Math, Nature, and Ethics

In evolution class today, we were barraged by charts and math and theories talking about Genetic Linkage,Quantatative Trait Locus Mapping, and various other mathematical predictive ways to look at evolution. As I was beating my forehead raw banging it against this dry brick of information, I got to thinking (again, I think about this often) about why this type of material doesn't hook my attention. I need to learn this stuff to get a degree in Organismal Biology, but it's definitely not dear to my heart.

Pretty sure the vocation I'm interested in (getting into nature and just observing, gathering practical information and names of the flora and fauna around me along with ethnographic data) is called a Naturalist. But, I wanted a hard science degree, so here we are. As for the folks interested in quantifying nature, I have some observations/theories.

I will use Edward M. East as an example. He revolutionized genetics around the turn of the century, and was deeply interested in the mathmatical side of evolutionary information. He proved that Mendelian models of genetics could be applied to quantitative traits. What's this mean, or how can it be used? Well, you can take two parent crops with crappy genetics, breed them together and all the crappiness is hidden in the first generation of babies -- they perform just great. But when you breed generation 1 together to make babies, the next generation sucks rocks just like both parent generations. This is called inbred strain breeding, and is possible due to overdominance. What this means is that Monsanto and other Bio Tech firms can produce seeds that you as a farmer have to buy all over again every single year, because the seeds naturally produced from your own harvest will produce inferior crops. Great Stuff!! [NOT]

It's often said the highest use of science is to develop theories that are good enough models of reality that one can make predictions of future outcomes from current data. This seems reasonable enough -- humans have needed predictive information for as long as we've been scuffing around on this little planet. Shamans and Astrologers, Philosophers, Oracles and even Orthodox Clergy have been depended upon for millennia to provide predictive information by which important decisions could be made. But, once science and religion/spirituality split -- a code of ethics about the use of this knowledge was lost and we end up with folks like Mr. East figuring out something mind blowing and then turning around and using that information to screw generations of people that succeed him. We get brilliant scientists excitedly working on quantum theory, relativity, and particle physics who end up producing the Atom Bomb.

I guess that leads into a whole 'nuther discussion -- which would have to include the writing and thoughts of Morris Berman, Gary Snyder and others. It's too late at night (oh it's morning actually) to get into that tonight (morning) so I'll let it ride til a later date.

Blessings,

BP

Morning quickie spam report with T.

The morning's spam report from T.:


Beaver wants to help me find top quality Rolex watches. "Get that, not just Rolex watches but TOP QUALITY Rolex watches."

Cassandra Phillips wrote again: Give your woman something to work with.

Cecelia says that she thinks size does matter.

Sammy Beltran: Chub teaser on the table. [!!!??]

Lauren Washington: Sexually Explicit: Tackles school terrorism ministry, same contract, down captured...


That last one is so genius I think I'll stop there. I couldn't type fast enough to keep up with T.'s reading of this morning's missives. I have to train him to slow down when such gems are passing by.

Waking up: Soundgarden lyrics help fill in the blank

{thanks Shocho for the image}


A few too many days in a row of *not quite enough* sleep. So I woke up this morning feeling just about like this:

Sitting here like uninvited company
Wallowing in my own obscenities
I share a cigarette with negativity
Sitting here like wet ashes
With X's in my eyes and drawing flies....

Thanks Chris Cornell, I couldn't have said it better myself.

A cup of Earl Grey Tea, breakfast with The Wife and a good friend (can't think of a good pseudonym for him yet), and my attitude improved markedly.

Been going since 8:00 am on this my "day of rest." But, I utilized time in between errands well; driving with the windows down, letting the sun on my face, blasting music. It's not laying around on the grass watching butterflies, but it sure was satisfying regardless.

Some change and some tears

Last night The Wife canceled her World of Warcraft account. There was real loss in the room, and as I heard her typing her last goodbyes into chat, I realized she was crying. I had quit a number of months ago, and it has been a huge change in my life.

For folks who have never played one of these style of games (MMORPG's, or Massive Multiplayer Online Role Playing Games) this level of emotion might seem odd, or ridiculous (in the true sense of the word "worthy of ridicule"). I wanted to at least attempt an explanation of why it's such a big deal, and a big change for people to quit one of these systems.

What you see when someone's playing this game, from the outside, is someone sitting at a computer. Occasionally you see them with a headset on, talking animatedly with folks. Flashy lights and colors, we all love that, except folks who eschew all electronic media; no TV, no movies, no web surfing. With these systems, however, what's really going on is a mix of video gaming, strategy, economics, and most importantly a social network.

Think of all the people you know who check their Myspace account 3x a day. This type of system has that level of involvement and more. It's got all the hooks of a well-designed game; rewards and progression, fame, glory, and moolah. But then you weave that with a social network (via chat channels, grouped play, large group or "raid" play which can consist of up to 40 people) you get something entirely new, and entirely engaging.

