Sunday, November 25, 2007

Farm News 11-25-07

Sunday morning, after chores,30°


It's been a busy week and I haven't written much.

Barn News

Hooray! I gave away two cats, Four-ten, Shotgun's daughter, and another as yet unnamed Shotgun daughter, both Calicoes.

Interfaces

William Calvin has proposed quite a few interesting ideas, but I am most taken with his Darwin Machine. A Darwin Machine is a set of patterns, and a mechanism for replicating those patterns. Calvin proposes four more requirements, but I've written about those before. The set of all the genes on earth, along with their ability to replicate themselves, constitutes the Darwin Machine with which we are the most familiar: Life. Life has come up with a set of collections of genes called species, and some of those species are endowed with an Immune System which in itself forms a Darwin Machine. It has been proposed that the set of Human Ideas, along with Humans, who replicate them, form a Darwin Machine. I have proposed that the set of lines of code in Open Source Software form a Darwin Machine.

One of the interesting features of this line of thinking is that all these Darwin Machines, the Immune System, Human Ideas, and Open Source Software, all intersect in Life. The Immune Systems of humans, Human Ideas, and Open Source Software all rely on humans for replication. That does not mean, though, that there has to be any hocus-pocus anywhere in the collection of Darwin Machines. We can observe and predict the behavior of the set of Human Ideas and the set of Open Source Software code without recourse to anything in human intelligence other than to say that humans act as the replicators for the two sets of patterns, no more than we are required to bring in the operations of our own intelligence in describing the operation of our Immune System.

Darwin Machines create complexity. They replicate, making tiny errors occasionally, and, if a copy with the right kind of error comes along, it is replicated more than other patterns of its type. Very quickly patterns will evolve which tend to combine with other patterns to form a super-pattern, a species, which improves the rate of replication of all the individual patterns which define it. The patterns will rapidly fill the environment in which they exist and, after that, constantly improve upon the density of their occupation of that environment. They increase the density by creating the best possible fits between species and environmental niches, creating such complexity in the process that it is hard to describe the organization of species without retreating to some idea of an Intelligent Designer, or, in the case of Open Source Software, Intelligent Programmer.

Open Source Software has yet to produce a species, a program, which can become aware of the existence of an Intelligent Programmer, or have any way to utilize that awareness. Human Ideas, on the other hand, has produced a species called Memetics which might be said to be aware of the Intelligent Programmer and might find ways to utilize the awareness.

I keep thinking all the above would come together and make sense if I would just smoke some good pot some evening.



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Sunday, November 18, 2007

Farm News 11-18-07

Sunday morning, after chores, 45°

Barn News

Brindle lost her bunnies. Tuesday morning they were fine, but on Tuesday evening they were dead. I don't know what happened to them, things like that just happen sometimes. Brindle doesn't seem to be doing a very good job of mothering. She is nervous and excitable, which might be the source of the problem, so I think I will replace her with a more docile doe.

Shotgun's five kittens are starting to explore the barn. Three of them will come down out of the loft now with Pitiful leading the way. Pitiful is still the noisiest cat in the barn, yowling his head off whenever anything displeases him in any way.

A Gravid Captain

Several readers have asked why Dr. M. hasn't written anything lately. Well, the truth is that Dr. M. is acting like a woman: she's pregnant and busy trying to find uniforms that will fit her. For those who didn't know, Dr. M. is a Captain in the US Army, keeping Army dogs healthy while doing all the other things that young mothers-to-be do. The sonogram says she is going to produce a boy, a trick she will probably accomplish without problems even though she has no previous experience in producing babies.

In the Army enlisted soldiers are provided with a set of uniforms, but officer's are given a uniform allowance which they use to purchase their uniforms. Dr. M. needs maternity uniforms, a difficult item to find at Wal-Mart. After she has the baby it might be some time before her first uniforms will fit again, if ever, so she might need to purchase a set of post-partum uniforms. I'm sure the Army didn't take any of these problems into account when they calculated the uniform allowance for officers.

Some Speeches Should Be Repeated

Address by Mayor Ross C. "Rocky" Anderson

October 27, 2007, Salt Lake City, Utah

Today, as we come together once again in this great city, we raise our voices in unison to say to President Bush, to Vice President Cheney, to other members of the Bush Administration (past and present), to a majority of Congress, including Utah's entire congressional delegation, and to much of the mainstream media: "You have failed us miserably and we won't take it any more."

"While we had every reason to expect far more of you, you have been pompous, greedy, cruel, and incompetent as you have led this great nation to a moral, military, and national security abyss."

"You have breached trust with the American people in the most egregious ways. You have utterly failed in the performance of your jobs. You have undermined our Constitution, permitted the violation of the most fundamental treaty obligations, and betrayed the rule of law."

