaphor, and pretend that your particular thing is the same as spilling milk. Because, after you do something by mistake, whatever it is, something usually must be done to fix it.

The milk cannot be un-spilled.

Even if we cry and scream and pound our arms, there is nothing that will change the fact that milk has been spilled.

We cannot undo what has already happened.

But, we do have a choice...

After we spill milk, we can either help to make things better, or we can make things worse.

How do you make things better once you spill the milk?

Does crying make things better?

Does screaming make things better?

Does pounding your arms make things better?

No, it doesn't, does it?

What can help make it better?

Well, first, choosing not to cry. Does that make things better?

Choosing not scream?

Choosing not to pound?

Just being calm and thinking about what has happened is already helping, right?

But, there is still milk all over the place, isn't there?

You have already begun to help by not screaming, pounding, or crying. But, if you really want to help more, you can even clean up the milk you have spilled.

That is the best way to make it better.

But, it's not only the best way for you...

It's the best way for the person sitting next to you, too.

It's the best way for me, and for everybody in the world, to clean up the milk they have spilled instead of crying, screaming, or pounding. This was true thousands of years ago, and it will be true thousands of years from now. Does everybody agree that this is true?

It is. And we know that because we all have reason. Reason is another requirement for an author.

While we need to use our imagination sometimes to pretend "spilled milk" is actually another thing that we did by mistake, reason tells us, without needing any imagination, that it is best to help clean up our messes and fix what we have broken when we are able.

Authors must use reason, because everyone who likes stories has reason.

So, reason is definitely a requirement for a good author.

How do I know that cleaning up spilled milk is always the best thing to do in every case?

I don't.

No one can really know that.

But I do know that...

1. When I see someone spill milk, it isn't fair that another person has to clean it up. And...
2. Because I know that, I know that I should clean up the milk I spilled.

Do you clean up milk you spill yourself because I tell you? No.

Because your teacher tells you? No.

Because your parent's tell you? No.

Because anyone says so? No.

You do it because you have reason, just like everybody else in this room. And if you didn't before, now you do. You do it because you know you ought to do it.

When I was little I spilled milk, and then I cried instead of cleaning it up. Then I learned why we clean up our own spilled milk, and have tried to do this ever since...for spilled milk or any other mistake I have made. (And as I grew up, and make more mistakes, and did my best to fix them, I saw how important this habit was.)

Now, imagine your brother, sister or friend spills milk. Then, they don't clean it up.

Now, they may be too young to have reason, and in that case they may need your help. You may need to teach them reason yourself, because the earlier someone learns it, the better.

But, if they are older, and they have reason, sometimes they may not clean up the milk they have spilled.

Why is that?

Why wouldn't someone clean up their own spilled milk, or fix something they broke, when they have reason?

There can be only one reason.

Because they need your help.

Maybe the glass was so big, and there was soooo much milk, that just one person could never clean it up. Or, maybe this person got hurt when they spilled the milk, and are unable to clean it up. In that case, they may need a lot of help. And, there may be other reasons too...

Every author, including me, has made many mistakes...has spilled milk. And, that makes me a lot like each one of you. Sometimes an author like me writes stories as a way to clean up the milk he has spilled. Other times, an author writes stories to help somebody else clean up milk they have spilled. And other times, an author writes stories just for fun.

I write stories because I learned that crying, screaming, or pounding will not help clean up spilled milk. But, there is another secret that authors know...

And that is...

Cleaning up spilled milk is actually more fun than anything else.

And now, it's time for our story...

Technically Speaking

Technical writers are technically not just writers. They are interpreters, translators, communicators, and psychologists. Decent ones are also psychic and prescient. As such, I lament that I cannot hope to be even a decent one...

Although I am not a very good technical writer, I believe I can reasonably identify the results produced by one. Looking back upon the career of what would be the most successful example, I predict something like the following would be said...