These games demand organization on the level of serious sports league play. You need leaders (coaches), team captains, teams and subsets of teams, organization of resources (the equivalence of bake sales to pay for uniforms), practice, skill, and perseverance. Almost every Guild (read: team) has its own discussion forum with pages and pages of text dealing with this organization, as well as being itself yet another level of social networking. The designers of these games know how to make sure all of these levels of involvement are required for players to be successful. The better they weave the social aspect into the game system, the more community it creates and the longer people will stick with their product.

In essence, these are the Bowling leagues of our day. You have friends waiting for you many nights a week. You have intrigue, backbiting, and drama -- inevitable with large groups of people pursuing ... well most anything. You develop many levels of relationship within the system. You have "game friends" who are folks you just play with and wouldn't care to know outside of that context. You have your close "game friends" who you prefer to hang out with inside the game over most anyone else you know in that world. But you also create many real-life friendships. I drove up to Victoria Canada last year to meet a clutch of folks who I only knew, up until that point, in the game. Now they're some of my favorite people, and I'm in daily communication with most of them.

So, changing the way you interact with all these people is real change. You walk away from all that engagement, and everything shifts inside you. It's not just giving up flashy lights and spell casting powers. It's very much like quitting a job, or moving to a new town -- that level of shakeup.

When I look at my closest friends, I realize that there is a huge percentage I have met over the internet. All of the blogs I link to here in my sidebar are people I've met over the internet, and only one of them I have yet to meet in person (Shocho, you are on the list man, best visit if you are in the N.W.). There are many stories in these meetings, and I'll have to include them as their own "mythologizing of my friends" posts in this blog in the future. Some were met in chat rooms (poetry ones, specifically), some over discussion forums of shared interest (fly fishing), and some within games. Even today I look at this in amazement -- I still can't quite believe anything that good has come from a computer, or the internet, or especially gaming.

I pray The Wife isn't embarrassed by this post (she's still asleep upstairs as I type this). It just struck me when I saw her getting shaken up like that how someone who has never been through this sort of thing just wouldn't understand, and I wanted to address that.

Blessings all,

BP

Effing opposum got one of my chickens

This isn't a picture of the one I caught tonight -- this one was caught in a trap, not by hand. But there has been a call for graphics on the blog so here ya go.

Man, they are relentless. Tonight is I believe the 11th I've removed from the property now.

I was taking out the garbage tonight, before I was going to go lock up the chickens since we've had some egg stealing going on lately. Turns out I was too late, I heard some squawking coming from the coop, grabbed a flashlight and looked and sure enough there's a juvenile opossum chewing on the neck of one of my blue Andalusians. I got mad.

I locked him in the coop, and was planning to kill the little bugger, despite having been dedicated to live-catching and transplanting them for quite some time now. I don't know what it was, I was tired, had some problems with a friend I've been chewing on, long day -- all that. The Wife could tell what I was thinking and talked me back into doing my normal thing, which is to catch em by the tail and dump them into a rabbit cage.

I bought a nice fancy fancy live-catch trap (pictured above) but it's on loan to some friends up on Mt. Hood who have a raccoon issue going on.

So I bent a piece of pvc over my knee to make some "opposum tongs," threw on some leather gloves and went in the coop to get the little bastard. He tried a few tricks but I got him by the tail eventually and got him dumped into the rabbit cage. I was frustrated and even said something stupid like "you're lucky my wife's a nice lady ya little bastard," and kicked the cage.

I cooled off pretty quick. I spread newspaper on the back seat of the Subaru in preparation for his transport. By the time I was carrying the cage to the car he looked like they all eventually look -- just a dim little omnivore trying to get along in the world. I'm real glad The Wife talked sense into me, I'd've felt like a dick if I killed him. He's just a little dude doing his thing -- that thing just happens to conflict with my thing.

So I drove him out to the Bible College and let him go, as is the tradition.

Why Bible College you ask? Well, it backs up on Rocky Butte, which has acres and acres of prime opossum habitat, for one. For two, there's a nice dark turnaround with a good spot for me to let em go. Also, it's probably 5 miles away, and has both a large freeway as well as many well-lit and very busy streets between their new habitat and my back yard. Finally, of course, there's just something poetic to me about giving these huge rats an opportunity for Old Time Religion as part of their rehabilitation from a life of crime.

PS: Little Missy, the Blue Andalusian who is no longer with us, will be buried deep under a vegetable bed in the back yard, providing nutrients for I believe Tomatoes this year and who knows what in the future. She was a brassy little thing, having escaped once and evaded capture by my whole neighborhood for 2 full weeks before she was trapped by the aforementioned apparatus and returned to her flock. May she rest in peace.

