Stunts and I Don't Know

The higher the office the more they pull insulting, patronizing stunts, and people eat it up. I don't mean to specifically single out Michele Obama for sneak shopping at Target, and, of course, somehow getting caught in the act. She's just following the tradition of political people. And make no mistake, she is political people. Just because she's Barak's number one shill doesn't make her apolitical. Oh, I guess that goes without saying.

Hell, like those damned spouses before her, she had to take on a pet project which costs us money and we wouldn't care about if not for the press. Obesity. There are now people who want to regulate the diet of the entire friggin world. Mostly fat cats.

It is fun to tell people how to eat when you can afford anything you want and have a battery of chefs to do your bidding. It is fun to shop at Target when designers are just dying to supply you with their wares. One garment would cost enough for me to live comfortably for a year.

It's all theater. And it is all bad theater; the kind that makes you want to barf except it leaves you feeling like you already have.

We can plan on plenty more in the coming months. That is one reason I'd like to see Romney and Perry fall out of this thing. They both already have what I think is fake hair. All dark except for that grey on the sideburns. I think it is done that way, and it is a look I don't trust. So what if I'm a bit like that myself. I don't color it to make it happen. Those guys are part of the system and guaranteed to perpetuate the status quo if they get in.

No, I think those gus are in the power structure on some level which means they will do all the fake stunts for the photo ops. Perry will be shooting targets or prairie dogs while talking tough about something. Romney will tour a coal mine. No telling.

And while they step up the game on that, the Obamas will be doing things of unimaginable insincerity in order to stay ahead in the race. It is a race to see who can get ahead by insulting the intelligence and character of the American people the most.

While they're at it they will pander to groups as if your race or ethnicity is some kind of philosophy. If I have any sense, I'll take a hot air balloon ride around the world and leave all communication devices at home. Just avoid the party altogether.

I wonder if it came down to Cain vs Obama if the press and the people who now cry "racist" every time someone disagrees with this administration will shut up about race. No idea how LaRaza would react. You can't predict that group by trying to use reason because they are very selective and unpredictable in their use of logic, and their historical references. But then, who isn't?

I saw a video of Jeb Corliss, I think is his name, flying around in one of those glide suits. You can zip around for a long way if you begin with adequate altitude. Then you pop the parachute at very low altitude. That whole fly suit sport is fantastic. That's the kind of thing I should have been doing at an early age.

Maybe one of the candidates will do a base jump off the Washington monument in one of those. That may be too low but who cares? They'd get good press and if the effort is ill fated we wouldn't have really lost anything of value. Those flying squirrel style suits are very cool. What people have done in those things is beyond cool.

I wonder if there is money in coming up with cheesy political stunts? It's a bit of a different game for the first spouse than the wannabes. Just the nature of things. And the incumbent president gets to tool around in AF1 on tax money hitting fundraisers. That has always annoyed me. But, what's power for if not to abuse? People still want a monarch, and no matter what we do they will continue to demand it. Not everyone has the disdain for monarchs, dictators and rulers that I do.

I guess I'd rather see Michele doing stunts like the Target caper than listen to her tell people how to feed their dumb ass kids. If you need her to tell you that junk food is junk food and that your four foot tall five hundred pound 9 year old is fat, you are a walking argument for why abortion should be legal, and I'm talking legal on fetuses as old as 20 years. plus

No Other Species

A stupid great white shark got caught by a fisherman up by Venice Beach. It was a baby, which in white shark terms means it was about as big as me. The big deal was to get the hook out of his mouth so they could rescue the vicious predator. The guy must have been fishing off the pier. The shark was sort of beached.

Eventually they got the hook out and got it back in the water. The whole time you can hear some lady, the one who took the video I guess, fretting over the whole mess--"oh, poor sweet thing.....don't kill it.....can you save it?....awwww.....will he live?....awwww..."