"Mr. X delivered all his content in a concise, entertaining and seemingly effortless fashion. His readers found his material so appealing that learning was mysteriously converted from a chore to an irresistible obsession through his pen. Technical hurdles were not confronted, but dissolved as participants absorbed mountains of interrelated technical constructs in hypnotic fashion, not realizing the uncanny transfer of knowledge. He empowered the world with faculties never before imagined. The collective human capacity increased exponentially as a result of his eloquence. Hunger, war, corruption, violence, and all ailments that once contributed to human suffering were dispatched with fluency in his wake. The world we live in now, with its enlightened and mysterious glow of transcendent bliss, can be almost entirely attributed to the work of Mr. X. Once exposed to his contributions, no soul can return to their former depraved existence, and virtually all now share in the endless bounty of life, love, and happiness.

Yet, we never knew who Mr. X actually was. In fact, we cannot explain or even identify what he actually wrote, as his work was generally not signed. We can only identify his writing by the one characteristic..the mark of authenticity: that everything he wrote is so familiar and seemly that upon exposure we instantly believe that we already knew it. This poses a conundrum for most: how do we discern between the abilities he delivered to us, and those we discovered on our own?

There are a few with capacity to separate those concepts learned from Mr. X and those obvious to them before. This quiet minority still defends Mr. X against his assailants; the masses who attacked him for his efforts. How could anyone antagonize Mr. X, you ask? It is quite easier than you might think. While opening doors, Mr. X also revealed new ones that exposed dangerous complexities. By revealing the nature of our existence, Mr. X brought many proud souls to their knees in frustration, horrified to observe aspects of nature they had so long concealed. Many would not accept the responsibility of the truth, shielding their eyes from the empowering language before them, terrified. Many, ill-prepared for authority over their own lives, could only recoil to the shadows, perpetual victims. Still others refused to acknowledge his submissions altogether, and roamed in a meandering stupor of ignorance and confusion, unconsciously begging for meager scraps that they could neither assemble nor digest. Many were easily assimilated by the terrified. What Mr. X offered, while true, was not popular to a powerful minority who tended to occupy far less than they believed, and had far more to gain than they were capable of imagining. To absolve their fear, Mr. X was compromised materially and physically; two aspects of his existence that were of little value of him compared to the value he placed on his offerings for posterity. It is quite curious that, as a technical writer, he seemed not to have objectives beyond technical writing itself. Few today engage in this trade for amusement.

But was it only for amusement? His motives were mysterious and uncomfortable. He seemed not to write for income or esteem. The removal of fear was not his goal, as his writing did far more to provoke than relieve it. For what sake he acted is mysterious. A man without chains is threatening by nature. We confront one with nothing to lose as we confront a suicide bomber itching for destruction. How do we negotiate with one as comfortable with death as life? What truth can there be in his words? What can we have in common with such a figure? We take comfort and delight in he who can be bribed, rewarded, or punished. Mr. X, while qualified as a technical writer, was lacking in these most important worldly skills...

So today, after the conclusion of Mr. X's short and miserable life, we tip our hat to the technical writer who gave us everything we have. We also blame him for all of our problems and we scorn him for not giving us more than he did. Indeed, only a cruel heart can have such power and yet leave worldly suffering intact. Most importantly, we accuse him of exposing truth about the nature of some things we might have rather left hidden. For that, he may never be forgiven. I conclude by insisting that Mr. X's words be attacked until the end of time, or until they are refuted, whichever comes first."

Jenny

Both of Jenny's young children died in a tragic auto accident. After attending the funeral she spent two days in bed. Jenny finally crawled to her computer to check her email. Her Facebook account was still open. She reviewed the first five status updates:

"Just finished making 3 huge batches of baby food: carrots, papaya and apple sauce. Mmmm."

"13 weeks- ONE (emphasis on the one) healthy baby thus far. Halleluiah!"

"Oops...I think mom forgot to clean between his toes!" [w/picture]

"John had his 9 month check up today. He has 8 teeth, weighs 18 lbs and is doing great!"

"Our little man has officially outgrown his car seat! Well, looks like we won't need to buy another one after all!!"

