In memoriam (again)

I didn't miss this, but have been too bummed in general to post it. They are coming too fast and furious these days -- Kleps, Leary, Garcia, D.M. Turner, Janiger, Lilly, McKenna -- now these. Time is relentlessly ending yet another era, and there is less color in the world without them all.

The first bit below was written by Kesey's campadre and fellow Prankster, Ken Babbs. As for the second -- I wouldn't put it past either of them.......

Ken Kesey -- B: September 17, 1935 -- D: November 10, 2001

Kesey's belly was hurting and the docs did a scan and found a black spot on his liver. It was cancerous but encapsulated which meant there was no cancer anywhere else. They decided to cut it out and the surgery went okay. He had sixty percent of his liver left to carry the load but in one of those dirty tricks the body can play on you everything else went to hell and this morning at 3:45 AM his heart stopped beating.

A great good friend and great husband and father and grand dad, he will be sorely missed but if there is one thing he would want us to do it would be to carry on his life's work. Namely to treat others with kindness and if anyone does you dirt forgive that person right away. This goes beyond the art, the writing, the performances, even the bus. Right down to the bone.

-- Ken Babbs

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 13, 2001

"Now, all you people over there, get the news spread around that they're going to do a memorial service for me at the McDonald theater in downtown Eugene at noon tomorrow and if you can't get inside we are going to put speakers out on the sidewalks so everyone can hear all that hoopla bound be to spreading out of the theater like moths on the wing. It says here they are going to bury me in private. Babbs says there's been thousands of emails and he wants me to thank you all for writing. Meanwhile, I've still lots of forms to fill out and they're looking for a bigger halo but durned if I'm going to play that harp. I'm holding out for the thunder machine. See you around."

-- Kesey



(For more on the Kesey-Babbs partnership, go here. And Salon, it turns out, has a nice selection of fond Ken remembrances.- Ed.)

And this one I did miss.

Richard Evans Schultes (Jan 12, 1915 - April 10, 2001)

Richard Evans Schultes was a botanical explorer, ethnobotanist and conservationist, who carried out extensive field studies, particularly in the Amazon, specializing in natively used medicinal and toxic plants and on new sources of rubber. Boston-born and Harvard-educated, he was Jeffrey Professor of Biology and Director of the Botanical Museum of Harvard University (Emeritus). Schultes published over 400 technical papers and nine books on ethnobotany and was widely recognized as one of the most distinguished figures in the field. He received many awards for his work including the Cross of Boyaca (Colombia's highest honour), the annual Gold Medal of the World Wildlife Fund, the Tyler Prize for Environmental Achievement and the Linnean Gold Medal (the highest award in the field of botany).

You can find a nice write-up here (.pdf format). And here's the obit that the Harvard University Gazette ran:

Richard Schultes, medicinal plant expert, dead at 86

Richard Evans Schultes, the Edward C. Jeffrey Professor of Biology Emeritus and renowned expert on medicinal uses of plants, died April 10 in Boston at age 86.

Schultes is considered by many the father of modern ethnobotany - the study of native people's uses of locally available plants. He was known for his wide travels through the Amazon collecting plants and talking with local people. In 1992, he received the gold medal from the Linnean Society of London, considered botany's top honor.

Schultes first came to Harvard as an undergraduate and stayed through his graduate years. He received an A.B. in 1937, an A.M. in 1938, and a Ph.D. in 1941.

Schultes' fieldwork, conducted mostly in the Colombian Amazon beginning in 1941, made him a leading voice in the field and one of the first, in the 1960s, to warn about destruction of the rainforests and the disappearance of their native people.

"I think one of the things his work did that previous work didn't was he brought in a scientific background. He tried to look at the [plants' active] compounds, at their biology and biochemistry," said Donald Pfister, the Asa Gray Professor of Systematic Botany and curator of the Farlow Library and Herbarium.

Before joining Harvard's professorial ranks, Schultes served in various positions at the Harvard Botanical Museum. He was a research associate from 1941 to 1953, curator of the Orchid Herbarium of Oakes Ames from 1953 to 1958, curator of economic botany from 1958 to 1985, executive director from 1967 to 1970, and director from 1970 to 1985.

He became a professor of biology at Harvard in 1970, the Paul C. Mangelsdorf Professor of Natural Sciences in 1973, the Edward C. Jeffrey Professor of Biology in 1980, and became the Edward C. Jeffrey Professor of Biology Emeritus in 1985.

Schultes' adventurous travels in pursuit of science spawned books and articles, including "One River" in 1996 by Wade Davis, a student of Schultes. Another student, Mark Plotkin, followed in Schultes' footsteps, writing a popular account of his own travels in "Tales of a Shaman's Apprentice," published in the early 1990s.

Schultes himself wrote 10 books and hundreds of scientific articles. In addition to being an authority on the medicinal uses of plants, he became a leading authority on rubber-producing plants during World War II, at the request of the U.S. government. He was a member of numerous scientific societies, the editor of botanical journals, and the recipient of many honors.

Pfister, who knew Schultes as a senior faculty member, said his demeanor was somewhat contrary to the "swashbuckling" image his scientific travels gave him. Pfister described Schultes as a "very charming and kind man" who was courteous to both senior and junior people. Having spent much of his career at Harvard and having completed both graduate and undergraduate degrees at Harvard, Pfister said Schultes felt very strongly that Harvard should be the best in everything.

"I saw him as a very senior and very mature member of the department," Pfister said. "He always wore a lab coat, he always wore a red tie and he was fiercely Harvard."



Schultes is survived by his wife, Dorothy Crawford McNeil, and their three children: Richard Evans Schultes II, Alexandra Ames Schultes Wilson, and Neil Parker Schultes.