Movie Review: Grindhouse

So last night Doctor Octagon and I went out to see Grindhouse. He is one of the few friends I have with whom I could indulge my morbid curiosity without any embarassment. We went to a big screen Regal theater, paid student price, bought popcorn and sodas and candy, and sat ourselves down.

The beginning of the movie runs some fake rating information and a fake preview for a splatter film about a mexican immigrant hitman called "Machete" if I remember right. The scratchy film, the graphics and typeface, the colorization and the music were all spot-on. It sounds like it wouldn't be that big a deal, but I found the intro and intermission cuts really fantastic, the styling and presentation were novel, and the effects of scratchy old 70's film just rocked. I was encouraged.

The Rodriguez presentation, Planet Terror, is a zombie movie. It starts with a strip club, and gets into the action in no time flat. The pacing of the movie, the mix of action and "characterization" (what there was of it), and even the film reel melting at one point and going into a quick technical intermission were all well timed and enjoyable. The movie, of course, is utterly ridiculous -- and great. It's plenty over the top and schlocky, without an even vague attempt at artiness or highbrow anything -- just blood and guts and guns and booty.

I ended this movie glad I had shown up. This redeems Rodriguez for me from his (in my opinion) complete flop Once Upon a Time in Mexico -- a movie that didn't go far enough into schlocky, didn't pile it on high enough, and just ended up seeming ridiculous and a waste of time despite having two of my favorite actors in it (Depp and Dafoe).

Then came Tarantino's presentation, Death Proof. To cut to the chase, I'll say that the parts of it that were good, were just dandy. Really nice retro car-chase genre craziness. He even was able to take it up a notch and introduce new stunts and such that were great, I'll give him that. But then we come to the other -- oh, 45 minutes of this movie. Although most of this footage was of pretty women in skimpy retro clothing running around and gossiping -- it was completely and utterly bland and uninteresting. It was like a high-budget, long-ass Gap commercial. It's unfortunate that some of the best stuff in this movie is at the end, because I have to suggest to folks who have any interest just to stick it out so you can see a good, over-the-top, and satisfying ending. But I can sympathize with the people I saw walking out of the theater midway through.

An aside about me and Tarantino. As ridiculous as it is, through many 2nd- and 3rd- and 4th-hand accounts of him in public (including a story by Henry Rollins in his DVD Shock and Awe), I've decided Tarantino is a self-centered, ego-maniacal prig. This doesn't help my opinion of his movie. I developed a theory as I was watched a bone-crushingly overlong scene of 4 girls talking in a diner, where the camera slowly pans back and forth and back and forth in about a 270-degree pan behind the heads and into the faces of the ladies eating breakfast and talking about nothing in particular. Tarantino thinks we give a shit. He thinks everyone else's taste is exactly like his -- that whatever stylistic movie reference he was making with that scene was as gripping for all of us as it is for him. Sorry buddy, I don't give a shit and you should know better. I have decided that he's sucked up so far into his own head (and possibly an opposing orifice) that he has lost touch with his audience completely and is performing some kind of elaborate self-gratfication at our expense.

Ok that was a little harsh, but it was fun to write.

So -- if you like splatter films, or retro films, or even action movies, see Grindhouse; especially if you can catch it at a Beer Theater where don't have to pay full price, you can get a little tipsey on fantastic micro-brewed beer, and throw popcorn and insults at the screen with impunity. It will be a good time. If you miss that option, rent the dvd and fast-forward through much of Tarantino's film.

Almost forgot -- be warned that this sucker really is a double-feature and after previews etc. you will be in the theatre over 3 1/2 hours. It's a marathon.

Geek landmark, 1000 views

Looks like the site will hit 1,000 page views either today or tomorrow.

I first started this project because online friends who I met through gaming primarily were having a harder and harder time getting updates from me, since I quit gaming months ago. After the 3rd or 4th person requested I start a blog, I relented and started in on the huge learning curve.

Now that it's rolling, I'm completely enjoying having a daily writing practice again. It's been years since I've practiced writing so consistently, and I had forgotten how gratifying and fun it is.

I intend this to develop even more, possibly create more blog sites and focuses and develop into more writing projects as well.

Thanks for all the feedback and support -- and just for checking in, writing without an audience isn't the same endeavor.

Film review/thoughts on This Film is Not Yet Rated

Had a chemistry exam tonight, and by the time I got home and settled in was ready to Veg for a while. Grabbed a dvd off the pile and threw it in, didn't really care what it was.

I watched a documentary called This Film is Not Yet Rated. It's an engaging film about the MPAA, the folks who rate movies. This is the type of subject-matter I occasionally delve into in either books or film, just to keep my toe in the conspiracy soup. I like to keep tabs on my corporate overlords, but not so much or often that I lose sleep or develop ulcers, or start standing on street corners yelling incoherent political rants at passing cars.