"You have engaged in, or permitted, heinous human rights abuses of the sort never before countenanced in our nation's history as a matter of official policy. You have sent American men and women to kill and be killed on the basis of lies, on the basis of shifting justifications, without competent leadership, and without even a coherent plan for this monumental blunder."

"We are here to tell you: We won't take it any more!"

"You have acted in direct contravention of values that we, as Americans who love our country, hold dear. You have deceived us in the most cynical, outrageous ways. You have undermined, or allowed the undermining of, our constitutional system of checks and balances among the three presumed co-equal branches of government. You have helped lead our nation to the brink of fascism, of a dictatorship contemptuous of our nation's treaty obligations, federal statutory law, our Constitution, and the rule of law."

"Because of you, and because of your jingoistic false `patriotism,' our world is far more dangerous, our nation is far more despised, and the threat of terrorism is far greater than ever before.

It has been absolutely astounding how you have committed the most horrendous acts, causing such needless tragedy in the lives of millions of people, yet you wear your so-called religion on your sleeves, asserting your God-is-on-my-side nonsense when what you have done flies in the face of any religious or humanitarian tradition. Your hypocrisy is mind-boggling and disgraceful. What part of "Thou shalt not kill" do you not understand? What part of the "Golden rule" do you not understand? What part of "be honest," "be responsible," and "be accountable" don't you understand? What part of "Blessed are the peacekeepers" do you not understand?

Because of you, hundreds of thousands of people have been killed, many thousands of people have suffered horrendous lifetime injuries, and millions have been run off from their homes. For the sake of our nation, for the sake of our children, and for the sake of our brothers and sisters around the world, we are morally compelled to say, as loudly as we can, `We won't take it any more!' "

"As United States agents kidnap, disappear, and torture human beings around the world, you justify, you deceive, and you cover up. We find what you have done to men, women and children, and to the good name and reputation of the United States, so appalling, so unconscionable, and so outrageous as to compel us to call upon you to step aside and allow other men and women who are competent, true to our nation's values, and with high moral principles to stand in your places ­ for the good of our nation, for the good of our children, and for the good of our world."

In the case of the President and Vice President, this means impeachment and removal from office, without any further delay from a complacent, complicit Congress, the Democratic majority of which cares more about political gain in 2008 than it does about the vindication of our Constitution, the rule of law, and democratic accountability.

It means the election of people as President and Vice President who, unlike most of the presidential candidates from both major parties, have not aided and abetted in the perpetration of the illegal, tragic, devastating invasion and occupation of Iraq. And it means the election of people as President and Vice President who will commit to return our nation to the moral and strategic imperative of refraining from torturing human beings.

In the case of the majority of Congress, it means electing people who are diligent enough to learn the facts, including reading available National Intelligence Estimates, before voting to go to war. It means electing to Congress men and women who will jealously guard Congress's sole prerogative to declare war. It means electing to Congress men and women who will not submit like vapid lap dogs to presidential requests for blank checks to engage in so-called preemptive wars, for legislation permitting warrantless wiretapping of communications involving US citizens, and for dangerous, irresponsible, saber-rattling legislation like the recent Kyl-Lieberman amendment.

We must avoid the trap of focusing the blame solely upon President Bush and Vice-President Cheney. This is not just about a few people who have wronged our country and the world. They were enabled by members of both parties in Congress, they were enabled by the pathetic mainstream news media, and, ultimately, they have been enabled by the American people 40% of whom are so ill-informed they still think Iraq was behind the 9/11 attacks a people who know and care more about baseball statistics and which drunken starlets are wearing underwear than they know and care about the atrocities being committed every single day in our name by a government for which we need to take responsibility.

As loyal Americans, without regard to political partisanship -- as veterans, as teachers, as religious leaders, as working men and women, as students, as professionals, as businesspeople, as public servants, as retirees, as people of all ages, races, ethnic origins, sexual orientations, and faiths -- we are here to say to the Bush administration, to the majority of Congress, and to the mainstream media: "You have violated your solemn responsibilities. You have undermined our democracy, spat upon our Constitution, and engaged in outrageous, despicable acts. You have brought our nation to a point of immorality, inhumanity, and illegality of immense, tragic, unprecedented proportions."

"But we will live up to our responsibilities as citizens, as brothers and sisters of those who have suffered as a result of the imperial bullying of the United States government, and as moral actors who must take a stand: And we will, and must, mean it when we say `We won't take it any more.'"

If we want principled, courageous elected officials, we need to be principled, courageous, and tenacious ourselves. History has demonstrated that our elected officials are not the leaders - the leadership has to come from us. If we don't insist, if we don't persist, then we are not living up to our responsibilities as citizens in a democracy and our responsibilities as moral human beings. If we remain silent, we signal to Congress and the Bush administration and to candidates running for office and to the world that we support the status quo.