A memorial service is scheduled for April 29 at King's Chapel in Boston.

We were There

Well, fans, I've been meaning to post this for over a month -- meaning to re-work it, meaning to polish it, meaning to embellish with some links -- meaning, meaning, meaning.

And yet not quite getting around to it.

I will try to get back to it for you. I intend to. But, for now, here it is, in raw form.

A Failure of Angels

11.21.01

We knew it was real before we arrived, of course. Somehow we knew. I say somehow because there are so many people who seem not to get it, whose behavior would indicate that they don’t really know that it happened, or don’t know that it happened on any real level. Perhaps they should go, go to New York City, go to lower Manhattan, and see for themselves. Maybe then they would understand, would feel something, anything. Would at least stop annoying the rest of us with their obliviousness.

They say they haven’t been “directly impacted.” How are 3,000, 4,000 — at one point it was upwards of 6,000, we thought — people killed in the span of 45 minutes without directly impacting everyone who’s left? The true nature of this event is that, among those who do know that this has happened, there is a very real sense that we were lucky. There is a sense among the living that we escaped. Somehow. We were all targeted. That much is clear. Those of us who are still alive simply escaped. For all of the same reasons that some of the victims were in the Towers, or the plaza, or one of the nearby buildings, also destroyed, were simply there — visiting on business or for pleasure, shopping, walking their dogs, taking a last-minute flight, heading out on some long-awaited adventure, or just enjoying what has widely been reported as an otherwise beautiful early fall morning in New York.

We’re still alive because we were lucky. We escaped.

10.23.01

I’m watching TV, first snippets of news, then some show about a judge and her dysfunctional family and her interactions with them, and their interactions with her. My annoyance with myself for not getting this journal entry posted sooner is tempered by a surprising realization that I no longer need to look at the keyboard to type. I wonder how long that’s been possible. I wonder if it’s some amazing tele-type-kinetic feature of my little Compaq Armada. I wonder if it’s a Microsoft trick. I wonder if it’s a rare effect of mixing a relatively cheap cabernet sauvignon with a Foster’s Lager, and, if so, I wonder if it can be duplicated in daylight. It would be pretty useful. I could, for instance, ditch this management mess, and become a court stenographer. Something interesting with my life, my career, my time, if there is such a thing, if any one of us has anything even remotely similar to time that we can call our own.

I digress, as is my tendency when needing to focus on the task at hand.

10.12.01

Your Humble Chronicler and Our Muse spent the weekend in the city. We landed in LaGuardia Friday afternoon, flying in from Cleveland Hopkins Airport. We heeded the FAA’s advice to allow ourselves two to three hours prior to scheduled departure time, to allow for intensified security checks. So, we got there at 8:30 am for our 10:55 flight, and more or less spent all of our time allowance waiting in the concourse, after our ID’s were checked against our tickets, and we went through the metal detectors, and they wanded our coats, the Muse’s purse, and had me tip my cap. Security was tight, I’d say, but relatively efficient; tight for America, that is, compared to the carefree atmosphere that typified air travel in America prior to that horrible event a month and a day ago. Probably still would get us laughed at by, say, Israeli airport security personnel, but I don’t know that for sure. At any rate, we weren’t stuck waiting in any line for more than fifteen minutes, which these days can sometimes qualify as the express line at Starbucks. There were only a few MPs in Cleveland that I noticed, but in New York we had the full monty – uniformed national guardsmen armed with submachine guns at every possible point of entry. It was intimidating as hell, but we did feel safe. As safe as one can feel, I guess, in any situation that requires armed military personnel for safety. America’s very weird right now, that is, if you’re an American. In other words, this is a weird situation for Americans. We had a smooth uneventful flight, which is another current oddity. There is no such thing as an uneventful flight right now.

We were in for a weekend of paying respects. My uncle passed away at 75 on September 18th, 2001. I wasn't able to find a reasonable ticket price to get to the funeral, which was that following Saturday. I’d just started a new job in August, and we’d moved to Ohio from Pennsylvania, so a lot was happening. Much going on, many visits, my son in a new school, trying to stay in touch with family and friends back in The Commonwealth, Our Muse looking for work here in OH – lots going on. Then they blew up the Towers. And everything already disrupted was disrupted further.

So, when a week later my youngest sister sent me an email to tell me that my uncle was in the hospital, followed shortly by another telling me that he’d died, I guess I just kind of went numb. I tried to get a flight into Manhattan for a reasonable rate, but it just didn’t pan out. I didn’t want to drive to New York, the Muse didn’t want me to go alone, and, frankly, at the time, I wasn’t crazy about the idea, either. I was trying to fill some positions in my department, and had some interviews scheduled for Friday, which would get me flying into New York Friday night at best, or Saturday morning at worst, and, either way, basically going to the funeral and turning around and flying back home. I couldn’t get my brain around it. Most of the rest of my family – my mom, five out of my six sisters, my brother -- were able to make it in, which made me feel guilty, but better because at least my aunt wasn’t alone. Plus she had a lot of friends, and so did my uncle. So, while everyone in my family drove in, except my brother, who somehow found a decent non-stop flight in from Columbus, Ohio, the Muse and I stayed in town, and wound up having dinner with my sister and brother-in-law and their two kids, in nearby Akron.

