Don't use the force, Luke!

Recently, I was described by a close friend as the type of person who, should I become suicidal, would succeed at killing myself. This was not intended as a compliment. It was a criticism of my insular way of making decisions without trusting other people. Yet, I understand just how potent a force it is to control one’s destiny that absolutely.

This ultimate power should not be confused with common attempted suicide. Many suicide attempts, whether successful or not, are driven not by the power over one’s destiny but rather by an overriding sense of impotence. These “cries for help” do often result in death. Yet, these despairing deaths are almost accidental in nature, the result of risky activities used to get much-wanted attention and love.

The same holds true for individuals suffering from physical mental illness. Not to be confused with people that are just dejected or dispirited, these melancholy mortals struggle with chemical demons that the rest of us cannot begin to imagine. Love, support and comfort can help deal with the ancillary misery that the disease causes. Ultimately though, only coolheaded, clinical treatment will help vanquish the torment.

Suicide is usually seen, and correctly so from a biological viewpoint, as an individual’s decision to remove himself from society in the most extreme fashion. There are of course less extreme measures that one can take. If it is the Gemeinschaft that a person wishes to flee it is not too difficult to uproot oneself from his present locale. Moving to a distant and remote state or country is the easiest way to leave behind the grinding discontent with family, friends and a wretched future.

If the vexation is with humankind in general it is often harder to escape the tentacles of irritation. Hermits used to be able to live a life of solitude relatively easily. The intrusions of today’s society are almost impossible to escape though. Nosy neighbors and prying governments are pervasive and make true seclusion almost impossible. This is the point where a person may choose to be done with mankind as a whole. G.K. Chesterton wrote:

The man who kills a man kills a man
The man who kills himself kills all men.

Contrary to the common opinion that suicide is a sign of weakness it is a tremendous power to possess and exercise. It is the paramount control over one’s destiny.

Yet, to use its potential is to lose it for all time. Why did Diane Arbus, Richard Brautigan, Kurt Cobain, Sigmund Freud, Ernest Hemingway, Sylvia Plath, Hunter Thompson and Virginia Woolf choose that particular day to say goodbye? There is always a tomorrow. And with it the chance that tomorrow will be better, more interesting, and different than today was. What is the rush? We can always kill ourselves tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow. Shouldn’t we wait to see what surprises the morning brings? That is the beauty of such power, the strength it gives us not to use it.

"A billion here and a billion there and pretty soon we are talking about real money."

It is worth understanding just what a billion of anything really is. It is a big number; it is a really big number, it is, well, a whole lot.





• A billion seconds ago it was 1959
• A billion minutes ago Jesus was alive*
• A billion hours ago our ancestors were living in the Stone Age**
• A billion days ago our ancestors were almost as smart as today’s Chimpanzees***
• A billion dollars ago was only 8 hours and 20 minutes, at the rate our government is spending it


Now that we understand "billion" better, it is worth noting that Louisiana is asking the taxpayers of the US, through the Congress, to spend an additional $250 billion to "rebuild New Orleans." This is a lot of money.

Using New Orleans' official population taken last by the Census Bureau in 2000 of 484,674, every man, woman and child will "receive" $516,528. Of course New Orleans' population has fallen a bit since then, and is now estimated at 187,525, so really each resident of New Orleans will "receive" $1.335 million. Another way to look at it, each of the 188,251 homes In New Orleans will get $1.330 million for "renovations.


* Atheist readers should look at this as a metaphor

** Creationists should not be reading my posts in the first place

*** Or about the same as today’s average creationist

Blowing Smoke

Oregon appears to be the winner in the race to provide the safest marijuana. Out of samples confiscated since 1975, the pharmacy department at the University of Mississippi found the highest THC concentration of 33.12 percent in a marijuana sample provided by the Oregon State Police. Meanwhile, the average level nationwide has risen to 8.5 percent in 2006 from 7 percent in 2003 and from 3.5 percent in 1988.

The findings clearly show that today’s users have to inhale much less of the carcinogens found in marijuana smoke to achieve the same level of intoxication. As the Drug Enforcement Agency points out on its web site, “Smoking one marijuana cigarette deposits about four times more tar into the lungs than a filtered tobacco cigarette.” The National Institute on Drug Abuse states that; “In fact, marijuana smoke contains 50 to 70 percent more carcinogenic hydrocarbons than does tobacco smoke.”

Clearly, the improving THC levels mean that users are now exposed to the equivalent of less than two times the tar of a filtered tobacco cigarette compared to 20 years ago. If average potency levels continue to rise toward the Oregon sample’s 33.12 percent concentration, the level of inhaled irritants and carcinogens would plummet. While other THC delivery systems have been developed, smoking remains the preferred, and more sociable, delivery method.

John Walters, director of National Drug Control Policy, in a failed attempt to put a negative spin on the findings said, “This report underscores that we are no longer talking about the drug of the 1960s and 1970s – this is Pot 2.0.” National Institute on Drug Abuse Director Dr. Nora Volkow added, “Like in the market you favor the best tomatoes. When people buy marijuana they don’t want a weak cigarette.”