Silence is complicity. Only by standing up for what's right and never letting down can we say we are doing our part.

Our government, on the basis of a campaign we now know was entirely fraudulent, attacked and militarily occupied a nation that posed no danger to the United States. Our government, acting in our name, has caused immense, unjustified death and destruction.

It all started five years ago, yet where have we, the American people, been? At this point, we are responsible. We get together once in a while at demonstrations and complain about Bush and Cheney, about Congress, and about the pathetic news media. We point fingers and yell a lot. Then most people politely go away until another demonstration a few months later.

How many people can honestly say they have spent as much time learning about and opposing the outrages of the Bush administration as they have spent watching sports or mindless television programs during the past five years? Escapist, time-sapping sports and insipid entertainment have indeed become the opiate of the masses.

Why is this country so sound asleep? Why do we abide what is happening to our nation, to our Constitution, to the cause of peace and international law and order? Why are we not doing all in our power to put an end to this madness?

We should be in the streets regularly and students should be raising hell on our campuses. We should be making it clear in every way possible that apologies or convoluted, disingenuous explanations just don't cut it when presidential candidates and so many others voted to authorize George Bush and his neo-con buddies to send American men and women to attack and occupy Iraq.

Let's awaken, and wake up the country by committing here and now to do all each of us can to take our nation back. Let them hear us across the country, as we ask others to join us: "We won't take it any more!"

I implore you: Draw a line. Figure out exactly where your own moral breaking point is. How much will you put up with before you say "No more" and mean it?

I have drawn my line as a matter of simple personal morality: I cannot, and will not, support any candidate who has voted to fund the atrocities in Iraq. I cannot, and will not, support any candidate who will not commit to remove all US troops, as soon as possible, from Iraq. I cannot, and will not, support any candidate who has supported legislation that takes us one step closer to attacking Iran. I cannot, and will not, support any candidate who has not fought to stop the kidnapping, disappearances, and torture being carried on in our name.

If we expect our nation's elected officials to take us seriously, let us send a powerful message they cannot misunderstand. Let them know we really do have our moral breaking point. Let them know we have drawn a bright line. Let them know they cannot take our support for granted, that, regardless of their party and regardless of other political considerations, they will not have our support if they cannot provide, and have not provided, principled leadership.

The people of this nation may have been far too quiet for five years, but let us pledge that we won't let it go on one more day ­ that we will do all we can to put an end to the illegalities, the moral degradation, and the disintegration of our nation's reputation in the world.

Let us be unified in drawing the line - in declaring that we do have a moral breaking point. Let us insist, together, in supporting our troops and in gratitude for the freedoms for which our veterans gave so much, that we bring our troops home from Iraq, that we return our government to a constitutional democracy, and that we commit to honoring the fundamental principles of human rights.

In defense of our country, in defense of our Constitution, in defense of our shared values as Americans ­ and as moral human beings ­ we declare today that we will fight in every way possible to stop the insanity, stop the continued military occupation of Iraq, and stop the moral depravity reflected by the kidnapping, disappearing, and torture of people around the world.

www.GeezerNet.com

The GeezerNet web site will be down indefinitely. I'm spending too much time on maintaining it and not enough time on doing the things I enjoy. Farm News will still be available online at idfaFarmNews.blogspot.com.

Rocket Science 101

When Floyd and I were in college we occasionally discussed the problems we saw in acquiring enough money to support our various habits, such as drinking Southern Comfort, loving women, and driving foreign sports cars. Working was entirely too time consuming and offered little in the way of intellectual stimulation. Crime seemed messy and subject to errors that could lead to harming the innocent, and, though lazy and shiftless, we had a few morals. Show business, we decided, seemed our best bet, as it offered flexible work schedules, lots of women, and could be intellectually challenging. So, we decided to start with rocketry.

Rockets, at least those capable of launching things like Sputnik into orbit, were entirely too expensive for the average student to purchase. If we had had that kind of money we would have used it to buy more Southern Comfort and forgotten the whole scheme. Sending objects to space on pocket change was going to require ingenuity, the only resource we had readily available in any quantity.

Floyd discovered a nice, small, dining table sitting by the street waiting for the trash truck and immediately rescued it from a fate worse than death. We shortened the legs on one side and then lugged it down to the basement apartment, where we re-designated it as a drawing board, an essential tool for rocket designers. A few pencils, some wrapping paper with one white side, a ruler, and an eraser and, Shazam!, we had a rocket design center, all for less than $1 and two man-hours of labor. By then, we knew we were on the right track.

We looked at several pictures of rockets and decided that one of the mistakes of the German rocket scientists was that they made their rockets cylindrical in shape. Making a rocket square in cross section would be much easier and require less investment in forming it. Also, we decided that a cardboard skin would be much less expensive than aluminum.

