Tagged: philosophy
Three Pointed Feelings On Political Violence in the USA, 2028 POTUS and Nuclear Bombs
Still riding the high of having correctly *felt* Trump was the clear winner long before election night, I want to share three more *feelings*.
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First, I have already mentioned that the next bout of political violence will be at the public funeral of a certain folk savior. Nothing new to say; I am just collecting it in one post.
Second, in the exact same manner and for the exact same reason as America loved itself for electing Obama (both shameless fantasy), in 2028, America will once again engage in a shameless fantasy act of self-love as it elects a woman to the office of President of the United States. I have long chuckled that the most bluntly misogynistic man defeated the first two legitimate female candidates. But fate can only laugh for so long. The mood is changing and the next president will be a woman.
Third, you, me, our children—everyone—needs to be ready for the news cycle to breeze past the first use of nuclear weapons. The “breaking news” will move on to “developing story” and finally be replaced by celebrity gossip or palace intrigue in precisely the same manner with which it breezes past every story. To be clear, someone is going to use a nuke. The fact will be hyped beyond belief with a fever pitch rarely able to be achieved, but there will be no actual mutually assured destruction or end of nations or shift in power balance. And, again, the proof in the pudding of my *feeling* (the way you know you heard it hear first) will be when the news cycle drops the story within the same time period as Oct 7, or the invasion of Ukraine etc. Nuclear war is here to stay and the idea that it was a “one off” or “we learned from the first use” is childish.
American Wives Are Humanity’s Low Pressure Systems. What Happens If Equilibrium Is Withheld?
If I was teaching meteorology to pilots, then my first lesson would include a tub of water, with a movable divider holding an amount of water at bay from filling the tub entirely. (Picture a tub half full, with an actual divider keeping the water to the left half. The right half is dry.)
I would then ask, “If we define high pressure as where the water is, then how would we label the area where the water isn’t?”
The motivated and slightly piqued students would answer, “Low pressure.”
“Good,” I would rejoin.
Then I would call the room’s attention to the tub and, with comedic flare, withdraw the divider. All would see the high pressure water rush towards the area of previously low pressure, crashing against the walls before quickly calming to a standstill.
“If you can admit that that just happened, and trust that it isn’t limited to the apparent lateral movement as this tub seemed to indicate, but vertical as well (which, if you consider what you witnessed fully, then you will be forced to conclude that water did move in the available three dimensions entirely), then you can understand every other concept of meteorology—and make sound weather calls throughout your life as a pilot.”
The high pressure seeks balance. It must find the balance it seeks. This is meteorology.
What about relationships?
“Feeling low” is probably the simplest description of “depression” (itself still in the same semantic domain as “low”). We all have experience, whether first or second-hand, with people feeling low.
What happens if the “high pressure” doesn’t rush in?
More often than not, people who demonstrate the need for help receive help. But what happens if they do not receive it?
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I refuse to believe that life on earth is about high pressure rushing to lows. I just refuse. It especially bothers me when the lows self-declare. Contrary to the smut pushed by “mental health crisis” hypsters, there are objective markers that life is not only “okay”, but that life is so good that you have actually not one damn thing to complain about.
I feel like I can distinguish this refusal from the “Am I my brother’s keeper?” domain. Maybe I am wrong. Maybe anyone riding high owes their entire existence to coming down. “Misery loves company” is my counter. “Don’t bring me down”. “Look at the lilies of the goddamned field.”
“A Plan For What?” She Said.
“You need to tell A- that the next time he calls his dad, they need to make a plan!”
“A plan? A plan for what?”
I calmly, though unable to hide irritation, say, “My wife. His dad wants to talk to him. Well, the boy is 14, not 8. So A- can tell his dad all about how he is in school and then has basketball, and then dinner, except on days when basketball is later, and then A- and his dad can figure out when a good time to schedule phone conversations would be. This is not complicated.”
“My husband. You know all about this. Don’t you want to talk to H- and she won’t talk to you?”
“What? This is nothing like that at all. We don’t care and have never stopped or tried to stop A- from talking to his dad. And no one is trying to stop them from talking now. Again, you and I have no business being involved anymore at all. The boy is 14! Tell him to explain his schedule to his dad so they can come up with a plan. Why do you and I need to go back-and-forth about this? There is nothing complicated about it.”