To be honest, I might have been able to find a flight if I’d started really looking as soon as I got the bad news about my uncle, but I couldn’t pull it off. The attacks have really thrown me off. I’ve been way distracted by the news, and have allowed myself to become a bit obsessed with keeping up to date on everything, as in up to the hour, almost. I’ve spent lots of time digging into the news, using search engines like Metacrawler to troll the internet for alternative media sources of information, things like the World Conflict Server, Jane’s Information Group, The Middle East Media and Research Institute. Glum stuff, mostly all of it. Even found an online Afghanistan newspaper -- "Welcome To Dharb-i-Mumin Web-Station (Pakistan's Largest Weekly Newspaper)" -- which was packed with chilling anti-Western diatribes, with the U.S. as the primary target of abuse. Pretty scary stuff, and I’m generally not oner to be affected by blatant propaganda, regardless of how inflammatory the language. After the American military response started, I found that I couldn’t access the site anymore. I wasn’t real surprised, but I had to wonder whether access had been restricted on our end, or theirs. Like, were the jihad wackos restricting American internet access to their news, or was the U.S. restricting access to overseas media? For all I knew, it could have been something as simple as the location of the server it was hosted on being blown out of existence by NATO forces. But the times were nothing if not suited to suspicious theories and speculation. And, somehow, information can act as a balm of sorts.

Since my uncle died, I’d been using the web to try to locate his obituary in some New York publication. I never found one, but I did run across an online memorial page put up by a club which my uncle had helped found. The club is called the "Sons of the Desert," and it’s a social club for fans of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy, the old-time film comedy duo. Old-time as in these boys started out doing silent pictures, and ushered in the age of “talkies.” The website consisted of a single page, which simply showed a stage curtain in black and white, with the words “In Memoriam” displayed over my uncle’s name. Some text at the bottom of the page said that their next meeting was taking place on October 12th, and that “the evening will be dedicated to our dear friend,” my uncle. I got the idea that The Muse and I might go up for the weekend, attend the meeting, spend some time with my aunt, pay our respects and the like. I ran it by The Muse, and she thought it was a nice idea, so we spent a little time online and were able to track down a weekend package that included roundtrip flights for the two of us, plus a hotel from Friday evening to Sunday afternoon for a half decent price, so we booked it that evening. I’d check with my boss to make sure I could have the day, and we’d fly out of Cleveland on Friday morning, and get into New York early afternoon with more than enough time to get from the airport to our hotel near Times Square. Aside from our itinerary, it was a little exciting, despite the not unwarranted national mood of general anxiety. On September 11, 2001, over 5,000 people were killed, suddenly and without warning, in a series of coordinated terrorist attacks in Manhattan, Washington, D.C. and Pennsylvania. The terrorists used planes to do it, just simply high-jacked them with box cutters, terrorized the respective crews and passengers, and flew them into both of the World Trade Centers in New York City, the Pentagon, and field outside a small town about 80 miles southeast of Pittsburgh. Fucking box cutters, they used, and they threatened the passengers, said they had bombs, and slashed the flight attendants, and told everyone they were going back to the airport, to remain calm and they’d be ok. This is what we have been told by the journalists and the authorities, and I believe them, what they tell us, though I don’t know if it’s because it’s credible, or if it’s because they’re very good at what they do. Or if I just really want to believe it, to believe anything that might lead us to think that someone out there is in control, is somehow in charge, has things under control. Aren't we in America? This shit can’t happen here. But it has.

They killed over 4,000 people that morning, in less than 45 minutes. In America.

• As of 12/27/01, the official count has been reduced to under 3,000. - Ed.
  
• As of 1/3/02, the victim count is 2,936, according to CNN. - Ed.

So goddamn them to all hell, and now there’s another fucking war going on, if you can call it war when the world’s mightiest financial and military power decides to launch full-scale attacks on a so-called nation that has no GNP to speak of, unless you can consider starvation a GNP, and then, well, whoa, we’re talking some kind of Super Power. Frankly, it’s hard to tell really who’s crazier. The enemy of the day, today, is this whacked out group of fanatics (they claim to be Islamic fundamentalists) who call themselves the Taliban (means “students”), who live to rid Saudi Arabia, land of the two holy places (Mecca and Medina), of the corrupting influences and presence of Western society, such influences taking the form of our instant-gratification-money-driven-godless-heathen-pagan-economy and presence in the form of American forces in Saudi Arabia, the sick residue of the Persian Gulf war of the early ’90’s, when the bad guy was Sadaam Hussein, and our interest was oil rights. What a twisted mess that was.

So we decided to go to New York because my uncle died, to see my aunt. This in the midst of ongoing threats of more attacks, even as the FBI was warning US citizens that “further terrorist events should be anticipated.” We were on “high alert” during the time we travelled, and we still are. We were bombing the shit out of Afghanistan (and we still are), plowing a steady stream of missiles into the bomb-shot waste of a nation already decimated by thirty years of civil war, most recently with Russia (itself formerly America's sworn enemy No. 1) which, before withdrawing in defeat, had pretty much reduced the entire place to rubble. I think a lot of what we’re doing now is turning rocks into more sand. And we have militant radical groups everywhere calling us terrorists, and denouncing the American military response, calling this a jihad or holy war, accusing the US of using the whole thing as its latest excuse to wage an all-out attack against Muslims everywhere. It’s all pretty confusing. But, we were going to New York, the greatest city on earth, The Muse and I, and I’d be a liar if I denied that there was some appreciable level of spite involved. I think I’m pretty liberal, but lately I’ve had thoughts like, “no third-world underbelly whacko is gonna tell me when I can and can’t fly in my country.” Fear does weird things to your brain.