Come on, lady. It is a firrgin shark with no conscience, and sharp teeth. Where does the "sweet thing" part come in? What is your definition of sweet? No doubt you think tigers and bears are cute and cuddly, too. Oh how I wish armies of people who think like you would set aside a worldwide "Hug a Predator Day".

You can go find a white shark to cuddle, maybe a mountain lion, or Bengal tiger, any number of bears.

It will be awesome!

No other species anywhere would rescue a predator which has been known to eat body parts of that species. But humans will do it. Why? Because we are probably the only self hating species.

My thinking is that I wouldn't go out of my way to hunt sharks, under normal circumstances, but if a great white comes up on the beach in surfing area, I am going to kill it, and use the fins and whatever other parts are thought to be aphrodisiacs and such. What I don't use, I'd sell.

It may be that some of the shark's colleagues are watching from afar. I believe my way transmits the better message. They will stay away, be less likely to get hooked by fishermen on the beach, and will not be as likely to make a snack out of a surfer's arm or leg.

No other creature on earth would risk losing a hand to save an animal that would eat you up in a heartbeat. But the humans on Venice Beach would do it. And they call the guy, who finally got the hook out of the shark's mouth, a hero.

That lends credence to the assertion that the word "hero" has been so loosely thrown about in the last decade or two, that it has all but lost its meaning.

You Hear What You Want to Hear, See What You Want to See

It just occurred to me that someone who says they like my wrting, but rag on me to write this or that, anything other than what comes naturally, can't really like it in the first place. "Why don't you write about X, Y or Z? Why do you waste your time on on Q? I want to hear about ABC".

Obviously this is someone who wishes I was an entirely different person. Probably a fan of little Jimmy Hoffa. There are certain mindsets which cannot be changed, but there are lines that normally aren't touched. One is that when writing, not for a grade, not because I was paid, and not because permission was requested to do so, I would not expect advice or complaint of the sort I sometimes get. As if I have offended all that is holy because I don't conform to another's idea of what best use I can be put.

If anyone had a good idea of what best use I could be put, and I had no doubt of the veracity of such view, then I would do my best to conform. The truth is, no one really knows, including me. So, the badgering to be someone other than who I am just feeds the already pervasive feeling that I have let down anyone I've ever known, and any family who didn't spent too much time trying to kill me.

I've failed them all. I know this, yet I think that this is a feeling which is not healthy or appropriate. That makes it doubly hurtful for someone to act as if my writing here in some way lets them down, It is not here to do them favor or disfavor.

But then, it is possible that some people think I have no emotion, or inner workings at all. A rock, or else just not smart enough to be affected, or too smart to be touched. I think everyone I know has less clue in this regard than do total strangers.

If You Were In The Back Seat...

...of the Tourmobile, on the road that leads on and off of Ballistic Mountain, and BG was in the front passenger seat, this is how it would look. You can see she has long hair. I have to say that BG has really great looking long dark hair. Fin may or may not have let on to the blogger world how pretty she is. OK, that bit of info is now out for sure

The Day The Music Died

Greensboro's music scene in the 80's has been a topic I've discussed a few times here. Many people are not aware of how many musicians, actors and the like have come from NC. NC has produced more than its share, but that is not totally relevant, just a bit of info.

The phenomenon known as the Somewhere Else Tavern Sunday night open jam is what I'm addressing here. Those who were lucky enough to be around for those events and had the opportunity to participate still talk about that period of time fondly. We all find it slightly frustrating that we've never been able to encounter an open mic or jam situation in which those in charge, or participating, seem to "get it".

My critic friend and I have discussed this at length, trying to analyze what ingredient was unique to that place and time which made the thing work so well, and produce such outstanding live, spontaneous music. Why was it so good that name bands who were booked at Greensboro's Coliseum would sometimes rush over to the Tavern after their show hoping to jam with the Somewhere Else Crowd?

It certainly wasn't the upscale neighborhood or the state of the art facilities. The Tavern was in an edgy neighborhood, and may as well have had sawdust on the floor. You drank your beer out of the can, unless you were willing to down that piss they called "draft beer" out of a plastic cup.