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Dear reader, can you guess what is at issue here? Can you imagine the underlying rub?
You got it. The dad, and apparently every physical and spiritual force—nearly power itself—wants my step-son to have his own phone. The dad wants to be able to text him and have him respond right away. The dad wants to be able to call him as he pleases with his son answering promptly.
It makes no difference that the dad is in a foreign land. It makes no difference that the dad has taken zero interest in the boy for pretty much his entire life, even though he had him to himself for the first eight years of that life. Nope, none of these things matter. When you’re dealing with humans, you are dealing with children or children-grown-older.
I need to be clear—mostly to my maker—the smart phone does not solve any problems!! And the smart phone creates innumerable problems for all it touches!! I would honestly rather give kids hard drug samples rather than smart phones on the off chance the kid just doesn’t like the effects. I don’t think I could be persuaded that, for example, crack hooks every human that has sampled it. But the smart phone? 100% addiction rate. No one can resist. We’re junkies one and all. It’s astounding.
Well, when it comes to kids in my “sphere of influence”, they have to wait before their first high. Step-children from the dark continent as well.
At face value the situation is so laughable it isn’t funny. It’s almost a joke with a punchline.
So, ha ha ha, here’s one. There’s this 14 yr old boy and his dad—impeded by no one—who can’t figure out how to call each other in 2024. The dad says, “Ring ring.” And the boy doesn’t answer because he’s at school. The boy says, “Ring ring.” And the dad doesn’t answer because he’s at work.”
Here’s the punchline I like best: “I guess ‘colored people time’ transcends time-zones!”
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“A plan? A plan for what?” she said.
One last note. While hanging out at an airport the other day, a few of the super rich came strolling through, just off their private jet. The dad—keep on mind we are talking very wealthy people flying on private jets for leisure trips—the dad, I overhear, is complaining that his teenager won’t answer texts. He goes on to say it is easier to get a response if he posts in snapchat or instagram or whatever other app the kid is known to be absorbed in day-in-and-day-out.
So, no, this has nothing to do with anything but morons being morons. The international factor is irrelevant. The family history and dynamics are irrelevant. If people want to talk to each other, they can. If people aren’t talking to each other, it is because they don’t prioritize it.
Case closed.
Another Conversational Strategy Tip For Utterly Silencing Flat Earth Lunatics
As I’ve mentioned, these guys bug me so much because they often are very similar to me in other ways—and yet the earth is a sphere.
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You: “Yeah, that’s bullshyat. Let’s back up a little bit. Can I ask you a simple question?”
(As most of the time all they do is interrupt and spew their dump truck evidence, with this move you’ll have them irresistibly tee’d up.)
FEL: “Sure.”
You: “Have you ever looked through a telescope at the night sky?”
(Crushing. On the off chance they have, simply continue with…)
You: “Would you mind taking the time to teach me how to distinguish planets from stars the next clear night? I don’t have a telescope, but surely you do. I am available any night.”
Knowledge Is Irresistible; It Defies Rebellion
Come close, ya stiff-necked supercargo. This one is important. This is a story about laundry. It is a story about power. It is the story of knowledge.
It may come as a surprise that pilots, especially military pilots or their veteran counterparts like me, spend many nights of each year in sleeping bags. As an Eagle Scout who knows the true value of a quality sleeping bag, I remember being very proud when I heard that our deployed commander used one instead of sheets while in Iraq. You see, I was no longer alone. To this day, I spend about 1/4 of the year’s nights in a sleeping bag—not including camping trips.
Naturally, this level of commitment leads to the need to wash a sleeping bag, and wash it with more regularity than your own sleeping bag laundering habits have ever included. In fact, you’re likely thinking this very moment, “Where is my sleeping bag?”
Washing a sleeping bag is an adventure of its own. Not just the washing, but the drying as well. For any ground-pounding, civilian pukes who never have spent a night under the stars (let’s not forget the boldly illiterate hippie camping community), there is a tag right on the bag that says, “Only dry in commercial dryers” or some similar wording that forbids the pilot from his perfect dream of living as an island.
(I have laundered my sleeping bag(s) many times at home and never had a problem. This post is not about rule-following.)
So the other day, despite both cars revealing mechanical issues almost simultaneously, I learned at night that the dryer stopped heating. (LORD? You watchin’?) It made the same noises and tumbled as surely as any other day—even longer when on the “automatic” setting; but the clothes wouldn’t dry. I tracked down that they weren’t getting warm either.