We picked up our bag, called for a shuttle and then sat down to wait. Not a bad wait, but long enough to be greeted by the face of New York mayor Rudy Giuliani (now Rudy Giuliani, KBE), having a news conference (when did they stop calling it a press conference??) to announce that an NBC News staffer – a woman named Erin, or Aaron, I think, an assistant to Tom Brokaw, had been exposed to and had contracted the anthrax virus from a piece of mail that had been sent to the studio. ......guess so -- didn't hear until this morning, while waiting in LaGuardia Airport for a flight back in to Cleveland......spent the weekend in Manhattan, saying goodbyes and being a good nephew and citizen........had dinner with my aunt -- was good to see her, and spend some time with her....they really loved him.......was good to hear their stories, and how they felt about him........(he also was for years *the* Santa Claus for the Daily News, when they were still in business)........they meet in this wonderful place called the Players Club (in the Gramercy Park section -- used to be Edwin Booth's house (brother of John Wilkes Booth)).........very historic -- packed with memorabilia from Booth's acting career, and paintings and portraits of other famous members, like Mark Twain, John Barrymore, Eugene O’Neill, Helen Hayes, Jane Pauley, Jack Lemmon, Walter Cronkite and James Earl Jones – none of whom were present this particular evening – but very interesting, nonetheless.

......Saturday, spent the day just walking the city, riding the subways......our hotel was in the same block -- right around the corner, actually -- from the Ed Sullivan Theater, where Dave Letterman does his show, so we were about four blocks from downtown........had lunch in Chinatown, and then went down to the site......I think you have to.....I can't imaginec how anyone could go to Manhattan today and not go........just the thought of it......all of those souls.....I think they are still calling to us....I can't even attempt to explain it, so I won't even try.....when we flew in, we could see it below us........like a grey hole in the middle of this amazing metropolis........it's part of you as soon as you get there -- the whole city smells slightly of wet ash from burnt paper.....how could we not be breathing in some atomic residue of the victims?......it's ok......I wanted to feel like I could take some of them away from it....suffice it to say that it is, truly, the saddest thing I have ever seen........the pictures, and the notes........the sight of it all is poignant and terribly heartbreaking.....it really, really makes you angry, but you're crying within about two minutes or so of paying your respects.....and no one messes with you, no one gives you looks.....everyone leaves you alone, because they know.....for once, everyone knows the same thing..........we left flowers, shook hands with as many law and other official types as I could reach.......it is a different city today..........how could anyone do this........we were glad to have been able to be witnesses, though........kind of makes you feel closer to the heart of our nation.....more a part of the American family, maybe.....but this is truly so heartbreaking........I plan to return when they reopen the site, or a memorial....as the case may be......I will never forget the starkness of it all.........elderly new yorkers stopping as they pass openings in the blocks, where you used to be able to look up at the towers......they're prolly on their daily walk to the newstand, or fruit grocer, something they've done for the past 50 years.....this was, still is, their neighborhood.......Deniro lives here....Lou Reed......the Tribeca area........they stop, and look, and just shake their heads, and drop their faces and continue walking........what amazing people......I felt like I loved them all -- even the wild-eyed freaks, cursing invisible people who they think offended them..........stopped in for a much needed beer, and on a whim called an old high school buddy of mine, who I haven't seen for at least 15 years, knowing he lived in the area, and he stopped into this 50-year-old corner bar, and we had a few pints.....was very good to see him.....he lives three blocks from the site, and works nearby.....saw the whole thing from his office.......has a wife, a 9-mo-old son......all are fine, thank god.......said when you see shots of the site on the Fox news, they're shooting from the office next door to his...........

.....home now......son, asleep.....lover, asleep.......cat's a little nuts.........stay safe.....keep in touch..........peace.......rune

Pretty well-organized gobs of information here, courtesy of the WSJ and MSNBC.

Ken Kesey, he of Merry Prankster Fame, on The Real War. (Was Dubya listening....??)

In memoriam

September 27, 2001

It is with great sorrow that we announce the death of the co-founder and Chairman of the Board of the Albert Hofmann Foundation, Dr. Oscar Janiger. Oscar Janiger died early in the morning of August 14, 2001, surrounded by his two sons and a few close friends. Kidney and heart failure were the causes of death.

"Oz," as his friends and associates like to call him, was a scientist, psychotherapist, and author, most noted as one of the early dedicated investigators of LSD and other psychedelic substances. He made very important contributions in this field, and his very active, searching mind took him into many additional areas of study. For a more detailed account of his interests, activities, and contributions, see the Hofmann Report in MAPS dedicated to him. A personal report from Oscar Janiger may be read here.


Two Friends
Honolulu Advertiser, Tuesday, October 2, 2001
John Cunningham Lilly, 86, Brain Researcher

By Timothy Hurley
Advertiser Main County Bureau

John C. Lilly of Maui, a brilliant but controversial brain researcher who went on to champion dolphins and interspecies communications died Sunday at age 86.

Lilly died of heart failure at Cedars of Lebanon Hospital in Los Angeles. A memorial service will be held Thursday in Los Angeles, with a memorial service on Maui to be scheduled later.

"His many friends will miss him," said his former wife, May Lilly of Ha'iku. Their interest in him kept him alive."

Lilly was born in St Paul, Minn., on Jan. 6, 1915. He attended the California Institute of Technology, Dartmouth College Medical School and the University of Pennsylvania Medical School.

During World War II, he conducted high-altitude research at the Johnson Foundation for Medical Physics. After the war, he trained as a psychoanalyst and worked on mapping the brain for the U.S. Public Health Service.

Lilly pioneered scientific research in the areas of electrical brain stimulation, sensory deprivation and human-dolphin communication. He invented the isolation tank in the 1950s and began using psychedelics such as LSD and ketamine in the solitude of the tank about a decade later.

In 1959, he established the Communication Research Institute in the US Virgin Islands to study the vocalizations of bottle-nosed dolphins. He later established the Janus Project in San Francisco to do further research on dolphins.

Lilly retired to Maui in 1992.

He is the author of 19 books and hundreds of scientific articles, and was the inspiration for two Hollywood films, Altered States and Day of the Dolphin.