Justice

I'm currently enduring a Harvard philosophy course with Michael Sandel called "Justice." (Thank you Michaela). I encourage all of you to join me. While I have actually read most of the literature before, I have never had it wrapped up in a context like this. I am perpetually astonished to discover my persistent stupidity. How can I be confident enough to believe anything at all after watching some of my most dear assumptions beaten, sliced, twisted, and deep fried into an ill-defined fog of half-certainty. I learn that ideas I previously rejected had been half-understood. Now, trying to incorporate a few of them back into my clean universal construct requires heavy restructuring. What will this thing end up looking like? Will I end up with the philosophical understanding of a despotic tyrant? I hope not. I can't know. It's uncertainty on a stick.

So, I have taken a reductive approach, eliminating only the most obvious fallacies. Here are three beliefs I once had that I am now convinced are false...

• Stevie Ray Vaughn is a god.
  
• Intellectuals who died before the 1960's have nothing to contribute to the shiny new world of iphones and nitrogen widgets.
• I do not exist.
  

Eliminating these things from the pool of possibilities took some deep thinking. I'm still not so sure about that third one, but have decided it is safe to assume for all intents and purposes. If it is true, I've got other things to worry about.

Zen and the Art of Viking's Football Fandom

One thing is certain, and that is that nothing is certain. But, if anything was, it would probably be the inevitability of aging. Time will continue, physicists say, so long as mass exists in the universe. Mass is expected to remain for quite some time. This means very good things for those of us who appreciate consistency. It also means we will grow old and eventually die.

This seems unfortunate.

But it really isn't. Hear me out. We tend to lump life experiences into two categories:

• Good
• Bad
  

Now, this doesn't mean that every one of our experiences was either good or bad by some past definition. It certainly doesn't even mean that a good experience felt, looked, or smelled good. In fact, a "good" experience might have been a horrific and terrifying experience, like watching the Vike's final playoff game in 98. "Good" or "bad," we remember all of our experiences. (At least, we remember those which we remember, and that, to us, is all of them). And, regardless of their "goodness" or "badness" status at the time they occurred, immediately after their conclusion they all have one thing in common.

They all become "good."

Why? Because at the present time, (yes, right now) every memory is either an example of something to be repeated/enhanced or an example of something to be avoided/reduced. In other words, no experience we live through can ever be "bad" so long as we live through it. Once it has happened, we are able to learn from it and adjust our future thinking or behavior accordingly. We are capable of using the accumulation of all our experiences to compress more value and good judgment into every present decision. This means there is potentially quite a lot to look forward to, and little reason to fear the most disastrous misfortunes, as they tend to come in most handy.

It's important to also remember that a past experience has multiple interpretations and usages in later decisions. For example, since I could not have changed the trajectory of Gary Anderson's missed field goal, I must not pretend that my actions had any impact on my subsequent disappointment. However, I must evaluate the value of all those hours watching football all season...all that time hoping for a Viking's super bowl appearance...all those dramatic Sunday afternoons. I come to realize that I would have done better off doing something, anything, that could possibly have improved my chances of success in some matter...some matter in which I do have some control. Yet, even spending all that time staring at a wall would have been better. It would have saved me from the agony of that moment...that sinking terror now ingrained in the fatalistic psyche of every respectable Minnesotan's cerebral cortex. I would be, in a way, more whole.

But, yes, even this tragedy is now "good."

The 98 season is good because it taught me so much. It demonstrated much more than just "don't expect the Vike's to make it...ever." (Every Minnesota football fan knows that.) Rather, it taught me the value of staking my hopes and dreams on something, anything, I can control. It taught me that the definition of "good" is not what is agreeable. It is rather the degree to which I act, then fail miserably...crashing and burning in a blaze of mediocrity, ugliness, or whatever...so long as I can learn from my mistakes.

Therefore, I no longer watch the Vike's in vain. I do so with purpose. I watch them simply to exercise my ability to detach myself from the drama completely. I accept that since I did nothing to cause their eventual success or failure, I must not expend any of my precious passion or interest on the results of their training and preparation. I must focus on that which I can control, which happens to be my complete disinterest as I observe, dispassionately, a silly ball bouncing back and forth upon a grassy field.

Come January, at the very worst, I will not care at all, and have succeeded. At the very best, I will be dead, and all my problems will be solved.