Enter YouTube.
There were two probable issues. One was that a thermal fuse on the heating element had tripped/blown. The other was the heating element itself had broken.
I tracked down an appliance parts guru in town who loved to chat on the phone and he assured me it was the fuse. But I forced him to concede it was worth ordering both just in case his foresight proved dim. During this back-and-forth, he said something like, “It’s all about airflow. The air has to blow the heat from the heating element into the dryer and then that air has to find its way past the clothes, past the lint trap, and through the vent all the way to the outside world. If any part of that path is blocked, the heat will remain and eventually blow the fuse. You may never know why the path got blocked. Could be stray article of clothes got caught in the wrong spot or maybe someone washed too big a comforter. But it’s all about the air.”
Fasten your seatbelts.
“Only dry in a commercial dryer,” the tag reads. Any warm-blooded human says, “Huh?” And we proceed to rebel and possibly damage the dryer.
But…
“It’s all about airflow. If the sleeping bag blocks the incoming heat, the fuse will blow—which is annoying. If the fuse doesn’t blow, the heating element could potentially overheat and cause a fire—lots of variables in that one,” the facts are. And any warm-blooded human says, “Okay.” And then assesses the risks and gets on with their decision.
The passive, uninformed warning fosters rebellion, and well it should. Instinct informs us to demand respect! “Don’t boss me! You have my attention. Now treat me like a man!”
But the knowledge is irresistible and fosters sound judgment and good decision making. “Hmm. Good to know. I’ve dried many things of similar size in this machine and so I’ll risk it.” Or whatever.
What is knowledge? Knowledge is irresistible. It defies rebellion.
Go get some.
PS – It was the heating element. And Speed Queen dryers are super easy to work on—should they not live up to their name.
PPS – Yes, I have gone back to the original name of my blog. I do want to use the fact that I stare down death for a living to get your attention. Whether I can keep it is the thrill.
Some Outstanding Quotes From Recent Reads
A book I have always dreaded is, “Up From Slavery” by Booker T. Washington. I viewed it like the pet shop snakes Pee Wee didn’t want to rescue from the fire. I could not have been more wrong. It is astonishing. (For the uninitiated, it was written around 1900; Washington was a former slave turned champion of education and recognized leader of the Negro people in the times that followed their big day.)
“The white man who begins by cheating a Negro usually ends by cheating a white man. The white man who begins to break the law by lynching a Negro soon yields to the temptation to lynch a white man. All this, it seems to me, makes it important that the whole Nation lend a hand in trying to lift the burden of ignorance from the South.”
(Pause here to consider the fullness of love captured by those words.)
“Nor should we permit our grievances to overshadow our opportunities.”
And I add this next one with a special eye affixed on Black Jesus himself. (Please recall this was spoken by a former slave. No bed, no bathing, no shoes, no toothbrush, no mealtimes. Scratchy shirts, no education. Etc etc.)
“The wisest among my race understand that the agitation of questions of social equality is the extremest folly, and that progress in the enjoyment of all the privileges that will come to us must be the result of severe and constant struggle rather than artificial forcing.”
That begs repeating.
“The wisest among my race understand that the agitation of questions of social equality is the extremest folly, and that progress in the enjoyment of all the privileges that will come to us must be the result of severe and constant struggle rather than artificial forcing.”
(It’s only natural to take a quick break before continuing to the next quote.)
Long ago I bought Thomas Aquinas’ Summa Theologica, partly out of interest, partly to impress a girl. I never opened it that paperback copy. But a beautiful hardbound copy was in my Great Books set and the guided reading propelled me to taste and see. So I finally had a chance to discover what it’s all about. Couple to this that back in Seminary (Evangelical, not Catholic) the phrase “intellectual assent” was thrown around like “please and thank you”, usually in a smug, “Faith isn’t just intellectual assent”. (This was said in conversations about apologetics and sharing the Gospel in general.)
“Now the act of believing is an act of the intellect assenting to the Divine truth at the command of the will moved by the grace of God…”
For the thousandth time then, say it with me, “We’re all just little repeaters”. It’s depressing in a way. But it’s also fun to track down the true creators among us.