In their defense they did eventually get the license for liquor by the drink, and when Burley wasn't pinching pennies he could make the best Long Island Ice Tea ever made.

I think everyone who had the good fortune to be a part of that scene for any length of time agrees that the essential catalyst that allowed the mix to produce magic was Aubrey Henley, known in music circles as McGoo--possibly due to his whimsical resemblance to the cartoon character (I never knew for sure). What I do know is that he could contain a stage full of guitar players, percussionists, etc. so that they would play with, not all over, everyone else.

How he made it work, I can't say. But when he was manning that B3 and admonishing the band to "Bring it down, y'all!", all but the most diseased of guitar players would heed the advice.

The style of music played did not fit any particular category as no "purists" were in any position to dictate their own dogmatic ideas like "blues only, and these are the rules that make it blues", etc. Since I was rarely home and had no significant music collection, the majority of songs I played at the jam were new to me. The first time I heard most of them was when I played them.

I consider that a blessing because I had no preconceived notion of how it should be. That way I just tried to fit something in to aid the overall tune and not be so bad that McGoo threw a beer at me or something. Actually he never said a cross word to me. He had to up the urgency of his requests for people to tune or tone down a bit once in awhile in the case of over eager guitar players who did not have the sense to play background when it wasn't their lead.

That much was organized; you did not take your time until it was your time. He'd say something like, "break it down band, tell it, Johnny!". He called me Johnny most of the time. Some people do and it is perfectly natural in those cases, usually. Not many people but some.

Maybe it was the timbre of his voice that helped. He had a sort of screechy, gravelly sound going. I heard it was due to an injury received in Vietnam, where his job was to chauffeur either a colonel or general around in a jeep. Someone blew something up and he caught shrapnel which affected a vocal chord. Maybe a true story, and maybe not. It seemed feasible, and I'm pretty sure the jeep driver aspect was true.

I was really tentative back then but that is where I learned how to play a lead break in a song with a band. Once in awhile I really got hold of it, and once in awhile my time would go double the usual. They say you can't really teach people how to do that thing of jamming and fitting when and where you should. I don't know. It was one of the more astute Berklee grads who told me that.

I have noticed in my musical adventures since then that most people I've played with can't really jam like that, or don't. It was a huge surprise when that sunk in. For a long time I was talking a language foreign to those players because they'd never actually participated in a jam that might change directions or be begin with someone just making up a riff and going from there. Especially not on a stage in front of a crowd.

And many of those players were very good, better than I. But in the school of jam, barely pre-schoolers.

Often there was a standing room only crowd. Word got out and it became the cool thing for the hip yuppies in the area to attend.

I've never even heard of a similar scene, or one that approximated The Jam. It was open, so if you had the nerve and thought you could hang, you could get up there. You may have a tough time if you thought you were going to get up by yourself and sing a ballad with no other musicians on stage. It was a jam. Can you lend your ax to what they are playing? Better be able to do that because it wasn't just a showcase for front men. If you were able and good, you could earn some front man time.

If there were a ton of players there, sometimes you had to take turns. Instruments like harmonica are not often good in multiples. So, if there were other harp players there, it was good to either get up there early so you didn't have to wait, or just wait until a break so you could have your turn when it started back up.

Another trick for guys like me was to play on the songs most harp players wouldn't play. It may mean playing very mellow sweet straight harp or just floating little notes in here and there. That became something I enjoyed doing and it gave me more chance to play.

But nothing worked very well for long if McGoo wasn't there. He and Dwayne (not sure he spells it like that), the sax player , had a two man band and played various venues throughout the state.

They were the heart of the jam, and McGoo was the heart of the heart. He was like no one I've ever known. Edgy, yet as kind and gentle as they get. He was something, and it is the world's loss that the movie makers and people who make you famous did not broadcast these things nationwide or worldwide.