Love Box Co. in Wichita was owned by Bob Love, one of the founders of the John Birch Society. That's where we stole our cardboard. We had some morals, but we weren't so silly as to worry about sinning against a founder of the John Birch Society. Floyd stole a large jar of potassium nitrate from the chemistry lab. We bought some gray duct tape from a friendly neighborhood hardware, and began construction.

Our design called for a rocket three feet wide on each side and twelve feet high. It was to be topped with a pyramidal structure, and it was to have four large fins at the bottom, with the fins extending down past the bottom of the main body so that the rocket could stand upright and have some clearance between the body and the ground.

We assembled the rocket in components: two six foot long body sections, four fins, and the nose pyramid, realizing that there wouldn't be any way to get it out of the basement if it was all in one piece. In fact, after we assembled the first body section, we found that it wouldn't fit through the door without some squeezing, a maneuver that wouldn't be possible after the rocket engine and fuel tanks were installed. So, we went back to the rocket design center and reduced the width of the sides to 28 inches each, which worked and also gave the nose pyramid a sexy overhang.

Replacing the already assembled body section required stealing more cardboard from Bob Love, but, again, our morals did more to cheer us on than inhibit us. Soon, we had all the body components assembled, and were ready to begin building and installing the engine and fuel tanks. We had checked our design many times, but we knew this part was going to be tricky.

Although the exterior of the rocket was square in cross section, our research showed us that the laws of psychodythermics demanded that the rocket engine be round. One of Floyd's neighbors was having new gutters installed on his house and we were able to obtain a ten foot long section of round downspout from the remains of the old guttering which the workmen had removed. We didn't even have to steal it, they were happy to have us haul it away. When asked, good Americans will usually contribute to the cause of science.

Using coat hanger wire, we built a suspension system in the top of the upper body section that would hold up the ten foot long rocket engine, but decided not to install the engine until we had moved the components to the launch site. We were almost ready to move to launch phase. All that remained to create was the fuel.

A local minister had found cause to tell us, several times, that we were bound for hell. Therefore, when the youth group from his church set up a fireworks stand in anticipation of Independence Day, our morals had no problem with our considering the stand to be a free rocket fuel depot. Working late into a dark and stormy night, we acquired the fuel supply for our rocket.

By squeezing hard, we were able to fit five roman candles into the top of the engine pipe. After a trial fueling, we saw that the fuses were now some seven feet from the bottom of the engine, and there was no way to light them. Fortunately, our careful planning had allowed for this problem. Did you wonder what were going to do with the potassium nitrate?

We put a cup of potassium nitrate into a fruit jar, added two tablespoons of sugar, about two ounces of precious Southern Comfort, and filled the rest with water. After carefully stirring the mixture with a long handled spoon, we added a ten foot long piece of binder twine we had found behind a local stable, possibly thrown out to make room for any biblical visitors. We allowed the twine to soak while we drank some of the remaining Southern Comfort, then carefully removed it and allowed it to dry. Once it dried, we attached one end of it to the fuse on a roman candle and our ignition system was ready, needing only the application of a kitchen match to begin the launch process.

During the design phase we had decided that the conventional multi-stage approach used by the US and Soviet governments was too expensive and complex for our more modest rocket, although we felt that some sort of multi-staging was essential to achieving orbital speeds. Luckily, Southern Comfort came to our aid, lubricating our synapses enough to give us a solution, the potassium nitrate solution, in fact. We used the remaining potassium nitrate to paint the inside of the lower body section, giving us what we felt would be an effective second stage.

The year was 1959. Sputnik had been launched less than two years earlier, and there were only a few satellites in orbit. Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and The Big Bopper had died in Iowa earlier in the year. Fidel had marched into Havana. We thought the world was ready for personal rocketry, and prepared to sell tickets to the launch.

Poking around in the basement of the fraternity house, I discovered several rolls of tickets, the ones that say “Admit One” and come in a big roll. I took a roll and we were ready to make our fortunes. We had considered charging $100 each for tickets to the rocket launch, but decided we would probably make more money in the long run by charging 50¢. In three days we had sold 22 tickets, providing enough income to replace the bottle of Southern Comfort we had consumed during the construction phase.

In addition to my tiny sports car I owned a 1957 DeSoto FireFlite convertible. It was called a convertible because, by lowering the top, it became our rocket transport vehicle, the only practical use I ever found for the thing. It got about 7 miles to the gallon, not a big problem in those days, and used up a set of tires in less than 20,000 miles, an expensive problem in any days. But, it was a beautiful baby blue, had leather seats, and was very nice for double dates.

Launch day arrived after we had spent most of the previous night drinking Southern Comfort and anticipating the big event. It was raining. By evening it was pouring, and the countdown was halted. The next day it was still raining, and the day after that. Farmers were worrying about the crops flooding, lovers were being forced to find indoor venues, and our rocket was occupying a large portion of the apartment, being a fire hazard.