He is survived by two sons, John Jr. of Zacatecas, Mexico, and Charles, of Ha'iku, a daughter Cynthia Cantwell of Paradise, Calif.; a brother, David of St. Paul, Minn.; and Barbara Clarke-Lilly of Kihei and Philip H. Bailey of Kula, both of whom Lilly adopted as adults.

- 30 -

Rest in peace, wise psychonauts, friends, free thinkers.

communiques

----- Original Message -----
Sent: Friday, September 14, 2001 1:22 PM
Subject: RE: ...the bowl breaks....

> Hi folks,
>
> Forgive the unattractive formatting as I attempt to frame my responses
below with outtakes and pastes.........my $0.02......
>
> H. writes:
>
> "So, my feelings are mixed. I feel something like we are victims, and
> something like we are the ugly Americans."
>
> Well said -- a good description of the contradictory emotions that we're
all wrestling with. I share a message I rcvd today from my best friend:
>
> J. writes:
>
> "Hey Buddy: Feel the same way. Or is it that I don't know what I feel?
> Want to kill somebody one minute, want to hug somebody the next. When I'm
> in the hug mode, I'm thinking of you guys."
>
> H. writes:
>
> "We have played into bin Laden's hands, just as if we had handed him guns
> and armies."
>
> I'm currently thinking of terrorism in terms of being the most extreme
> form of passive-aggressive behavior. On the one hand, having been attacked, if
> we don't respond, we are the vanquished. If we do respond, we are the
> oppressors. It's a lose-lose game. If there were a shred of humanity of
> morality at work here at all, terrorists who have made the decision to
> engage in an act of such egregious aggression against a nation (forgive
> the jingoism) of America's size, stature and resources -- financial, political
> and technological -- the very absolute *least* they could do is to warn
> their own citizens, and then immediately evacuate the nation.
>
> Because we've been known to be swift and brutally ruthless in our
> retaliation. Brutally merciless. Our own pundits and politicos have
> already verbalized their opinions -- that our retaliation, which will
> inevitably come, will be, when it arrives, "completely disproportionate"
> and will take the form of "ending states that support terrorism."
>
> S. writes:
>
> "It's not just our support of Israel, altho that has a lot to do with it.
> Why do we support Israel? Not because we *like* Israel, necessarily, but
> more because Israel is our toe-hold into the Middle East, and we need to
> protect our affordable gas prices. Our Middle East policies are driven (if
> you'll pardon the expression) by what is good at the gas pumps and in our
> pocketbooks, with little regard for anybody else."
>
> I'd be hard-pressed to come up with a better summary of the origin of the
> term "ugly Americans." As for oil interests, see "Gulf War." Nothing about
> that one fit Aquinas's definition of a "just war."
>
> S. writes more:
>
> "IMNSHO, suicide bombings are a tool of desperation...I cannot accept the
> stereotype that "those people" have glorified suicide to the point where it
> has so easily overcome the instinct of self-preservation. For a people (or
> an individual, for that matter) to consider a suicide mission to be viable,
> they must feel that there is no other way."
>
> B. asks:
>
> "Ever notice how those that direct suicide missions in any form, never
> really put themselves in a position to die for the cause their own damn selves?"
>
> The phrase "lunatic fringe" comes to my mind. For instance, who in their
> right mind would, in our current climate, phone in a bomb threat? Who would
> attempt to board a place with false id's? Answer: No one. No one in their
> right minds would even consider such a thing. These individuals are of some
> wholly alien psychic make-up.
>
> H. writes:
>
> "My reaction is weak in the extreme, and I'm a bit ashamed of it. Maybe I've
> been working in juvenile court too long, but I have this feeling of wanting
> to understand what in god's name we have done to them, that they are pushed
> to this much anger. It's the same reaction I have to juvenile murderers:
> what happened to this kid that makes him so angry and lets him have so
> little regard for life?"
>
> [ I would say that shame is not what we need, but I understand it. And I
> appreciate your humility -- you've stared in the face of serious and
> irreparable injustices more than most of us, certainly more than me, H. ]
>
> S. poses a similar question:
>
> "It's time for us to ask what our culpability is...what have we done to make
> America and Americans targets?"
>
> Best I can say is that I'm conflicted. Coming from someone who doesn't
> believe that humans are intrinsically evil, this kind of tragedy is hard to
> explain. I tend to think there is no explanation, though I, too, am at risk
> for oversimplification. The only way I can even remotely comprehend it is
> if I look at it from a perspective of critical mass. Perhaps the sum total
> of positive and negative mass in the universe is continually swinging into
> and out of equilibrium. Perhaps at present, we've reached a point where the
> negative has reached critical mass, and has become a real threat, and only
> The Universe really "knows" this, and what we're sadly witnessing is a
> cycle, is the utterly conscience-less swing of the pendulum. Think of the
> human spiritual energy involved -- we're talking like 5,000 *LIVES* -- where
> does that energy go? I don't believe that it goes nowhere. Perhaps, as I
> heard Netanyahu (sp?) say, this was our "wake up call from hell," like Pearl
> Harbor, like the Holocaust. Perhaps humans are just dense, and this is what
> it takes before we realize that there's a serious imbalance, that the center
> is not holding. There's nothing positive about it, but maybe, from a
> Universal perspective (which I, granted, have no right to claim, even if it
> were possible, and I don't know that it is) this is a corrective measure,
> some cosmic trigger to address a universal wrong. I wish I knew more. I
> wish I knew anything.
>
> Peace,
>
> Rune

Aside: Ram Dass responds.

and only shadows remain

tears from a metacrawler search:

Windows on the World, New York City --- Reservations: 212-524-7011
9, http://www.windowsontheworld.com/ (Direct Hit)
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In memoriam

• The Black Day
  
• Shattered

perhaps the only objective picture



and then some flags

well said

Another Day

Happy birthday, Leonard Cohen.