In any case, when they choke, I will seriously not be pissed.

Seriously.

Meetings: How to avoid them

No one likes sitting through boring meetings. If your workday is interrupted with too many pow wows, here are the top ten ways to get out of them:

10. Minimize showering.
9. Coughing fits.
8. Restless shoulder syndrome.
7. Three words: Cell phone carnival.
6. Contradict indiscriminately. E.g. "Third time's a charm." Your response: "Do we have any data? That sounds speculative and undefined to me."
5. Snot rockets.
4. At the end of the meeting, when asked if there are any more questions, emit an audible hum, like you are thinking. Pretend like you're trying to remember what it was you were going to say for a minute. When the delay gets awkward, wait another 30 seconds, then say you forgot.
3. Say everything twice, verbatim. Say everything twice, verbatim.
2. Have good ideas. Good ideas are insults to management.
1. Pretend to care about what's going on. A dab of feigned curiosity will set you free. (Be careful not to have real curiosity. See #2 - not as good.)

Consequences

Some do evil quietly, expecting to put-off the consequences to far later, and hopefully after death. I choose to do evil openly and with enthusiasm, demanding all consequences in this lifetime.

Another way to look at it, which is just as valid...

Some avoid responsibility quietly, procrastinating into perpetuity, hoping there will be no consequences in this lifetime. I avoid responsibility with shameless delight, expecting all consequences in this lifetime.

Gunther's Great Campaign

Gunther sat upon his throne,
and sighed a long and lazy groan.
"No siege, no war, no plague or threat,
how boring can a kingdom get?!"

"No ramparts flecked with clanking swords.
No raids from savage, shrieking hordes.
No banging drums or ramming logs.
No droves of oinking battle hogs."

Just the lightest, wistful breeze
softly buffeting the trees.
Gunthor sulked, he shed a tear.
A king's agenda, free and clear.

So he mastered tic-tac-toe...
and bought a fiddle for his bow...
carved a totem with some ruffles...
trained his hogs to hunt for truffles.

He even bought a royal boat
to sail around the castle moat.
But no hobby would suffice,
or any toy, at any price...

Then the royal crier shouted.
"Lord, some dissidence hath sprouted.
Subjects do not care to pay
to watch you sail your boat all day."

Gunter sulked, he had to frown.
He did not mean to let them down.
If only bygone foes would wake.
Just one more siege? For old time's sake?

Alas, not one hostile flea.
And subjects would not let him be.
"Make it better" was their call. Wait!
Was he needed after all?

"The folks all say that change is good.
Improve my kingdom? Yes, I should!"
And what makes a kingdom great?
"Great people! These I must create!"

Council, tell me, please explain
the traits of whom I shall ordain.
What describes our kingdom's idol?
Drumphle, what deserves this title?

"YOUR MAJESTY, SO GREAT AND STRONG
NO NEED TO DRAG THIS OUT TOO LONG!
POWER, MIGHT, AND COURAGE REIGN!
FOR MEN AND KINGDOMS, BOTH THE SAME!"

“It isn’t so, your highness fair,”
objected a most proud Pierre.
“Grace in speech and looks that shine,
without these what can be divine?”

Gunther saw each point of view,
but couldn’t decide between the two.
“Melvin, oh so shrewd and old,
which man’s words shall I uphold?”

"Royal highness, wise and just,
for this I grant eternal trust:
Of greatness, one above his brother,
not one soul can best another."

The king was dour, and not amused.
He did not like to be confused.
So the three received their orders:
“Find the greatest in these borders!”

Drumphle shouted: "LET'S BEGIN!"
A soldier entered, tall and trim.
"WELL, GOOD EVENING TO YA MATE!
TELL US WHAT MAKES YOU SO GREAT!"

"DRAGONS SIRS, YES, TWO NOW SLAIN!
I ITCH TO FACE ONE YET AGAIN!
I AM GREAT BECAUSE I FIGHT!
I DO SO EVERY DAY AND NIGHT!"

Drumphle smiled, his thumb went high.
"GENTLEMEN, WE'VE GOT OUR GUY!
NOT ANOTHER IN THE LAND
HAS SLAIN ONE DRAGON WITH HIS HAND!