Finally, six days after the scheduled launch day, we were able to lower the top on the DeSoto and move the rocket to the launch site, a parking lot at the university. Carefully we inserted the fuel into the rocket engine, attached the engine to the suspension wires, and then, using the last of our duct tape, completed the assembly of the rocket. It was beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful rocket ever built by drunks.

We had no way of notifying the ticket holders of the new launch date, so we were alone with our magnificent rocket in a far corner of a parking lot. Carefully, we pushed it upright, then stood and marveled at the magnificence of our creation. Almost overcome with emotion, I handed a pack of matches to Floyd, and, kneeling, he lit one and held it to the end of our binder twine fuse running out from under the rocket. It sparked, sputtered, and went out.

Again, Floyd lit a match and held it to the end of the fuse. This time the fuse began to burn, the flame sparking and flashing, throwing off clouds of smoke, and working its way up toward the engine. Not being completely stupid, we hopped into the rocket transport vehicle and drove to the other end of the parking lot, where we stopped to watch the great launch.

After a short wait the first roman candle ignited and a burst of flame shot out from under the rocket, followed by a green ball of fire. A few seconds later the rest of the roman candles had ignited, throwing huge clouds of smoke and fire out from under our rocket, punctuated with brilliantly colored balls of fire bouncing out and along the pavement. At about that point a police car came roaring into the parking lot and stopped next to the rocket. That was when the second stage ignited, creating a huge pancake of smoke with balls of fire bouncing around in it.

The police car went into reverse and, tires screeching, backed away from the rocket, turned too quickly, and almost turned over. We decided it was time to return to the apartment and celebrate our success with some Southern Comfort. The last we saw of our rocket, it was still throwing out flames and huge gusts of smoke, and the second stage was beginning to burn through the cardboard. Two cops were standing beside their car, apparently mesmerized by the beauty of our rocket.

We never got to see our rocket take off, but, after consuming quite a bit of Southern Comfort, we retired for the night, confident that we had advanced the science of American rocketry, and that our rocket would be orbiting the earth for centuries.




Sunday, November 11, 2007

Untitled

Sunday morning, after chores, 66°

Barn News

Brindle had bunnies on Friday, only two, I think. The first was born on the wire floor of her cage, so I picked it up and put in the nest box and covered it with fur. It was kicking and squeaking, so I don't think it was chilled before I found it and put it in the box.

Shotgun has five kittens. I still haven't found their nest, but the kittens are now coming out and exploring a bit. They like to sit in the hayloft while I do chores and stare at me, at least four of them do. Pitiful, the first one I found, starts yowling as soon as he sees or hears me, and comes galloping out of the loft to receive some attention. Wednesday morning, after I had stepped on his toes twice, I picked him up and tucked him under my coat. He quieted right down and snuggled into an inside pocket in my coat.

I have been encouraging the young ducks to leave their stall and explore a bit of the world. They are terrified. They are even afraid of me, the person who has been giving them food and water for their entire lives. Something might be out there that could attack them, and they won't leave their stall. Runner ducks, the skinny ducks that stand more erect than other ducks, do not display any behavior that humans could classify as 'intelligent'.

The four young ducks generally go through two gallons of water every day, making their stall a nasty swamp. They don't drink the water, they just splash it out of the waterer, where they can mix it with mud and their feed. They actually consume less than two quarts of water and about one fourth of the feed they receive each day.

To Whom Who Said What?

What I wrote was, “Raymond, whom, please, is the Englishman? “ I should have said, “Raymond, who, please, is the Englishman?” according to two grammar experts, and I do not doubt but that they are completely correct.

The error arose because of an English teacher, working in the basement of a miserable, broken down elementary school in Waterloo, Iowa. She was old (an adult, she could have been 22, but she was 'old' to me) and she tried to teach English to a tough bunch of sixth graders. She was slender, I seem to recall a womanly build, and had black hair with a dramatic white streak starting at her forehead. For about three weeks I hated her, and then she walked by my desk and I received a sniff of pheromones; instantly, I was in love. Boys are susceptible to that sort of sudden love.

In that class I learned to diagram sentences, a skill only slightly more useful than integral calculus, but one which I learned, nevertheless, because I was in love. For years I automatically diagrammed, in my head, every sentence I wrote. Finally, after three years of college education, in the depths of symbolic logic, I discovered the escape from the curse of mental diagramming, when I understood that English was subject to Gödel's theorem, and thus one could construct true sentences in English which could not be diagrammed. Not only was it not necessary to diagram every sentence, there were sentences which could not be diagrammed. Such habits are hard to completely break, though.

[Notice in the next sentence, 'whom' is the object the preposition 'of', which modifies the subject of the sentence, I think.]