As a film, I'll say it worked, and was watchable. There were slow parts as the director spent a good amount of time with the P.I.'s he had hired to find out the identities of the current MPAA raters and the appeals committee (who he outs, which is satisfying). It was not as exciting as all that, but it did an ok job of stitching together a plot of some sort.

So the MPAA is an unelected, industry-driven and controlled, secret group who censors movies. They say they don't censor movies, but if they slap a NC - 17 on a movie, they can guarantee it won't be shown in most theaters, nor will it be advertised in most media, nor will it make anywhere close to as much money as if it were run in the normal channels.

It goes without saying that American movie standards favor violence over sex, and European movie standards favor sex over violence. The movie investigates this a bit, and satisfyingly. It is also unsurprising that gay sex is more harshly rated than straight sex. The film depicts this well by split-screening sex scenes from movies deemed nc-17 on one side (the gay side) and R on the other side (the straight side). Not surprising, but a good reminder and well presented. And of course, since it's an Industry association, indie directors really get the shaft whereas Industry movies get away with much more.

A plus for this movie is that there are plenty of split-second racy scenes, and some aren't even blacked out. This keeps things interesting in the dry parts. There are also good talking heads, mostly indie directors (including the Clerks guy) talking about their experiences dealing with the MPAA, as well as former Industry types.

Overall the movie pacing and interest level reminded me of my reaction to Who Killed the Electric Car. The info wasn't novel or surprising, was unfortunate, and was informative. I was glad I watched it, but somehow I was left with the feeling that nothing much of note happened in my life over the last hour and a half.

B- for this one, definitely watchable and if you are a movie-phile at all probably very watchable.

Fur shark update -- acupuncture and cat geriatrics

Jon Schell was kind enough to provide some visual fodder for the blogs while I am getting my stolen camera replaced. Over on the Fur Shark Chronicles I have a picture and some description of the acupuncture treatments Sula is getting now.

At least there's one picture to hold everyone over.

Utopian bathroom & The Study Group

As I was utilizing the services of a newly-found Utopian Bathroom (read: rarely used & therefore clean) at the Library on campus, I realized -- I haven't introduced the Chemistry Study Group to the blogosphere.

The study group is ravenous. It's maniacal, and it tends to produce A's, or pull F's out of the gutter and transform them into B's. It consists only of pseudonym'd superheroes, no mundane people are present, and no one retains their actual name for long.

You do have to "be made" to be considered a part of The Study Group. "Being Made" normally occurs when you've stuck it out, with a good attitude, through a couple marathon study sessions of over 6 hours, especially when over 1/2 of those hours were after 11:00 PM on a weekday. If you show up with snacks, and wince but don't complain about your nickname -- these are added bonuses.

This list-of-people comes with my usual caveats for lists-of-people: they are in no particular order, and any omissions will be summarily blamed on the little green men who feed on my memories, and all complaints due to said omissions should be lodged against Them.

Doctor Octagon is the ringleader of this little cadre. He's got tons of ink, and many of his features look like someone went after him with a holepunch. He has uncivil amounts of energy and stamina for studying, and is always the guy who says "just one more problem" as opposed to "fuck this, lets get gelato." Doctor Octagon's child is, of course, Squirt. Dr. Octagon is not petite.

Big Chocolate is also not petite. He carries his weight like a Samoan aught to though, like he was born into it. Which -- I guess if you do the math -- he was. Big Chocolate is probably my favorite nickname of the whole group. The fact that it makes this seemingly mild-mannered Christian man wince every time he hears it only adds to its allure. Big chocolate has many super-powers, not the least of which is R & B Vocalist.

Lil' Mike received our first Rap nickname of the group. Lil' Mike is young, handsome, and smart -- but manages, despite these debilitatingly envious traits, to be a helluva nice guy. The only reason I mentioned "petite" in reference to the above two gentlemen, is because we realized at the coffee shop last night, during a study break, that Lil' Mike weighs 1/2 that of either Big Chocolate or Doctor Octagon. A sobering realization. Lil' Mike has wisdom beyond his years, the stomach for our style of humor, and a firecracker of a girlfriend who is quickly approaching "made" status. Lil' Mike gets ribbed for the very possibility that he would ever wear outfits in the style of Lil' Kim. These images cemented his nickname for posterity, it can never change. Lil' Mike with pasties and a white leather g-string is just so wrong that it must exist, somewhere.