Pierre abruptly shook his head.
"Drumphle, look, his shoes are red.
No, it's just, this cannot do....
Heavens no, his socks are blue!"

Melvin turned, but would not say.
"My thumb need not go either way.
For one so great all must agree.
My vote, it would not count, you see?"

And in they came, all through the night.
Pierre and Drumphle, black and white.
Melvin dropped his lazy head.
He slept the night away instead.

Morn arrived, he felt a tap,
arousing Melvin from his nap.
Both their hands came into view.
Not one thumb was up, but two!

Melvin shook his head and sighed.
His thumb went down, the last, denied.
"Greatness is not ours to buy
not for all the Earth and sky."

Gunther stormed right through the door.
"I see not one could make the score.
None has greatness as he ought?!
This is far worse than I thought."

"Drumphle, front and center, please.
This kingdom has a bad disease,
each poor soul whom you dismissed,
into your army, will enlist."

"And you, Pierre, to fix this scourge
will take the ones among your purge.
Lead them from the stone ramparts
and train them in the finer arts."

"Go now, fix this awful mess.
Greatness! I demand no less.
Repair this broken population!
Or, endure harsh reprobation."

Pierre did what his king had said.
Exchanged their swords for spools of thread.
Guards and archers, strong and nimble,
traded gauntlets for a thimble.

Drumphle marched the student body
through the mud, unkempt and bawdy.
Took their brushes, pens, and locks,
and sent complainers to the stocks.

Progress swiftly underway,
it hastened through each night and day
"Do your best, for Gunther's sake!"
The kingdom's greatness was at stake.

Pierre was skilled and Drumphle bold,
but training soon required gold.
Gunther trusted their advice.
"Greatness! Yes! AT ANY PRICE!"

"Glitter Wagons? Oh what fun!"
But who needs glitter by the ton?
"Giant doilies? What is this?"
Something, plainly, was amiss.

"Lordship! Help! We have a mess!
A kingdom under great duress!"
Gunther nodded, filled with fret,
descended promptly into debt...

...

Greatness had all but expired.
Something drastic was required.
"To arms!" Gunther called the three,
"A war on mediocrity!"

Melvin gasped, "with due respect.
Reason prompts me to object."
Greatness, sir, comes from within.
A war to gain it cannot win!"

While they pondered Melvin's notion
Outside hummed a loud commotion.
Subjects gathered in the square
Demanding what was just and fair.

Gunther feared he was a goner,
having spent all but his honor.
Blunders rife, and widely known,
he surely would be overthrown.

But the sight was not so grim.
Their demands were not of him.
They knew what was fair and just.
It came from one another's trust.

Spindly builders offered tools
to husky tailors for their spools,
sewed some nifty shirts to swap,
and in turn received a shop!

Everywhere was restoration,
town alive with inspiration.
Building, fixing, helping others,
former subjects now like brothers.

"A lovely and forthright surprise!"
Greatness sprung before his eyes.
But poor Gunther was forlorn.
He'd only ruled, since he was born.

So he walked into the bustle.
None were looking for a tussle.
On a stump so all could see,
he offered his wholehearted plea.

"No, a builder I am not,
I can't even tie a knot.
But my service, it is yours,
How can I help your homes and stores?"

The people, an ambitious crew
had thought about his function too.
They handed him a special doily,
which he raised before him coyly.

"ON THIS DOILY, LOOK TO SEE
THE SUM OF YOUR AUTHORITY:
WHEN THERE IS NO SIEGE OR THREAT
YOU MUST NOT MAKE ONE! DON'T FORGET!"

"YOUR DUTY, SIR, IS TO PREVENT
ALL RULING WITHOUT OUR CONSENT.
NO TAKING SWORDS, NO GIVING SPOOLS
NO BREAKING THESE IMPORTANT RULES."

"IF YOU PLEDGE TO LET US BE
TO BUILD OUR KINGDOM OF THE FREE
YOU CAN HAVE YOUR HOME AND MOAT
WE'LL EVEN LET YOU KEEP YOUR BOAT."