Maybe that would have spoiled it. I don't think McGoo cared about such things. He finally married a good woman and had a child. He cared for friends and family and that was that.

At some point the jam died. McGoo got a regular job and was absorbed in the family life and caring for his people. And about four years ago Aubrey died. I don't know the exact day, but I'd have to say that was the real day the music died.

When Your Dealer Is A Critic

It seems that I was not entirely correct when I said that Joel, of North Carolina fame, was trying his hand as literary critic. He has become a critic at large. Not being one to do things the easy way, he is not focussing just on literature. If it needs or doesn't need criticizing, he's on it.

The latest criticism deals with how I write my posts---the mechanics of it. I volunteered the fact that I don't write in a word program and then paste it here. I just type it in Blogger's post create thing. The original one, not the one with added bells and whistles. I only switch to that if I want to use big red letters or something like that.

I do tend to hit publish before doing much proofreading, then I read it and usually notice that I used the wrong form of there/their/they're, left off the y in they, or forgot to put a subject and verb in a sentence, e.g. "...and a big...". Often I rush to edit as soon as I see the first thing, skim a few more lines while on the edit page, then publish again.

It probably makes it look like I published the same thing five times if I check the archive list, which I haven't done in recent memory. My bad.

I like to write in this box and don't know why. It feels better than a big blank page and so that is what I do. No excuse, no shame, no regret, no problem. Except to critics at large.

No, the critic at large insists it makes no sense and just isn't the right way to do things. The feel of the critical assault is that because I do things this way, I am no good and probably should be shot.

Why do you put up with it? Why not have him banned for life from the internet and other places?
Very good questions. But there is just one very significant catch; he's the pusher man--my dealer.

Only Joel knows where to get Richard's Delicious Seasoning (that's the name of it whether you think it delicious or no). The stuff is really good on my favorite sandwiches; spinach, tomatoes, cheddar cheese, mayo, mustard, and the vegetarian pictures of bacon they sell, on whole wheat or rye toast. Melt the cheese on one of the pieces before assembling the sandwich.. I like the Morningstar Farms pictures of bacon. Of no relevance but I do not like that textured protein stuff at all. That is the crumby stuff that is supposed to be like hamburger or something. People cook with it instead of ground beef, I think. Not for me.

It's good on home fries too. But really good on the sandwich. I'm hooked, and my only connection to the stuff is Joel, critic at large. See the problem? I have to pretend to agree, or to do things his way. I can't take legal action or hire someone to play rap music under his window. Aside from the cost, if I tried to silence the critic, he'd cut off any possibility of hooking up an O Z, or a kilo of the magic powder.

So, let's pretend this was written on my computer in a word processing program, then neatly pasted into the blogger new-post box. It is a delicate and important issue. There will come a time when I run out, and I do not look forward to the withdrawal symptoms when there is no Richard's Delicious seasoning in the cupboard.

Richard must have been pretty confident that people would find this mix delicious to name it that. Maybe he's arrogant, or maybe his wife or someone close to him tried it and said, "Hey Richard! This seasoning is delicious! You should go up to that little store in Brown's Summit and see if they'll let you sell it there."

Richard then procrastinates because he doesn't know what to call it. He thinks about calling it My Mix of Hen's Teeth, Oyster Poop, and Blood Pudding, but then everyone would know the secret ingredients. Richard can mix spices, but thinking a thing like this through may have been too much.

Then the other person--wife or friend or relative or trusted pastor--comes over and asks if he's talked to the store yet. Months have passed.

Richard cannot tell a lie. Naming his seasoning is bad enough, he doesn't need the mind twist keeping up with a lie would bring, so he admits that he hasn't done anything toward marketing this addictive substance.

The clever friend or wife, etc. decides to take the bull by the horns. She/he puts some of it in a mason jar and strolls into the store demanding to see whoever it is that decides what goes on the shelves. This involves maneuvering around a large cardboard cutout of a NASCAR driver hawking beer.