A Nation Regroups, at a Measured Pace

Sobering views from the world's newspapers, as the planet attempts to come to terms with the reality of September 11, 2001.

On another note, Happy Birthday, Ken Kesey. If we ever could use some Merry Prankster-ism, now's a pretty good time.

speechless, still

What can anyone say. Here, some NYC bloggers cover the tragedy in words and pictures at The Fine Line, Like An Orb and cia's ext212.

Other opinions at Madison, WI's The Capital Times.

Namaste.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BLOGGER
[ Reprinted courtesy of NextDraft, a cool service that will send you these types of daily communiques when you subscribe ]

It really wasn't all about the money. Sure the money was a factor for many internet companies and anyone who even discussed the topic of the web ended up spending some time talking about the dough. It was the story after all. We haven't seen too many booms like that in history and the ridiculous accumulations of wealth made for some pretty decent fodder. And it was, in many ways, the most simple part of the story so it was covered heavily. And now that the money part of the web has calmed down, the only story out there seems to be that the money is gone. But is was never the only story.

Perhaps the most common and most irritating angle taken was the incessant coverage of the dot com parties. First these events were painfully over-covered. Then the end of these parties was even more painfully blanketed. As a person involved in the internet 'scene' I was occasionally interviewed to comment on some topic. The most common of these was the rise and/or demise of the internet party. Here's a little secret. Most people who went to those parties were there for two reasons. First, back in the heyday, everyone was working until two in the morning, so these parties were almost like a lunch break. Second, everyone was incredibly excited about their work and wanted to hang out and chat with others who were equally excited. When you have a front row seat at the revolution, who wants to go home? Sure there was talk of options and stock prices. But when the market went crazy, these were also topics of conversation around many dinner tables. And the media could always find some twenty-something dot com millionaire idiot who was willing to show reporters the view from his new penthouse or take a camera crew for a spin in the new convertible. There is perhaps no less intriguing and less impressive combination than very new money mixed with unctuous insecurity, a desperate need to compensate, thoughtlessness about others, an inability to understand and accept the very real element of luck, and a new set of wheels.

But that was never the real story.

The real story is about companies like Blogger. Two years ago this week, the folks at Blogger.com created a simple tool that enabled users to easily post comments and thoughts to their own web sites. Over the last two years, thousands of writers and artists (even those who previously had no idea that they were either) have used this tool to create their own public diaries or highly trafficked sites. Some of the sites are just a collection of random thoughts visited by friends. Others are topic-specific and welcome thousands of visitors a day. None of these sites cost millions to produce. Blogger itself is currently being run by one guy.

The web removed a barrier. An obstacle that often separated creativity from action has been poked full of holes. Long after we forget the details of the economic revolution, we will still enjoy the fruits of the creative one. The internet makes sharing one's thoughts or art as simple as pressing the send button. That's what many people were really talking about at all those parties - how empowering it is that products they envisioned and built were being used by millions of people throughout the world. The internet economy will rise again and technology will be, in many ways, the central driver of growth across many parts of the world. In dot com regions like the Valley and SF the gloom that accompanies joblessness and crushed companies will gradually lift. And the parties? Will they return? Well, in many parts of the web, they never stopped. In fact, there is one going on right now.

Happy second Birthday, Blogger.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

[ From the 8.24.01 issue of NextDraft, reprinted here.....well.......cut'n'pasted here, if you can call that reprinting........hit this link to subscribe. ]

Resettling

Your Humble Chronicler happily reports that The Band has safely and (more or less) smoothly made the transition from the BIG city (Pittsburgh, PA, population ~3 million) to the small town (Tallmadge, Ohio, population 16.5.....thousand!). The New Gig is underway, Sonshine is enrolled in his new school, El Chat Diablo (aka Ferocite) has adapted to his new expanded (and carpeted) digs and we've even found a preliminary dry cleaner nearby the new 'hood. Our Muse continues to search for the right new gig for herself, whiling away the time at home tutoring the next door neighbor's 2-mo-old cat, Bingo (aka Bongo, JoJo, TinyCat and, most recently, Uma Thumban), a little orange waif of a feline, with six claws on each front paw.

I will also happily report that We Are Not Missing the Big Old Bad Old City. At all. While it will likely never fade to a distant memory, it's also about as likely that it will ever rise to the level of High Nostalgia, such as lola describes here.

Later.

- - R.

...three, two, one......

....this is it........outta here after today. Feeling ok about everything.

Humility

So Your Humble Chronicler has developed a not unusual and, dare we admit, trendy, even, morning habit. The habit has developed over the time period since January, when The Band launched wholeheartedly into living a more healthy existence -- at least being as conscious of what We Daily Consume as we are for what we feed our pets. In a nutshell, we've been stopping off at Starbucks each morning before coming into the office. While our original choice was a grande latte quad -- which was always delicious, mind you -- Better Judgement has since kicked in, and The Band now approves of our daily grande house coffee (less impact in terms of both calories and $$$).