Scanning each and every word,
he was amazed and reassured.
"The doily rules! Yes, I'll respect it,
preserve, protect, and defend it!"

All the people cheered and sang,
and up above, they heard a bang.
Glitter sparkled from the sky.
Throughout that warm night in July.

Gunther walked back to his throne.
The smile on his face had grown.
"No siege, no war, no plague or threat,
how greater can a kingdom get?!"

a little heart

It was a question I would never need to ask:

Mommy, why do bad things happen to good people?

It's not that I wouldn't think to ask, or be interested to know. I would probably have been as curious as anyone to find out. I might have even gone to great lengths to investigate the issue. But, the fact remained: I simply would not need to worry about such questions in my lifetime. It was a type of freedom, really, and I know there are many not so free...

The Asian man rubbed some jelly on mom's tummy and then rubbed a plastic thing over her skin. Dad sat on a stool across the room, watching the monitor with a serious look on his face. I know they were proud of me, because I did exactly what I was supposed to do. I just let my little heart beat like it wanted to anyway. Even though it was easy, I knew how important it was, and I wanted to help as much as I could.

I already knew mom loved me very much. I knew that ever since her miscarriage, which happened a couple years before I showed up, she did all sorts of things just for me. She took her temperature every morning and recorded it in a little journal. She read one book after another about pregnancy and nutrition, and even changed her whole diet. She drank some awful-tasting stuff, like a weird kind of herbal tea and some strange fish oil. I don't know exactly why, for sure, but I knew it was all for me. She even wrote down everything she ate. And, she did a lot more that I don't even know about. Oh, that's right, she paid a lot of money to go to this place where they poke you with all these little needles. Ouch! Can you believe that? Well, I don't know whether all that worked or not, but I do know that at some point, I came into the picture. And mom was pretty happy to learn about me, I could tell...

After mom knew about me for just a couple days, I could tell she was worried. She said she was bleeding or something wasn't normal. She thought it was another miscarriage, and was very, very sad. She cried and cried. The last time she had jelly on her tummy they didn't see a heart beat, and she didn't want that to happen again. But, I was here the whole time. She took pregnancy tests that were positive, and waited for the miscarriage to happen, knowing something wasn't right. When it didn't happen for several weeks, she finally went to get a blood test. That was just a few days ago. Then, last night, things got very bad.

Mom was very sick and pale, and didn't feel very good at all. She thought she was going to throw up and had pain in her tummy. She thought it was going to happen; the miscarriage that is. But, it didn't, and the pain just got worse. Dad asked if he should take her to the Emergency room. At first she said no, but later, when she could hardly move with all the pain, dad carried her to the car and drove her to the hospital. He drove very fast. When she got there she was very faint, and even passed out. They stuck a needle in her arm and attached a hose that hooked up to a bag of clear fluid. They also asked her a bunch of questions. Mom was fading in and out, but she could understand things. When the doctor said that I may not be in the right spot, she was sad. Everyone was busy taking care of mom because she was in a lot of pain, and bleeding inside. There was nothing I could do about it, but I wish there was.

That was when we went to meet the Asian man with the jelly and the plastic thing. They were looking at me all snug in my cozy little home. Mom asked what he could see, and at first he said he didn't know. Dad was watching the monitor, but he didn't seem to know what he was looking at. Finally, after rubbing that thing over her belly for a while, he told her I was not in the right place. I wish I was in the right place, and dad wished I was too, but I wasn't. Mom began to cry. Then, he showed her my little heart beating. Mom cried very much when she saw this; when she saw me saying "hi." I didn't want her to be sad, and I didn't want dad to be sad either. But, I knew I was also saying goodbye, and no one likes to say goodbye. I was glad I could at least do that, though.

So they took mom into a different room and they made sure I couldn't do any more harm to her. I am glad for that because I did not want her to hurt any more.

I know mom and dad have to ask questions like 'why do bad things happen to good people?' I know mom and dad have a lot of other things to think about too. But me? I'm lucky. I don't have to worry about any of that. All I know is that I am loved very much. I figure I don't need to know much of anything else.