The English teacher, of whom I dreamt every night, I remember as having told us that, when diagramming questions, one places what seems to be the object as, instead, the subject of the sentence. So, my automatic, built-in diagrammer, which still functions occasionally, broke in with a structure in which 'whom' was the object and 'Englishman' the subject, with the verb 'is' intervening, the then normalized proper declarative form being “The Englishman is whom, please?” She probably never said any such thing, but, many years later, I still revisit diagramming and her scent.

“The Englishman is whom, please?” when spoken with rising inflection at the end, was still distinguishable as a question until a few decades ago. Now, rising inflection does not necessarily imply a question, but only indicates that the speaker is probably infected with Californiosis, a social disease spread through contact with shopping malls. “Like, you know?”

Fred Phelps

The Rev. Fred Phelps of Topeka is an interesting person. He is the pastor of the Westboro Baptist Church, and leads his flock in protesting at the funerals of soldiers who have died in Iraq. Fred says that God is causing our soldiers to be killed because we are tolerating homosexuality in this country. Fred says that God hates homosexuals; God does not hate them because they are homosexual, but rather they are homosexual because God hates them.

I think that most people would consider Fred's ideas a little nutty. What very few people understand is that Fred's ideas come straight from Plymouth Colony. The brave Pilgrims of the Mayflower were people who had the same religious fervor and beliefs as does Fred. They came here to live because no one in England could stand them.

I think Fred is the fairy's best friend, one can't help but sympathize with people who have an enemy like Fred.

Fred is not stupid. He was a lawyer, now disbarred, and several of his children, who are members of his church, are also lawyers. These people cannot be dismissed as brainless. I have worked with, met, and talked to several members of his church. One of those people suffered from severe depression, but he wasn't stupid, he was a good programmer. Another was an excellent computer systems analyst. They weren't stupid, nor, do I think, are any of Fred's followers.

Are they crazy? Well, yes, but aren't you crazy, too?

Let me postulate that 95% of the humans over age 35 want to be able to look at themselves in the mirror and say, “I'm trying to be a decent person. I love my children and want the best for them. I want to be honest, hard-working, just, and respected in my community.” Such people have integrity. The other 5% are not necessarily bad people, they simply are unable to see why anyone would think integrity is important in itself. They might be honest and hard-working, but they do it strictly to achieve goals, like making money. The 95%-5% division is based no more than just guesswork or dreams, there is some research to support all this. Oh, and the differences between the two groups are mostly genetic, they are born destined to be one way or the other.

Interestingly, if you go into a prison and, limiting your population to those over 35, talk to the inmates, you will find that most of them, perhaps 95%, want to consider themselves as having integrity. The reasons they are in prison may have to do with how they define, “honest, hard-working, just, and respected in my community,” or it may be the result of a stupid moment when they were young.

My point is that when you look at any fully adult segment of society, whether that segment is prison inmates, clergy, bartenders, lawyers, or candlestick makers, about 95% have integrity, and about 5% don't. You have to remember that any person with whom you are interacting might have a somewhat different definition of “honest, hard-working, just, and respected in my community,” and about 5% do not understand having such an ideal. Does that leave any way to decide that some of them are evil? I think not.

Of the 5% group, some of them must be locked away for the protection of society. The BTK killer from Wichita is a fine example of somebody who should be locked up. He was reputed to be hard-working and respected in his community, but I doubt if he cares one whit about being able to regard himself as honest or just. Those traits are only valuable inasmuch as they helped him achieve his goals, which included torturing and murdering people. Still, I can't regard him as evil. His acts were evil in that they injured others, but he wasn't born with the cognitive wiring necessary to feel that murder is the act of an evil person.

I always thought it was Jesus or one of his disciples who said, “Hate the sin and love the sinner,” but it was actually Ghandi who said that. Anyway, I think that it is a correct guide, both logically and morally. Are the members of Westboro Baptist Church of the 95% or the 5%? My guess is that 95% of them belong to the 95% group, and 5% of them belong to the 5% group. I don't agree with their doctrine and I think that demonstrating at a military funeral is an evil act, but I am unwilling to call the members evil people.

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Sunday, November 04, 2007

Farm News 11-04-07

Sunday morning, after chores, 52°

Seen on a 12-13 year old girl in downtown Oskaloosa, a tee shirt, across the front of it written, “Under Construction.”

Inadvertently, I implied that one of my bright, good-looking nieces did not know the meaning of the word 'ephemeral'. I should have been more sensitive in my expression, and I apologize, but use this opportunity to remind her that her physical beauty is ephemeral, but, if she writes of what she knows, the content of her mind can last as long as civilization.