Anyway, that's the habit. The habit takes us to the heart of Oakland, which is a typical inner-city, university urban campus, gritty, high-traffic, heavily populated area. Lately, The Band has been seeing a homeless dude in the area -- one of many, sadly -- but this guy stands out. Basically, it's because he's got a pretty serious Jesus-look thing going on for himself (I tend to think it's not something he planned) -- long reddish-brown hair, full beard, sandals, torn pants, no shirt. He's also accompanied by two decent sized stray dogs, which he's clearly devoted to, though I think they're just fellow street creatures. Anyway, I've seen this guy before, and I think the whole homeless thing in America is an unconscionable tragedy, and I'm moving out of this hard-hearted city in four days, so I figured I'd give him a few bucks, figured he'd need it, figured he could use it. And he very nicely declined. Very politely and in a way that didn't make me feel uncomfortable in any way, he declined. Said that, until he finds a place to live, he doesn't want money, because it'll just get lost or stolen or confiscated by the cops. Said he hates being homeless, and he wants to get a place and a job as soon as possible -- wants to get married and have kids, "if I still have time -- I'm getting pretty old" -- he looks about late-40's to me. And then he proceeded to talk to me about how there are forces at work here to commercialize our city parks, and that he really needs people he can work with in order to resist this movement, "in a peaceful, reasonable and legal way."

Will we miss the city?

Sure. Cities are neat. They are the zoos of humanity. And much more. And much less.

We really should return to this topic in the future, because there is no time at present to do it justice. And there is no time like the present. Meanwhile, does anybody need five bucks?

...three, two, one......

TBH's decade-long stint here in the 'burgh is winding down. Have kept things "low-key", as one of our work colleagues described it yesterday, in terms of our departure -- a request was made by Your Humble Chronicler, at The Band's request, to forgo any parting festivities. To date, the request has been honored. The guard is passing.

Parting Gift Inventory

The following are all home-burned CD's presented to The Band over the past few days -- pretty cool -- w/out any planning or research, we now have two humble but interesting mini-collections to add to the vast musical library:

• David Byrne -- Feelings
  
• Talking Heads -- Speaking in Tongues, Little Creatures
  
• Celtic Stuff -- Solas, Cherish the Ladies, Lunasa, Martin Hayes and Dennis Cahill

Thank you, everyone!!

{*hugs*}

The Sky is Falling

Or something, man. Something's up. The Wheel of Dharma turns......

• John Lee Hooker, 1915 - 2001
  
• Chet Atkins, 1924 - 2001
  
• Jack Lemmon, 1925 - 2001
  
• Carroll O'Connor, 1924 - 2001

In Other News

• When did it become fashionable for war criminals to behave like major brats?? In court, no less. In The Hague, for cryin' out loud!!!!!!!!!!!
  
• Speaking of brats, sounds like splitsville for Toothface and Bratt-Boy....
  
• Wow -- bug sex -- like, *yowsa*......?
  
• Loch Ness no more?!!?!!
  
• Fear not -- Sasquatch is back!

And it looks like The Band has located it's next domicile. A weekend trek to Ohio waxed productive as we landed ourselves a 1.5 yr-old two-story, blue-gray three-bedroom duplex with a wetlands bordering the back yard. Attached garage and central air. We may be forced to admit that the salad days are officially over; however, we really couldn't resist the thought of deer and wild turkeys in the back yard.

Man Doth Liveth...

But not by bread alone. Take us, for example. After a long dry spell of life sans entertainment, we have, in the past few weeks alone, seen:

• Josh Joplin, at Rosebud
  
• Kristen Hersh, at Rosebud -- ingenious, catchy and haunting music that isn't dumb (see also here)

Tonight, we were slated to see Bob Schneider, at same, but apparently there was a problem (?) in Canada (?) and tonight's show was cancelled. Wonder what that's all about.

.....still liking that little orange 'publish' button in IE 5.0...

And the changes look to be still operational -- mucho thanks and virtual hugs to our technical adviser, lola. Incidentally, the blogger publishing interface is much nicer in IE 5.0 than in Netscape 4.77 -- has much more of a smooth application look and feel to it. In case you're interested in those things.

Hmmmmm........some feedback from our pal lola may help us straighten out the archives issue......also, lo informs me that, even if you use IE 5.0 as suggested in yesterday's post, you may still get an error message telling you that "a bug has occured, do you still want to see this page?" or whatever, so we need to check on that, too...........t'anks for hanging in there with us.........

111 Miles Closer to Paradise

News Flash -- Your Humble Chronicler is relocating self and posse to Ohio within the next two months, having accepted a position based on the campus of Kent State University. Contrary to rumors, TBH is not disbanding, but is merely moving its HQ one hundred and eleven miles to the geographic west.

Lots to plan and do -- pls forgive additional lags in posts.

- R.

Pending Change

Just back from a lovely weekend in lovely LA. Friends were married. Lovely time. Being pursued by some people in Kent, Ohio, for my professional talents. Looks like a good oportunity, but I really want to be on the West Coast. Some potential interest in our talents by some folks in Iowa, as well. Which is a little closer to paradise.....but not by much. Early rumblings from some Northern/Southern Cal potential locales have yet to pan out. It's gotta be a good fit. What to do, what to do.

It will all work out for the best, one way or another.

Things that Don't Even Make us go "hmmm..."

Yeah. Trying to find newer, happier, more lucrative employment. Trying to relocate to the sunny southwest. Trying to keep it all together at home. Trying to sustain a semblance of positivity despite the third day in a row of rain when the worst that's been predicted has been "partly couldy." Even the weather people are liars. Blah, blah, blah.

So, l tell me -- can you think of anything more useful than this??

From "the April 21 Issue of HP's Daily Freebie":

BonziBUDDY retails for $40, but You get him FREE!
Need someone to explore the Internet with you as your
very own friend and sidekick? BonziBUDDY can talk, joke,
browse, search, e-mail, and download like no other friend
you have ever had. He can even compare prices on
products that you want to buy.
Click here to download your FREE BonziBUDDY now!!

From Lightspeed Online Research:

Have you ever looked at your phone and thought, “You know, it would be really cool
if my phone was shaped like a small Elvis doll. And it would be a lot cooler if, instead
of ringing, it would swivel its hips and play Jailhouse Rock.” Well, dream no more!
Go to www.noveltytelephone.com/prodmain.html to find all kinds of novelty phones,
including Snoopy, Coca-Cola Bottle, Mickey Mouse, Kiss, and Volkswagon Beetle.