She--I've decided it was a wife or girlfriend or sister. She has cooked up some kind of beast, maybe a piece of fish, and seasoned it with the secret mixture. The store owner is hooked. "This is some deeelicious seasoning!"

They make a deal, and since the sample she left was hastily labeled, Richard's delicious seasoning, they went ahead and put that name on the printed labels. No one knew if it would be liked universally. You never can be sure of what will sell in cases like this.

Before you know it, Richard's seasoning is famous and people in California are writing about it on the internet, breaking into a cold sweat just thinking of the day when they'll run out and not be able to get more. Unless the critics can be appeased.

See what happens? It may seem strange to hide out and go incommunicado, but just look at the complications which arise when you decide to revive old friendships and stay in contact. Your best friends can turn out to be critics and send you into withdrawal because they are your only source for Richard's Delicious Seasoning.

Howling Wolf will solve some of the problem, but on the crazy vegetarian sandwich you'll be craving Richard's. Your life could be ruined, all because your old friend turned out to be a vicious critic, and you are no longer in the driver's seat. If you don't take the beating, you're doomed.

And you thought my life was easy, and that you have problems? I guess hearing about my complicated dilemma has brought you to your senses and you are at page two of your gratitude list as we speak.

Joel Was Wrong

I spill my guts. Tell tales of my troubled past, including Somewhere Else blablabla.

No one cares about that, Joel. It is like an inside joke. To the people outside it can look odd, repulsive, boring or stupid. Not one single comment or reaction which indicates no one has time to read all that, and if they do they aren't talking. Why? Because it did not leave them a single thought to add or express.

Your career as literary critic will never get off the ground until your instincts improve.

In the mean time, I still think we're being played like fools by establishment politicians. Obama for sure, and it seems te media is in cahoots with Perry and Romney--no relief there. It is a poorly scripted stage play and we are suspending disbelief so we can enjoy and participate in the story.

The end.

Home For Wayward Musicians;part 3

Where was I? Mavrin, oh yea. So I was pulling in about 80 to 100 dollars a month playing with Mavrin. I could pretty much drink and smoke for free because there were always people from the Tavern playing and they'd let me sit in. The perks of being accepted in that way meant you got brain numbing or enhancing agents given to you.

Most of my basic needs were covered but I'd never confronted the issue of How Am I Going to Eat? Fortunately, I was not that much of a food fanatic at that time. And Dave had experience in the world of limited or no means. This experience carried over to matters like laundry as well.

I learned about buying rice, and mixed frozen vegetables and other cheap stuff. We'd cook a lot of rice, and he'd mix his with chicken noodle soup and I'd mix mine with beans or mixed vegetables. I learned about dried beans and soaking them. Stuff I didn't ever have to do before. When I was married, my wife was the brains of the outfit. I had, however learned to iron before landing in the wayward home.

My youth was spent in a sweatshop behind the house making spears and other parts for spearguns. And doing yardwork. I was not well schooled on normal day to day aspects of maintaining one's life. To this day, I am very bad at it. Also, I have a tough time attaching reward to work. That may be because the reward to work connection was not obvious or just because I have peculiar wiring. I have done well at finding some satisfaction in about any work I've done, though. Once I get started. Getting started is an issue for some other story.

I spent some time there, rolling the van downhill to get it started, showing up at various places in a fifty mile radius to sit in and drink free, eating cheaply and probably more healthfully than I had in a year or two, and playing harp for Mavrin's rockabillys at some very odd and spooky venues. I won't go into that.

The goings on at Dave's house are a bit foggy in my memory. I remember some young ladies there who for some reason were hanging around in undergarments, yet they weren't actually with anyone. I couldn't say no at that phase of life. I'm lucky no inconvenient diseases were passed my way.

We had to do what we could to stop Steve B from shoplifting from the neighborhood market. It was a small place and the guy running it knew that guitar player was stealing. Slime ball. That is where we bought our rice and other things.