Captain America is, well, Captain America. He's also young, smart, and handsome. One way to tell him and Lil' Mike apart is that he's shorn and blonde. He's a bit older and more world-weary than Lil' Mike as well, but still shines like a stallion when he shows up at school wearing his fancy work duds. He's got fast cars and a pretty girlfriend, he vacations in tropical locales and owns a home despite being a bachelor. He's just like so totally Captain America, it's hard to understand til you meet him.

Doctor Teeth is named after the leader of the Muppett Band from the Muppet Show. He doesn't have a big gold tooth, a green felt face, or blaze-orange marabou-feathered hair -- but you know he aught to. He is going into dentistry, which is one of the reasons the name came about. He's smart, prompt, and weird. I mean, we're all weird -- especially yours truly -- but this kid pops off with the most random statements approximately once a week it really makes you wonder if his head is generating this level of surrealism all the time and it only leaks out into his "out loud voice" occasionally. For novelty's sake we must assume this is the case.

We have The Sundance Kid, another youngster. How to say -- The Kid shows up to lecture (when he shows up) inebriated or very giggly quite often. He is spotty about studying or doing homework, and yet despite these behaviors gets just as good a grades as the rest of us. In short, he's a fucker. Recently he made the statement (after relating a story about getting involved in a 3-some after doing a multi-story beer bong from two different porches in his high-rise apartment building) "I'm so glad I got my "partying phase" out of my system while I was young." There is so much WRONG with this statement, we (especially the geezers of the group) can't even begin to digest it. Occasionally, even if The Kid isn't around, Doc Oc will relay the quote and just stare at me (we being the geezers), hang his mouth open incredulously, and just shake his head. "What -- the --- FUCK, dude." The Kid has pulled off some truly marathon study sessions and is, despite his inconsistent study stamina, a made man in the group.

There are more personalities, but in the interest of thrift I think I will keep this as the first list. We have some folks we have lost to the vagaries of scholastic life (Quark), and some folks who have fantastic nicknames and stories who don't need the intensity of our group dynamic to succeed in chemistry class, and therefore (only out of coincidence) haven't been Made yet. Janice (the hippy chick guitar player of the Muppet Band) is an example of this type of person. Her nickname rocks so hard, and she rocks so hard, that she's absolutely in our hearts -- but only by technicality has she not been "made" yet. She's the lone ranger of chemistry study.

We have a Pledge currently working with the group. Her nickname is Smartypants,and she really doesn't like it. There is screaming and gnashing of teeth, some subtle yet incisive "lashing out" when it is used. She's not easy to Coy, which bodes well for her status in the group, she's sweet as all get out and shows up to study groups with not only cookies but PISTACHIOS, which is genius beyond repair. She's on the razor edge of being made as I type this so probably the less said the better.

For now, I will cut off my report there. School calls.

Enjoy your day, and thanks for your support.

BP

ps: My nom-de-studygroup vascillates from El Nombre (since I do most of the naming) and El Professore (since I'm going into teaching).

Tea and Tirade: Sunday Morning at its best

I'm feeling fantastic this morning, I'm not hacking up pieces of lung, I'm slowly catching up on schoolwork, and I had fucking FANTASTIC tea first thing.

As you may remember T. and I have been working our way through some sub-par samples from India for The Jasmine Pearl Tea Merchants. It's a rough gig, testing teas, but we take on our portion of the labor for our friends at the shop.

So this morning, T. suggested we have a "real oolong" -- one of the primo standard oolongs that Jasmine Pearl stocks, instead of trying out more samples. The samples, once you get out of what India knows best in tea -- blacks -- were very hit and miss, mostly miss. So, we've been drinking bad tea for weeks now, basically. T. pulls out some Jade Oolong off our shelf, one of Richard's beautiful wood-fired teapots (perfect for two folks) that we have, and we did it up right.

Holy Cow the difference was staggering! I mean, really staggering. The first cup was absolutely full, the flavors ranging from floral to grassy, with plenty of "Gan." Gan is hard to describe, but it's basically a fullness of taste that lasts on the tongue and changes over time. It's one of my favorite aspects of premium high-mountain Oolong teas from Taiwan. You just can't get that quality in low-elevation teas. The flavor lasted through, oh I think 7 or 8 brewings, ending in a nice palate-cleansing grassy astringency, letting us know the tea was brewed out. Fantastic experience.

For some reason there was an Orgonian newspaper sitting around on the living room floor, maybe they are accidentally delivering the Sunday Only editions to us again. Happens all the time. Right on the bottom of the front page is an article about a debate raging in Milwaukie, an eastern suburb of Portland known for a weird mix of redneck/rural flavors with more standard Portland South East activist/green types.