Barn News – Kitten Found

Just when I had decided that Shotgun has been faking it somehow, and some of last year's kittens were still nursing on her, I went into the barn and heard a kitten yowling. There is no mistaking the sound of an unhappy kitten, and this one was very unhappy. It had fallen out of the hay loft, down between the studs, the up-down frame pieces of the barn walls, and into the gap between the outside wall of the barn and the inside wall of the stall below, the stall where the ducklings are currently growing. This sounds terrible, at first, but the stall walls are only four feet tall, and the 4” space between the stall wall and the outside wall is filled with straw, a place where many kittens have been born. The kitten suffered injury only to its dignity, causing it to yowl all the louder. Cats seem to be very sensitive about their dignity.

To reach the kitten, I had to cross a duck swamp. Ducks are the messiest creatures in the barn, generally; they spill lots of water, root around and stir up lots of mud, and dump most of their feed into the mud. They build up low, round mud knobs, sticking up on the end of their upper beak, which they then use to shovel up mud, feed, and water. Duck pens are stinking mud-holes, and I had to cross that to rescue that silly kitten.

I may be 70 years old, but I have not forgotten one of the prime directives of civilization: when given the opportunity, men must be willing to give their lives if necessary to rescue something young and helpless, in the hope of presenting it to the nearest human female so she can care for it. I wore out my wife with that kind of thing long ago, so I brought the kitten to the house so she could inspect it, and then returned it to the barn to find its own way in cat society. The younger adult cats, of whom there are far too many, immediately checked out the kitten and, after quite a bit of sniffing, decide that it was one of them. Then the young adult cats went through some acts to show their places in the hierarchy of cats, those places being far higher and more important than the place of the kitten. In cat societies everyone knows the rules.

The kitten is gray and white, mostly gray on top and white on the bottom. It's a pretty kitten, a tomcat I would guess by the look in its eyes, and it was smart enough to quickly find a place to hide in the wood pile by the stove. When I left the barn after evening chores, the evening I found the kitten, it was hiding in the wood pile, occasionally giving a half-hearted, pitiful yowl, and successfully telling the older cats that, yes, it knew its position in society.

The kitten was discovered on Wednesday, given the name Pitiful on Thursday, and Friday evening when I went to do chores there was no sign of Pitiful. I called, which normally starts it to yowling, and looked in all the likely places. Sadly, I assumed that some misfortune had removed it from the barn, and began chores. When it came time to feed the adult ducks, I called, “Ducks, ducks,” as I always do, and the ducks came running, as they sometimes do. Behind them, running as fast as his legs would carry him, came Pitiful. Pitiful has found friends, the adult ducks.

Other Barn Events were headlined by the appearance of the Lady Bugs. After 2:00 pm or so, there are millions of Lady Bugs flying around in the yard, gathering together for winter hibernation. Groups of several hundred will collect in sheltered spots, spaces between the exterior wall and vertical poles of the barn being popular. Programming geeks look at behaviors like that and are delighted by how all that was shoe-horned into a bug brain.

There are still no leads on a buck to breed with Lucy, but Jesse will probably find a mate for Beth, Bebe, and the unnamed young goose (that young goose needs a name). Not that it is very important, she will probably never learn to respond when I call her by name. Beth is the only goose that responds to my voice, Beth was incubator hatched and imprinted on humans as parents. The others hatched under a goose named Nadeane, a sweet tempered small goose who was incubator hatched and strongly imprinted.

When a goose hatches, the first thing it sees that moves is Mommy. If the thing that moves is a human, then that human remains part of the goose's family for the rest of the goose's life, and we say the goose is 'imprinted' on humans. The goose might make the human their closest friend for life, if encouraged, but it is far better for the goose to be weaned away to the goose flock. Geese live 30-40 years, and, unless you want to have goose poop beside your door for 30-40 years, it is best to help the goose adjust to living as an adult goose, with a gaggle (a gaggle is a flock of geese) of its own kind. A strongly imprinted goose will wait beside your door for your return, and fail to eat enough to remain healthy.

Imprinted geese will form into a flock if kept together. There is a year or more of fighting and general uproar any time new adult geese are introduced into the flock, but little problem with young geese raised under a member of the flock.

In some culture, somewhere, I think in Switzerland, someone figured out that geese could be trained to regard a stick, with some kind of ornament atop it, as Mommy. Sure enough, if you took the stick and walked to the goose pasture for the day, you could plant the stick in the ground and the geese would remain within sight of the stick all day.

Next spring I think I might concentrate on raising some new geese from the incubator.

Weasel celebrated Halloween with a skunk. I don't know how the skunk is doing, but Weasel is very aromatic.

Old Computer Wanted

I need another computer, one that is just becoming outdated, to replace my server. Actually, I just want to replace the motherboard inside the computer, the one component that does nothing much but compute. The replacement must have a Pentium type processor, be capable of holding 512 MB of RAM, minimum, and PCI bus. I can't afford a new server, and, besides, I like this one. It is a huge box, too tall to fit under a desk, with room inside for three CD drives and four hard drives. It's big, heavy, ugly, and I've lived with it for many years, but, for the second time, it's brains have worn out.