Volkow, in a spasm of fear mongering, reiterated the overall danger of marijuana use by children, “If children and adolescents use marijuana, it could affect their still-developing brains.” That of course argues for keeping marijuana, and alcohol, regardless of the potency or proof, out of the hands of minors.

Priceless

As expected, Turner Broadcasting System is rewarding Boston for its clueless assistance in turning a low-budget, guerrilla marketing program into a huge advertising success. In a year when the price for a 30-second spot during this year’s Super Bowl XLI was expected to reach $2.6 million, Turner's "Aqua Teen Hunger Force" has received over a week of international press coverage for a paltry $2 million.

$1 million of the expense is ostensibly to cover the actual expenses that various agencies incurred in over-reacting to the rude, cartoonish devices. The additional $1 million payment is termed “goodwill funds” that can be used for training, equipment and public outreach. State Attorney General Martha Coakley applauded the settlement saying that the final amount was more than the state would have received from the courts.

The charade charges against the two men who installed the devices are still pending although Ms. Coakley said that a settlement is possible. Or perhaps the marketing campaign still has some time to run.

Boston Wins 2007 Hyperbole

In the aftermath of Wednesday’s emergency-response fiasco, Boston’s citizens need to ask some very hard questions of the authorities behind the overreaction. Most important of these is the clichéd “What did they know and when did they know it?” Clearly, there was a point at which the authorities knew that it was either a prank or a hoax that they were dealing with. At that point, the responsible action would have been to reassure the public that the incident was harmless and quietly remove the remaining offending devices.

Instead, Boston authorities shut down bridges, subway stations, an interstate highway and a stretch of the Charles River, making a relatively benign incident a major farce for the city. Traffic was snarled throughout the city as bomb squads raced around the city taking down the light boards.

After unnecessarily creating chaos in the city, the politicians attempted to justify their actions. The “bomb-like” devices could have damaged transportation infrastructure around the city if they had been explosive according to Assistant Attorney General John Grossman. Massachusetts Attorney General Martha Coakley echoed the supposed menace stating to reporters that, “It had a very sinister appearance. It had a battery behind it, and wires.” Boston Mayor Thomas Menino played the war-on terror card with, “It is outrageous, in a post- 9/11 world, that a company would use this type of a marketing scheme.” Merino also feels that the two guys that hung the boards on behalf of a marketing company “should get 2 to 5,” presumably for coercing the city’s overreaction. So far, the guerrilla marketers have been charged with placing a hoax device and disorderly conduct.

The electronic devices, resembling Hasbro’s Lite-Brite product, were placed on buildings, bridges and near Fenway Park. The electronic light boards, which had been in place for two to three weeks, showed a cartoon square-shaped man with an upraised middle finger. In addition to Boston, similar sinister devices had been placed in New York City, Los Angeles, Chicago, Atlanta, Seattle, Portland, Austin, Philadelphia and San Francisco. However, only Boston reacted with the hysteria usually associated with the 1938 War of the Worlds radio broadcast.

Mayor Merino now wants Turner Broadcasting, whose "Aqua Teen Hunger Force" television show was being advertised, to pay “any and all expenses incurred during the response to today’s incidents.” He should include the cost of having his head examined as well. However, given the amount of publicity the show has now received, Turner may decide to reward the buffoons.

Email Comes Into Your Life For A Reason

Email comes into your life for a reason, a season, or because it was sent to the wrong address. Sometimes email comes into your life for a reason, often to impart some important, at least to the writer, information. Work email usually falls into this category. So do advertisements encouraging you to refinance your house, enlarge your penis and win a free iPod, usually all from the same bank. Unless the email is from your boss, these emails can usually be deleted without reading them. If they contained anything important the sender will follow up with a phone call.

Some email comes into your life for a season, or at least the mental season, of the person sending it. Summer emails are usually hilarious jokes and video links intended to spread the sender’s mental sunshine. These are emails that you immediately want to share. Such an email is the electronic equivalent of the sender shouting, “watch me do a nude cannonball off the high dive.” Summer emails are always welcome.

Spring emails are just like summer emails except that they are not as good. They are the equivalent of cheap pick-me-up bouquets rather than roses. They are the jokes that fall flat, the dumb videos and the unfunny cartoons. Sometimes spring emails are sent to you by people experiencing winter but trying to will the sun to shine. It is best to just quietly delete these emails and not reply. Unless, you think that lying to your friends about their taste is ok.

Winter emails are the trickiest of the emails. They should not be emails at all. Never, ever, ever reply to a winter email with another email. Responding with an email of your own will cause you to spin out on the black ice of relationships. You will be lucky to avoid the two large oak trees and come to rest in the snow-covered field of friendship without any permanent injuries. A winter email is a very long, roundabout way of saying, “call me.”

Nothing catches people by surprise more than a fall email. Fall emails reflect the sender harvesting your friendship and love. Often an excess of estrogen on the part of the sender triggers them. The biggest problem with fall emails is that they usually reach people experiencing different seasons. Fall emails bring summer people down because they are busy enjoying day-to-day life and don’t have time for introspection. Spring people are still struggling to forget what their winter of discontent feels like. And winter people have enough on their minds, what with the recent tragic deaths of Barbaro, James Brown and Momofuku Ando.