This debate was centered around hanging clothes on clotheslines. It's one of the voluntary simplicity moves that are becoming so popular in Portland lately. Maybe huge environmental problems won't be solved by this type of thing, but it's got a great Luddite feel to it, saves money for electricity, and makes clothes smell great. Apparently there's a contingent in Milwaukie that wants to make it illegal in their city, calling it an eyesore. This set T. *right* off. "These dam people need to get out of the country, need to see a 3rd-world country! My God! Pull your head out! It's *laundry* for God's Sake! What if your dryer is broken? What if you are poor and trying to save on power bills? These people need to see multi-colored saris drying along the edges of rice fields -- how gorgeous that is. God, look at me, one little headline and I completely lose it. That's why I don't read the paper, I swear."

It was a good tear he got on, I was impressed -- we hadn't even had caffeine yet.

The conversation then turned to the dangers of remaining single and insular into later adulthood. How this seems to create some serious problems for folks including solipsism, a resistance to "getting out and mingling" because hanging out with folks who don't share your world view leads to problematic situations demanding introspection, eccentricity, strengthening false world views and philosophical beliefs, among other things. This was rich conversation fodder and I think I'll need to visit it in another posting, as I have to get going with my day.

Friends and Superheroes: Flank

I'm being visited by an old old friend of mine. His nickname is Flank, as in Flank Steak. He got that name many moons ago because he was thin and cut and muscular. Interestingly, 10 years later, he's still thin and cut and muscular, the bastard.

Where do I start with Flank. We met in the restaurant business about... let me do the math here... 17 years ago? Ouch, yes I think that's right, 17 years ago. I worked the front of the house, bussing and waiting tables, and he was a cook. He became part of a small cadre of folks I hung out with, smartass cooks and smarmy waitstaff.

Not long after we met we ended up being roommates in Northwest Portland. At the time, it was before N.W. was even up-and-coming neighborhood. You could still get cheap rent there -- it wasn't yet the Rodeo drive/90210 yuppie scene it is today. I don't think there was a single boutique on the drag yet.

I'm beating around the bush -- dragging my heels about trying to describe Flank. The reason being, I am not quite sure how to approach the subject without getting either myself or him in trouble. I'll approach from the angle of rumor and heresay.

Some would say (Fox news fans will be familiar with that phrase) that Flank was a carousing young gay man when we met. He smoked like a chimney, was very into the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and was a member of the Army Reserves. This was right at the beginning of the "don't ask-don't tell" era of being gay in the military. I remember him calling me from a phone booth on base, I think in Texas, drunk. He was going off about this one cute guy in his unit, when I asked "Flank, are there folks in line for the phone?" "Yeah, why" "Well, can they hear you?" "OH SHIT, yeah they probably can," "How bout you tell me about the cute Korean dude when you get home in a week ok?"

I remember sitting at a sidewalk table right on 23rd street one morning, brunchtime. A couple of very swishy young gay men came mincing down the street. They batted their eyes and waved at Flank as he was sitting there with his cigarettes and coffee. Suddenly, he flips them off rather violently and yells "Fuck off!." Startled and not quite awake, I just sat and waited for his explanation. "God, I HATE fags..... -- ... I guess that's why I don't get long with myself so hot then, ha" he chuckled into his coffee cup.

Rumor has it Flank worked in ... "film" a bit in the day. No, not art film. When I asked him about what it was like to work in "the industry," he said "well, I show up on set -- and pretty much be myself for a few hours." Rightio then.

Flank's a dabbler. He dabbled in multiple martial arts, spiritual systems, philosophical viewpoints, and special diets (as long as they included chain smoking). Over the years I've heard him having interest in everything from Tibetan Buddhism to Hawaiian Shamanism.

A bi- or tri-yearly event for a certain period of his life would be him calling me from God-knows-where, out of the blue, after not having spoken together for months or even years. "Hey, it's Flank." "You get another security clearance?" "Yeah, I'm going for special forces." "Ok, and I suppose I'm on the security background check phone list correct?" "Correct -- remember: I've never done drugs, I'm not gay, I've never done porn." "Check." "Thanks bud, I can't wait to see what this level of clearance will give me access to." "Talk to you in a few years." "Right on." "Right on." -click-

Flank spent some time in Hawaii, not only to chase Asian boys which he can't get enough of, but also to deepen his shamanic studies. At this point, our contacts got even fewer and farther between. He's been good about calling every 2-4 years, just to check in. He digs The Wife, though he can't fathom for the life of him why someone would want to be monogamous.

The newest contact came through, of all things, the Paleo Arts discussion forums I frequenly troll, looking for info on bowmaking, hunting, flint knapping etc. Out of nowhere I get a Private Message, and it's Flank. "Hey, I'm going to be in Portland in 2 weeks, I'd like to see you." How the hell he found me through the Paleo Arts boards I'll never know, but we got set up for him to stay here and now he's here. He's visiting family, which is always a strain (conservative religious types), and staying with us.