Next and last for today is Jack London’s White Fang. I can’t recall if I ever read it. I know I watched a movie from the 90s by the same name, but to suggest it was based on the book I am reading would be criminal.
(Keep in mind this quote is about a wolf *wink*.)
“But there were other forces at work in the cub, the greatest of which was growth. Instinct and law demanded of him obedience. But growth demanded disobedience.”
(Another long pause for contemplation is only natural here.)
I write these posts for me. But I confess to you that today I write with the hope of spurring someone, anyone on to the delight of reading Up From Slavery and White Fang. (Aquinas is too much for anyone not professionally interested.)
It Makes Me Want to Teach
[SPOILER] Good sermons make me want to preach, and good movies make me want to teach.
Gladiator II is good. As I said yesterday, it isn’t that good, but it is good. Here are some areas it missed the mark and which hold it back from ever becoming a “classic”. The areas are remarkable because they are so easy to identify. (High notes will be listed at the end.)
- You must know what your movie is about. Gladiator was not about Rome or Maximus’ wishes for Rome. Gladiator was about the penultimate gladiator—Maximus. (Insert infamous “husband to a…” quote.)
- Never, never, never, never believe you can fool an audience. We’re just too smart. No red-blooded American believes you should give up. Ever. Never give up. The idea that it is noble to peacefully and without resistance enter the after-life is un-American. Do not try to show how it contains value of some sort. “Rage, rage!”
- I saw a clip where Ridley Scott answered a question with, “I just know.” The question was about the leading man. This was way too arrogant. Hollywood and entertainment is far more complex than that. Sure, the leading man—unremarkable as he was and will prove to be—was definitely not a let down. But the whole movie wasn’t as good as it could have been and this is obviously because it rested on “I can’t make a bad movie” reasoning, instead of a good story and good storytelling. We’re not paying to see Ridley Scott. We’re paying to see a good story told well.
- While the movie wasn’t “woke”, it could’ve entered the always available ranks of “timeless” by avoiding some obviously “woke” ideology. Again, this did not have to be the case. Specifically the movie had way too many irrelevant BIPOC characters (and close-ups) that contributed nothing but shades of brown to the screen. To repeat: in great movies everything in the movie must have a purpose and that purpose is to tell the story. In Gladiator, the Black and German slaves were there to make us like Maximus even more. It wasn’t about DEI. It was about Maximus—the gladiator. This leads to the next point.
- We never cared about Lucius. This is because we were forbidden to by the first Gladiator. He had been introduced to us as little more than a spoiled rich kid. I think it would have been possible to care about him if we were shown how. I’m thinking that the story would have had to include some highly skilled and discerning followers or servants of young Lucius accompany him to wherever he goes to hide and resent him for their having to give up court life etc. Then over time they come to respect him and are willing to die for him etc. But there are a lot of difficulties with that concept too, so I’d have to give it more thought. The point is we absolutely cared about Maximus every single second of the film. Seriously, what wasn’t or isn’t there to like?
- The villain was too diffuse. Great movies have one villain and he or she or it is identifiable immediately. Surprises work for thrillers, but Gladiator II did not aim to be a thriller. “Temet Nosce” (know thyself).
- Just like life-making love-making, there can only be one climax in a movie. What is weird about this movie is that it has events which in and of themselves didn’t have to be “climaxes”, but were shot/told/scored as if they were the climax. So you feel spent only to now be disappointed that there was more action coming. Again, it’s a simple mistake that hurt the project.
- The final area I want to mention is something which probably has an industry term—I just don’t know it. It’s best exemplified by Expendables 3. There were all these individual scenes dedicated to each action hero on the squad. But the scenes had no “tie that binds.” Gladiator II similarly introduced many characters with scenes that were well-acted and almost interesting, but their presence diminished the movie, instead of augmenting it. Bluntly, by contrast, I cannot think of a character or scene in Gladiator that didn’t make me like Maximus more than I previously did. Characters offered contrast to Maximus, and scenes fulfilled the role that time does in increasing our desire to see new love, in this case Maximus, again. Gladiator II’s non-Lucius scenes merely confused me while creating an atmosphere wherein I did not want to give myself completely to what I thought the story was. And all this because, say it with me, the director didn’t know what the story was.
To conclude, and to balance, here are the obvious positives.