It was still winter and rather chilly. Dave's house had an oil fired heater in the middle of the living room. The oil tank was on the side of the house. We couldn't afford oil, but it turns out the Cat Lady's house, through the woods, nearby, was vacant as she'd been relegated to a home. Not sure what happened to all the cats. There's a reason Dave called her the Cat Lady.

With the Cat Lady in the rest home, or sanitarium, and the house vacant, and apparently never going to be otherwise. At least she'd never be back. It did not seem unreasonable to prevent her heating oil from going to waste, which it would have.

I felt proud suggesting a bucket line using milk jugs. We soon had enough oil to get the heater fired up. Maybe I am only remembering it this way, but I am pretty sure I was the one who figured out how to get the heater going. Dave may have played a part. He seemed adept at such things. I do know it took some doing, and that the guitar guy, Steve B, was not useful for that.

Had we wanted to attempt arson or something, then Steve B would be the go to guy. I kind of recall that Dave did his best to keep him away from the heater firing process. Steve would be the type to poor gasoline in there if it wasn't lighting immediately.

Eventually, I realized I couldn't live with no aim whatsoever, so I went to Miami to straighten out a bit, work with a friend, and oversee roofing work being done on my mother's house while she was out of town. Then I went back to NC and lived other crazy places. The drying out did not last, but I did have an awakening of sorts that helped in future days and probably kept me alive.

To this day, I know if I'm in a bind I can wash clothes in the sink or the bathtub, I can soak beans in good times and bad, cook rice and live cheap. I've never met anyone else who put stick on letters on a nice Gibson guitar, or met anyone prone to misspelling his own name.

Dave absolutely was good for his word. We made a good team, he having a van, me a license. He never would let me pay much of anything after that initial utility bill, but he did put the bill collector hammer down on sleazy Steve, so I guess that kept the lights on.

I remember one night we were lost in the van and a cop stopped us, He gave me a drunk test but let us go because we were sure we were only a couple of blocks from our destination. It turns out we were a long way off course, but on back roads. I recall we made it somewhere, but where, I can't say. I did keep to completely untravelled streets, but it is good I did not do anyone harm.

That old van was great. I wish they still offered a stick shift on the column like that. Three on the tree with a straight six engine is a recipe for reliability and easy repair.

None of this is the sort of life anyone would have expected of me. Clean cut, good test scores, naturally somewhat innocent, and of a middle to upper middle class upbringing. Truth is, I kind of expected worse.

I expected to be a career criminal of some kind. But then I realized the moral implications of taking what is not yours. Other crime, like drug sales involves people who are just too worthless to do business with so I didn't be a criminal. Although I see nothing wrong with an individual growing poppies or pot or whatever for their own use or even for sale in many circumstances. The feds see it another way, and I am not drawn to that business or to crossing paths with the slimy authorities.

It has been a very disjointed journey. On minute I am engrossed in patenting a thing which had ample market, then I blindly quit it altogether, then before I know it I'm playing some backwoods redneck lunatic bin with Mavrin's Rockabillys, Racing Van parked strategically outside for quick getaway and good downhill starting runway.

And before I know it, I'm a semi-hermit trying to figure out what I must do to feel normal or at least on a pt toward balance, stability and adequate companionship. I guess I don't try too hard at the figuring of that. It does feel much better not being drunk and convinced that the things of self destruction must be right. If nothing else, I do have that.

One thing for sure, I had a lot more women around when I was poor, drunk and crazy. But after that I lost the ability to not take others seriously, and I look at consequences to others as well as myself. That sucks.

Pseudo Science with Prof. John0**; and very fast food

Beware any scientific information which you read or hear from normal news sources. The reason for this is simple; most journalists do not grasp the math behind it, nor do they catch the subtle, but important, defining factors, caveats, and limits which are important in truly understanding experiments, discoveries and studies, and the conclusions drawn from them.