Turns out his newest thing is living in Lost Wages Nevada and basically gambling for a living. He's had some jobs here and there, but gambling has been a large part of his income for a while now. A way to test out his intuition in real-world circumstances. He told me a little about his philosophy -- not so much a "system" as a gambling worldview. He sets a goal to make 10% profit, and when he hits that % he stops for the day. He got pretty dam consistent, it seems, and is only now getting a "real" job because he wants to enter nursing school and buy a sailboat to live on. For that, he'll need credit. For some reason he's fixated on Key West now -- no idea why.

There's an intro to one of the mythological superheroes of my past, I'll present more thumbnail biographies into this blog in the future.

"Naps" after staying up all night

Wow I'm discombobulated.

Just woke up from a "nap." I think I laid down... 3 hours ago? I don't really know, it was light out back then, that much I do know. Feel like someone snuck up on me and conked me on the back of the head with a lead pipe. What week is it?

I was on up all night on Mt. Hood, keeping an eye out for folks who are fasting up there. The ceremony is called the Hanblechya, or Vision Quest. The style they are doing is a "dark" fast, meaning they are inside little teeny sweat-lodge looking structures. Not only no food or water for 4 days, but no light either. It's an admirable thing they are doing, and last night is the only night I could fit in a helper shift in my schedule.

There is a fire kept 24/7 while they are in their altars, and there is a guard post or "Akichita" present the whole time as well.

Akichita is not a totally ceremonial post, as people do come and go off the land and need questions answered, and need to be smudged off (with smoke from cedar boughs) before they proceed into the property. Also, there is a very important feeling for the folks in ceremony that someone' watching over them. Nothing unexpected is going to interrupt their ceremony, they have someone out there specifically to take care of any problems.

It was a haul to stay up all night. I ended up using my cell phone set to an alarm every 15 minutes to pull it off. Gotta love technology. Nice test of my newfound health... sit up all night under a Pendleton blanket in the woods. It was beautiful out, but eventually it got cold enough I had to resort to sitting in my car. I didn't like this idea because I couldn't hear in there, but it was just getting too dam cold.

So, shout out to the folks (3 I believe) who are fasting. They're studs (studettes, all women); may they get the insight they are seeking, may they be safe, and be able to integrate their experiences back into the world.

Cellphones killing off honeybeys?

Well, there has been a huge die off of honeybees. That much is known. That cellphones might be the culprit is still deep in the theory stage, though apparently it has a few teeth.

This article suggests that the waves put off my cellphones are messing with the navigation of honeybees, keeping them from finding their way home. Enough of them don't return and the colony collapses.

Anyone who knows me, knows I'm Pro-Bee. I don't have to be a fruit and vegetable lover to have an affection for these little guys -- but it does help. Whatever it is causing the enormous die off of domestic bees does need to be sussed out, because so many crops depend on domestic bees to amplify their pollination rates for good food production.

I'll keep a special eye on any bee news in the future for ya'll.

Pie for breakfast

If anyone at The Wife's work is reading this, the Girls would like to thank you for the breakfast of "berry medley" pie that you donated to the cause yesterday. Although the pie was sub-par for humans, they are finding it QUITE delectable.

It sticks to their beaks a bit, and there is a bit of in-fighting -- both of which make me anxious to replace my stolen camera.

Pie -- it's what's for breakfast.

Best tooth pulling procedure ever!

She reminds me of The Wife. It's the operatic opening I think.

What's so hot about being sick?

Went to school today and yesterday -- and got myself out of the house for some errands over the weekend. Not feeling so great, some of the times I've been quite frustrated and disgruntled by my whole health situation, and what happens? Folks are flirting with me, making eyes, starting conversations, tossing come-hither vibes.

What the hell is so attractive about being down-trodden?

I've been on this same campus for almost 2 years now, and rarely have I had so much attention than in the last two days. It's utterly baffling. Not just women either, but some men have decided that I looked attractive in some haven't-shaved, beat-puppy, about-to-hack-up-a-chunk-of-lung sort of way.

When I mentioned this to a friend of mine, she said "you are vulnerable right now, people like that." Vulnerable in the same way someone who is overworked or overstressed is vulnerable to infection? Attractive to people in the way bacteria find open wounds attractive? What do you mean, vulnerable?

For the first time in weeks, even months, I've harbored a sour mood for more than a lunch break. I mean, I know it's not hip to be happy -- you're supposed to be cynical and nihilistic to fit in with the kids these days, but could this really be it?

It's that subtle "fuck off" vibe I'm putting off, isn't it. That "I don't want to deal with you, so don't look at me" vibe. Like when you have a visitor (like we did recently) who is allergic to cats -- that's the person they want to sit on, and rub on and eat off the plate of. There's just something so appealing about repulsion.