If you left click once on this your computer will initiate a series of actions. First, it will tell the program http to start and to send out a request on the internet. The words, 'left click once on this', are actually part of what is called a hypertext link, and they contain the address of something else on the internet, in this case it is the address of my web site, www.geezernet.com. The internet, with its amazing mind, will route that request straight to my server, which lives under the Oskaloosa water tower.

When the internet delivers the request for www.geezernet.com to my server, the server jumps to life and sends back over the internet the contents of my home page on GeezerNet.com. That is what is supposed to happen. However, my server is broken, and your request never gets there. The server isn't connecting to the internet. I replaced the network card in the server, and it didn't help. Thursday, after weeks of searching for a software problem, I realized that it had to be in the hardware, somewhere, and that I need to replace the motherboard.

For all two or three of you who are interested in diagnostics, I can't find any changes that have occurred in the Linux setup. Suddenly, the server lost connection with the internet. I installed a new PCI bus network card, but there was no change. I plugged a USB to Ethernet into a USB port and ran the Ethernet connection from the router to that. No connection. Everything seems okay, but no connection is there when I try to use it. I can't ping anything.

Now, the interesting part. There are two hard drives on the server, each with it's own, bootable, operating system. Drive 0 has Ubuntu desktop on it, and drive 1 has Ubuntu server on it. No matter which drive I boot from, the problem remains. From that, can I safely assume it is a hardware problem? No, but it might as well be, because I'm out of all ideas short of replacing the motherboard.

This deep pit of problem, though, then led me to think of yet another test. I will take Drive 0 from the server and replace the C: drive on my desktop with it. Then I will boot up the desktop with the copy of Ubuntu desktop on the transplanted drive. If the problems show up then on my desktop, then the problem is in the software stored on the drive. If there is no problem, I will know the motherboard on the server is at fault and must be replaced.

It is Saturday night as I write this, and I have been writing this article all week. Also, I've been drinking a bit of vodka, so I think I will leave the resolution to Sunday afternoon.

If you would like to provide a donor for a computer brain to be transplanted into my server, please send me a note. I am always happy to receive old computers, whether I can use them or not. Usually I remove usable parts and send the rest to the dump, an environmental offense to my county, probably.

A Good Sentence

The other side of danger, an exuberant, awful certainty: the world, a complex contraption, operates not to slake human desire but from immaculate necessity, and our small consciousness a wondrous but transitory and superfluous attribute of its unspinning.”

From Liar's Moon, and I wish whoever borrowed my copy would would return it. The author, Philip somebody, I think, but I can't remember his last name, lives in Lawrence and has a daughter who is a sophomore at KU, I think. Thank you, Philip, if that is your name, Liar's Moon is a fine book, one I've read three times. The above quotation has been on a scrap of paper stuck to the wall above my desk for years and stuck in my mind with the idea that it was the subject of a sermon once given in Tonganoxie.

Another Day in Paradise, from our correspondent in Cambodia

Just returned from a walk on the beach. Wet sand feels very good on bare feet. Troubles, traffic, worries are not a concern today. Today I walked on Independence Beach. It's kind of deserted down there; very quiet. You might imagine that it is dangerous, but it isn't. Maybe at night it is spooky, but wandering about in the dark is never a good idea.

There must be crime here, but I haven't seen it. The police must arrest someone, but I haven't seen that either. The police must pull over some errant drivers, but I haven't seen it. Nobody gets a ticket for running a stoplight; there are no stoplights in Sihanoukville. Nobody gets a ticket for running stop signs; there are no stop signs here. Surely someone here comes to blows with someone else, but I haven't seen any fighting either. They say there are a lot of weapons here left over from the IndoChina wars, but I haven't seen a single gun. There are many things to worry about, but please don't worry about me in the Heart of Darkness.

My camera was mailed to me. It is still in the box. It's my intention to take some pictures and post them here. Right now, a latte across the street at an Englishman's shop, Espresso Kampuchea, seems like a good idea. Now the weekend is here, so no doubt I'll be too busy to be taking any pictures for a while. Gosh, it's 1:27 PM already. Where does the time go? I'm kinda planning on heading down to another beach for the sunset. If I wasn't so well rested, I'd take a nap. Decisions, decisions.

Raymond, whom, please, is the Englishman? [Grammar experts, did I get that right?] He has a coffee shop in Sihanoukville so he must be some special sort of Englishman; you have met him, it seems, so he is quite possibly an interesting looney. I hate to remind you of this, but the big salary you are drawing is for reporting the things of interest occurring in Cambodia. Please show a bit more ambition, and send those reports from Southeast Asia.

When the server is repaired and serving again, Farm News will be available at www.GeezerNet.com.



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