"NASA says there's a 1 in 3200 chance that the space debris will land on a person!". This is a mild example. Very mild, because it contains enough information to analyze a bit further. At first you think, "I'm wearing my helmet because I have a 1 in 3200 chance of being squashed by a dead satellite!"

Wow. Chances are worse for winning the lottery or getting lucky at the lesbian sports bar in Memphis (straight male point of view). Do not fear. There are, what-a couple of billion earthlings scrounging around on the planet? So, you only have a 1 in however many billion chance of being the squashed earthling and, if they dumped this exact stuff 3200 times, odds are only once would anyone get nailed.

If space were privatized all those drunken, obese tyrants in DC would be filing all kinds of injunctions and making rules out the ying yang to prevent companies from being so irresponsible as to not pick up their space trash before putting someone at risk. That may be beside the point. The point is that the implication of the news report makes you think your chances are greater than they are.

It might be a good idea for a private outfit to go collect stuff that isn't being used before it comes flaming through the sky. They could come back and sell the stuff on ebay for big money. That is how it works in a free market without corruption, which means the government doesn't handle the money or assign the contract and force and fraud are squelched instead of promoted by publicly paid authorities.

Also, I question how accurate such an estimate of odds can really be. Especially since they can't even pin down the day of the event. Or couldn't at the time they gave the Vegas odds of a human getting bonked by the debris.

Another interesting tidbit I read concerned the problem some scientists are having in Europe (and elsewhere, come to find out) because the neutrinos sent from somewhere I forgot are arriving in Italy faster than the speed of light. This has been going on for three years. They originally sent the stuff there for some other reasons but noticed delivery time was a little faster than they allegedly thought possible.

I used to be able to do the kind of math involved in all such equations but I forgot it. And that bugs me because news stories first filter through a journalist which means some fact is almost always wrong. You have more like a 3200 to 1 chance of that happening. I know, that is like saying 10 times out of 9 they get something wrong. I stand by it.

Then the journalist decides to put it in terms the public will understand. Since they think you are idiots and they are lazy, they try to figure out the quick phrase that will sum it up. So, something that might take lengthy equations and all kinds of complicated parameters to properly describe is laid out in a phrase that may or may not contain any truth relevant to the issue.

As a result you have people asking questions like "Do you believe in GLOBAL WARMING?", as if they were asking if you believe in God, or the Tooth Fairy, or those trolls who make people get lost in that woods north of Seattle. We've heard that the science is all in, and Al Gore even rode on a Scissor lift to explain it (although the hockey stick model has been discredited). Believe in?

Anyway, these neutrinos, which I assume to be a rare spice used in fine Italian dishes, are really hauling ass. The article says this is shaking the world of science and much of Einstein's work because it is based on nothing with mass going faster than light.

This troubles me in more than one aspect. First, did anyone honestly believe that some way, some how, nothing would go faster than light? And does that really shake it up that much? I figure it is like Newtonian physics; it predicts and explains things within certain limits.

You get beyond those limits and the other stuff kicks in. If scientists don't expect and actually strive to formulate theories and discover proof beyond current limits, then why in hell do we allow them to be paid with tax dollars? I strongly dislike that sort of scientist--the one who is afraid of new knowledge--and believe me, that ilk is plentiful.

Actually, I thought they'd already found things trucking along faster than light, but like I said, I forgot what I used to know and the speedometer on the BallisticTourmobile doesn't go up that high, so who cares?

I think UPS, FEDEX and the Postal service should hook packages to these things and charge like crazy. Your package would be there before you could ask, "How long will it take to get here?". People would pay big bucks to have important things shipped right now.

We've yet to scratch the surface on the nature of all that is, both big and small. Some things are easy to see. Like vertical posts, set with precision instruments on earth should be parallel, right? Not really. Follow the line up to infinity and posts set exactly vertical a few yards apart will be way far apart up there near the infinity road marker.