Like harvest festivals, fall emails are public affairs. Despite their implied personal nature, fall emails are usually sent to large groups of people asking them to celebrate together. But unlike true fall festivals, beer is not served. Fall emails usually ask you to send it back to the sender (doesn’t the sender have a copy in his or her sent folder?) as well as to forward copies to at least ten of your friends since you would not be inclined to do so on your own.

Finally, some emails come into your life by mistake. They don’t count. Unless they contain extremely embarrassing stories or pictures about total strangers. In that case you have the opportunity, nay the obligation, to immediately turn these emails into summer emails by forwarding them to as many people as you know. The only exception to this rule is if the emails contain revealing stories, pictures or videos of real celebrities. In this case you can retire by selling the contents to the National Enquirer.

Sleepless

I was naked, on a beautiful tropical beach. As is typical of my dreams, I was being chased by carnivorous, bikini-wearing, flying monkeys. Suddenly, I heard a single, loud shriek. It was the scream of a small mammal being crushed in the jaws of a much larger predator. A small mammal with a very powerful electronic megaphone. I was no longer asleep. The shrill sound had jolted me instantly from the blissful realm of my sleeping brain to a state of very, very wide awakeness.

I rolled over and looked at the clock. Three-thirty. I was sure I knew what the sound was. Now it was just a matter of determining whether it was just a stray electronic gremlin calling out in the night or whether it required my getting up. I held out faint hope that the sound came from one of the neighboring lofts and that I would soon be able to return to my strangely erotic dream. For a long time I lay there, willing myself back to sleep. To no avail.

The next scream came at shortly after four. Knowing that I would not be able to sleep without rooting out the cause I got out of bed. First I walked over to the bedroom smoke detector. It stared silently down at me with its unblinking green eye. Like Dick Cheney under subpoena, it would not reveal its secrets.

After several minutes of pointless watching I decided to go downstairs to see if there were any other electronic devices that might have been responsible for my wandering around the house naked at such an uncivilized hour. Several months earlier the carbon monoxide detector had gone through a spasm of similar shrieks when its battery had run down. Even though I knew that I had removed the dying battery, effectively disconnecting the detector, I looked in the laundry closet. You never know when adult-minded visitors might take it upon themselves to resurrect such a safety device. And my brother had just stayed with me a few days earlier. However, the carbon monoxide detector hung lifelessly on the back wall, its empty battery holder gaping like the jaw of a small human skull.

The next likely suspect was the burglar alarm panel. It had winked at me when I came downstairs but I attributed this to the motion detector signaling my presence. I looked at the panel for several seconds and then wandered into the kitchen. Just as I was reaching for the refrigerator door, mostly because I was at a loss for anything else to do, another scream pierced the silence.

This time it was quite clear that the culprit was upstairs and left no doubt that it was the smoke detector. I went back upstairs and stared at it again and was rewarded by another shrill shriek just a minute later. And yet another one a minute after that. Clearly, my little, round, plastic guardian had found its voice and I would have to deal with it promptly if I was going to get back to bed.

I twisted the unit loose from its mounting ring but was unable to pull the AC power connector out. Perhaps it was the early hour. Perhaps it was because I still had not turned on any lights. Most likely it was the inherent Resistentialism of the smoke detector at work. In any case, my goal of disconnecting the smoke detector and going back to sleep just became much more complicated. Tools were required.

I got out a screwdriver and pried the connector out. Then I sat on the bed and proceeded to take the battery out. During all of this the electronic screams caused by the failing battery were coming once a minute, just like the fine print on the case said they would. My hastily thought out plan was to remove the battery and go back to sleep. I concluded that the risk of a fire over the next three hours seemed remote. In evaluating the risk, I felt that the smoke detector was more likely to cause a fire than to warn me about one. I would worry about getting a replacement battery later in the day - when it was light outside.

Of course, the smoke detector had other ideas. For those of you who have never had the opportunity to deal with a recalcitrant smoke detector it may come as a bit of a surprise that a smoke detector will continue to “alarm” long after it has been disconnected from all power sources! Apparently, a smoke detector can store energy (fat?) for when its two primary sources of power have failed. And my smoke detector had clearly been saving for a while. Despite being buried under a blanket and pillows in the living room I could still hear its plaintive little squeals. Finally, just as it sensed that I was getting ready to take it outside and lock it in my car, it fell silent.

Perhaps it just ran out of energy. Perhaps it gave up. I like to think that it finally realized that it was dealing with a superior intellect and surrendered. In either case I stood there, sleepy but victorious, as the light through yonder window broke. It was the east and yes, it was the sun.

Despite my lack of sleep last night I am in a magnanimous mood. I will in fact buy a replacement battery. I may even buy one for the carbon monoxide detector. But one thing is certain. Tonight I will sleep. My dreams and slumber will not be disturbed by any little electronics. I will ensure tranquility. For tonight I will sleep with my hammer on my nightstand.