The opening scenes and battle are evidence of Scott’s greatness. Does anyone do epic better? No. He is without peer. They are masterful. He is the master.
No scene taken by itself is low quality—more evidence of greatness.
The acting is top tier.
And despite it being CGI, the CGI is almost transparent. Pointedly—it is probably the best CGI to date. Good job.
No Helmet, A Review of Gladiator II
The refrain, “This is good,” repeatedly sounded in my head for about the first third. And the movie is good. But it isn’t great and it misses for some questionable reasons.
Most importantly, there was no helmet.
Secondly, as in the first film, there is a use of “paper” that is totally a-historical. No one had disposable paper in 200AD.
Thirdly, CGI.
Fourthly, let’s just give Russell Crowe his due. Even his hand in wheat seems divine to this day.
Lastly, there was a moment—you’ll know it when it comes—that I felt disappointed that there was more movie to go.
New Conversational Vocabulary for Resisting the Next Vaccine (Approved and Inspired by Claude Bernard)
While the RFK Jr. news is provocative, I am not persuaded that the lessons the Left learned from COVID and power available during pandemics will ever be forgotten.
I got vaccinated, but not for medical reasons. Like many, I had it at least once.
I am not an “anti-vaxxer”.
Yet, it should not surprise anyone that my sympathies will always lie with people who resist acts of compulsion—notably by the government. Additionally, my own instinct instructs me to recognize that my fellow humans’ instinct which tells them to resist vaccines should be allowed to prevail. In short, “you do you”. But I can’t help but notice the resistance lacked rhetorical skill.
Given my status as exceedingly well-read and becoming more-so daily, I want to lend a hand. I wouldn’t spend so much time in the books if I didn’t believe there is practical value inherent.
In this post, then, I want to give any “instinctive” anti-vaxxer the language, the vocabulary as it were, to successfully repel any future mandates, and their inherent conversational societal pressures. In other words, I encourage you to adopt the following as your script when your own family members make outrageous claims to “trust the science”.
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Smug Relative: “Just trust the science! It’s harmless.”
You: “First, ‘No, thank you.’ First Part B, what you mean by science, and what we both agree is its prime definition, is ‘same conditions, same result—every time’. In short, science is certainty. Anything less than certainty is not science. If I may, you don’t trust the science, because one cannot trust the science, because the vaccine—unless you claim it is certain—is not science.
“To conclude, say what you mean. You’re trusting something—but it ain’t the science.”
“Second, harmless? What is the difference between harmless and failed? Because when you say harmless, you seem to be implying that no one put any effort or investment into the attempt to develop a compound that will teach my body to defend itself from the virus. But I believe people most definitely put effort and investment into developing a material that will teach my body to defend itself from the virus. (And I believe you, here again, actually agree with me.)
“Therefore until they are certain, harmless must mean “they failed.” And I am not interested in putting failure into my body from the outside; I have enough trouble keeping it from being generated in the inside.”
Smug Relative: “There is never going to be certainty in medicine.”
You: “Again, we find ourselves in agreement.”
Smug Relative: “I see. So what? You need me to explain the statistics?”
You: “Nope. I don’t require anything more of you. Thanks for hearing me out. I’m glad we chatted.”
We Are Trump’s Loving Wife
The classic American marriage contains the beautiful scene of a husband unexpectedly finding that his wife has granted permission to “go big”.
My favorite illustration of this was captured by a commercial, some years ago, where after the husband puts the new big screen TV into the TV stand, he stands back, admiring his TV. The wife walks in and is not immediately impressed.
Baffled, and fearing the worst, he asks her, with trepidation, “What?”
She answers, “It’s just that there is a lot of…space.”
The scene continues with the husband microscopically examining the fit of the new bigger screen TV. He is squinting and running his hand along border between the TV and the TV stand. His wife comes in this time, and is visibly strained.
She says, “It is fine.”
He responds and concludes the anecdote with, “I can still see light!”
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As you no doubt have seen, there are red/blue county maps of America making their way around the web and one headline I saw claimed, “There are no blue states.”
Translation: there are blue counties in otherwise red states, and there are states composed entirely of red counties.
Implication: All of the United States of America, not merely the 75,000,000 voters and electoral college, just told Trump, like a loving wife, “Treat yourself!”
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Yes, that’s the best analogy of the passing scene, I should think.
Captain’s Log 