That is assuming that gravity pulls toward a point at the center of the earth. That is probably only a rough and somewhat inaccurate assumption, but it works OK. Just like the ocean isn't flat on top even if the sea is totally calm. Other wise it would follow a plane which is tangent to the earth's surface. Even then it may not really be flat because the bigger picture of the heavens may actually look like the road up to Ballistic Mountain.

So, once again, don't get too set on an opinion because you hear about a discovery or study in the news. If you are lucky, you only have half the real story. And if a neutrino snatches your purse, don't waste your time trying to chase it down. It will be in Italy before you get the first step completed.

Here's an excerpt or two, hopefully out of context, from a source somewhat more astute than BBC or AP where I first saw the article.:

CERN has a similar, higher-energy version of the Fermi experiment called OPERA, which sends neutrinos from a source in Switzerland to a detector at Gran Sasso in Italy. After accounting for all the sources of error, the people running the OPERA experiment expect that their measurements may be off by as much as 10 nanoseconds. The neutrinos got there 60 nanoseconds ahead of when we'd expect them to arrive if they were moving at the speed of light.

Notice the reference to opera. Perhaps I was wrong about using these things only for seasoning food. Perhaps it has something to do with the fat lady singing, or people wearing helmets with horns on them on stage.

The OPERA neutrino detector hardware. (so say they!! Looks like old blowers in a junk yard if you ask me.)

In defense of my seasoning explanation, here's another bit from the same article:
Neutrinos have generally made the news because they engage in what are called flavor oscillations,...

Notice the word "flavor"? Case closed.

That article can be found here...and ...here. Haha. That's a trick--both heres go to the same place. So does the and. See how life and science are full of surprises?

The article cited is definitely more scholarly and complete than the one I read from the mainstream source.

I should note that many of those involved in the discovery of this oddity have been hoping someone will figure out what they did wrong so that it will be shown that these things don't exceed the speed of light. Otherwise they have to deal with something that requires new equations and theories. They admit it. Very smart on their part. They leave it to the skeptics to figure out if they screwed up. I respect their approach.

**Prof. John0 is the science editor for the BallisticTour Journal of All Things Worth Knowing, and the acknowledged science and poet laureate of Ballistic Mountain. He lives quietly with coyotes, wild animals and imaginary friends in southern California

[wondering how Fin and BG's whirlwind tour is going. Covering lots of territory. I hope to see some of the pics they took while I had them kidnapped in the Ballistic 'hood]

Dynamic Disruption

It has been another odd phase in the life. Just not in balance. Not synchronized.

That leaves me a little less than at the top of my game when it comes to reading people and their reactions.

So, hopefully Fin and BG had a good time on the brief tour. I think they were tired from driving all day, and really just wanted to eat and sleep.

I ignored those clues, held them hostage in my dirty car, made them look at my horror film dirty house, and finally drove them back toward their hotel and safety. No one screamed or cried so I guess it was not too bad.

It was enjoyable to me, except I hate having the big mess. For some reason I went ahead and let them see that problematic aspect of things. I guess I thought it would be bad not to take them to the back deck so they could judge if I tell lies or accurately depict my circumstances. It is not a bad place.

I felt bad once I realized how tired they were. It has to be a byproduct of the break neck itinerary. I'm still wondering if it would have been better not to take them for that drive around the neighborhood.

In any case they were clicking off pictures like a couple of Japanese tourists. Is that racial? So be it, and who cares. Do Japanese tourists generally snap more pictures that the ones from Poland or Iceland? Who knows. It is their reputation.

They were headed up the coast first thing the next morning. I guess all is OK. I did hear that BG left her fancy water bottle in my car. I mailed it to her home in Mississippi. Had we known sooner, I could have run it out to them before they took off. I hate losing my travel cup or not having it handy.

It was good seeing them. They looked great, and they have a very spiffy rental car. I hope they enjoyed the stop. It really is a high paced trip they are on.

I'm not feeling in touch with much at the moment. Maybe that is OK