Granted, I'm not kicking it out of bed. Any positive moment in the last week's episode of "super mutant ninja germs" is a plus. I'll take it, gladly.

Done for now,

BP

Book Review: Two Leggings; The Making of a Crow Warrior

I know, this book was published in 1967 -- I never promised NEW book reviews, just book reviews.

Peter Nabokov writes excellent biographical and historical books on Native American culture. Two Leggings is a biography of one Crow warrior based on the field manuscript prepared by William Wildschut for the Museum of the American Indian. It's an excellent piece of writing, both for interest and for history's sake. I enjoyed it very much.

I like reading history from the perspective of the people themselves. If I want to learn about a culture, I want to learn about it from the folks living in it (even in hindsight) over folks in ivory towers telling me "how it is." The first book I read in this style that really galvanized my attention was Sun Chief, autobiography of a Hopi. The guy was irreverent, honest and lewd; as well as wise and of course full of mourning. It lit me up for this style of historical writing.

As for Two Leggings -- I appreciated seeing into the Crow culture, because it is so different than most of the NA cultures I've studied so far. These folks were Raiders, pure and simple. They hunted and followed buffalo, but they were very directed (at the least, the main character was very directed) toward warfare and raiding.

Seeing various ceremonies I half-recognize from my own life (I participate in many Lakotah ceremonies and have for many years) used to hunt down and kill enemies or steal their horses is a real mind bender. It shows the "practical" side of the mysticism, as well as the fact that it wasn't always used for self and humanities' spiritual betterment. It is an excellent way for me to get some perspective on my own studies and personal history.

For folks without this direct connection to the material, this is just a rousing read about a young warrior who wants nothing more than to be raiding constantly. He's obstinate and doesn't listen to his elders until eventually, and inevitably, life shows him that he aught to.

In the end, of course, everything goes south. The Crow are one of the tribes that thought of the white man "enemies of my enemies are my friends." They contributed scouts for the cavalry, even for Custer. They expected to be treated fairly for their help, and of course weren't. The book doesn't dwell on the years of decline, it's entirely about this one man and his life and life stories. I highly recommend it to anyone who has interest in history of the U.S. West, Native American history, or Native American spirituality.

No Honor Among Thieves

Disappointed to report that due to my lack of lying, we won't be getting a full settlement for the burglary. Both The Wife and T. said to just report anything missing as owned by us, not T. When it came down to brass tacks, I couldn't pull off the lie, and boom -- some of T's items weren't covered. Since he's not a relative staying in the house, his items aren't covered.

I'll get over it in a few more minutes but I do get frustrated at how not lying has hurt us as a family.

When The Wife had to claim personal bankruptcy over signing for business debts her (our, long story) electrical contracting company had, we could have thrown all our debts into that pile -- pretty much everything. Did we? No -- because we were using the bankruptcy as we viewed it was intended for, business dept. Something to help encourage people to be entrepreneurial and take risks in the business world.

Did this decision help her credit rating? No. Did the credit cards companies (who never received one late payment, never had any debt removed from their card balances) treat her as a normal customer? No. They either dropped her as soon as that card was paid off, while reducing her spending limits as the balances reduced -- or treated her as a second-class citizen. Despite the fact that the bankruptcy claim didn't affect them whatsoever.

I'm already losing steam over the lack of payment from the insurance company; some money back is better than no money back.

Why hadn't I just had the gonads to lie, though, dammit.

Hell -- I should have just made up stuff that wasn't stolen. Lots of my friends joked about it -- but in reality, how many people in our situation would have done that? I could have added fly rods and reels and knives, more jewelry, replaced my cruddy TI calculator... tons of stuff.

In the end, does The System even register a little personal ethical burp like that in the face of the horrendous white collar crime going on? Well, no, it doesn't. But, my conscience would; so I guess I get to stop bitching now.

Dinosaur RBT -- Birds and T. Rex

Looks like there was some soft tissue (collagen) in a T. Rex bone viable enough to be tested for it's DNA sequencing. The Article I first found this out from is scant, and I don't have time to get deeper into it right now, but this is a big deal. It was thought impossible to have soft tissue survive and be testable over such great stretches of time.

One of the major revelations was a distinct genetic similarity to modern-day birds, which formerly was attributed only to physiological traits that could be seen in fossils. Big news, because DNA similarity takes the hypothesis that birds evolved from dinosaurs to a whole new level of veracity.

I almost didn't check out the story, because as a biologist, you get tired of stories on T. Rex, and Great Whites, etc. The show-stopper, TV-crowd type of subjects. Glad I did though.

If more interesting info is revealed I'll revisit this, but I have a Chem assignment due at midnight which I haven't started yet, and I still sport a Tubercular cough bad enough to scare grandmothers at 200 paces, so I expect it's going to take me a while to finish.