{........~sigh~..........}

Six-and-a-half Things That Make us go hmmm...

This. Hmmmm......

This. Hmmmm......

This. Hmmmm......well.....ackshally, Your Humble Chronicler has been saying this would happen for over five years now.......and if you can't say "toldja so!" on your website, where can you say it?

This. Hmmmm......

This. Hmmmm......

This. Hmmmm......

Also, an April 9th NYT article on the 'burgh, titled, "Rebuilt City Starts to Feel Effects of Slowdown." Though you'd never know it, judging by this. Hmmmm......

Hi. Just wanted to do that 04/04/01 thing.

Practicing, We Are, for 04/04/04.

So, don't say we never think ahead.

Ode to the Next Generation

They're young, they're talented, and The Band can't tell if it's awesome that they have this much insight, or just scary and, on some level, maybe sad. But they're using their lives and their experiences to create art, and -- while some of it is silly, and some immature, and some incomprehensible -- as much of it is very moving, and it's all very personal. The Band approves. Check 'em out, drop 'em a line, and tell 'em Rune sent you.

Take this excerpt from Leigh's frailty.org site, which she describes as "not a priority for me, merely an escape." The excerpt:

"selectively choose issues and then claim them as yr own private pilgrimage. then you can drop & ignore 'em. hey hey. we'll all find our way, man. it is ridiculous, yr naivete & yr way of being left winged. hypocrite. hypoCRITE.

we should accept everyone, but as we accept everyone, we must not accept those whose opinions differ from ours, let us pray.

let us hear now, of yr arrogance & yr disgust with the world & the people in it. let us hear of it now, let us pray to it now, the altar of discrepancy and ignorance that infects the earth. they don't understand you.

let us pray

Wow. If that's escapism, I wonder what reality looks like... Not content to dazzle with her own site, Leigh also serves as hostess for some equally impressive young people -- for instance, emily's Tori Amos-inspired tangled site. The toolbar indicates that we're experiencing a "near-life experience." And there's also polina's departure, dense with photos and observations. And don't miss trash.

Because it's wonderful. Really. trash is wonderful really.

Elsewhere

• A little bit of everything at Diana Wiener's Especially Vivisection. Subtitled "The living dissection of human life." Neat, clean design -- just like in real life, you click around on the brain to find things. And, like in real life, once you find 'em, you gotta figure 'em out.
  
  
• For angst ("i have a lot of issues about things. but maybe one day, it won't be so bad"), try shannon's symptom site. The Band read the killed post, and wonders if shannon is even aware of the amazing balance that she has struck, with such a sparcity of words and density of emotional content impact.
  
  
• More from Ennui, at lost now for the words.

When you're done, feel free to plan your very own European takeover. Courtesy of NBC and Microsoft, of course. Use this handy tool to spread your propaganda, a la our ever-nutty Lettriste friends. (Refer to the Situationist links of 1/17/01. -- Mr. Ed.)

Jamais travail!!

First they took the world, and then -- ? -- the worldwideweb, perhaps?!?!

"700 BC -- Homing pigeons carry messages in ancient Greece."

So begins the History of the Internet and Web. If you've ever wondered, as The Band has, how it has all come to this, you may find the following links to your liking:

• The Geography of Cyberspace -- more than you ever wanted to know about the www.
  

• The Internet Weather Report -- whose backbone is down this week?
  

• Around the World in 60 Hops -- with VisualRoute, you can trace the path of packets originating from your pc as they traverse the globe!
  

• whatis?com -- "the IT-specific encyclopedia"
  

• name.space -- anyone, anywhere, almost anytime.

Have fun -- and don't forget to stretch before any vigorous activity!!

Self-deprecation Day

Pretty much sums up the outcome of a (rare) moment in which The Band did some soul-searching:

• Alex Grey is funnier than we are;
  
• Jaffo's more prolific than we'll ever be; and
  
• sapphire blue's design makes us green with envy.

Still, it's all good -- especially if you can take pictures of it. And, since you've taken the time to visit today, enjoy:

• Journalistic photography picks from the Missouri School of Journalism and the Nat'l Press Photographers Assn.
  

• Good stuff, from Women Speak
  

• Soon to be a local classic, we fear. (While you're there, take some time to delve into the rest of the "Best Of" issue to get a real feel for what makes The Natives tick. The results of the "Readers' Poll" are not to be missed; in what other major American city would readers name Red Lobster as the town's best seafood restaurant? Wendy's -- while not in first place -- as second choice for best burger? Why, Pittsburgh, of course. They Note the category for "Best Stripper." Yeah -- it's a classy city. Really.)
  

• On a completely different note, go here for some real hilarious stuff -- recordings of radio interviews with Timothy Leary (or you can check out his palm, if you're into that kinda thing) and Robert Anton Wilson, among others. Listening to these actually made it possible to clean my office!

Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About the World Wide Web
(But Were Afraid, nay, Terrified to Ask)

Wherein Erin rightly writes:

Friday, March 23, 2001
1:29 PM:

reading the same unupdated bodies of text every three hours or updated bodies of BLAH BLAH BLAH, click-o-mania, checking the message board, checking the e-mail, checking the counter stats, checking the guestbook, you start to think, "MAYBE THIS IS A WASTE." you start to wonder if perhaps there is something better you could be doing with your time.

you start to wonder if all hope is lost, if perhaps you will never find anyone out there anything like you, who can challenge you or inspire you or get you out of your head where you can hang out with people other than the Fictionals all the time (Andy Fictional, Melissa Fictional, SELINA FUCKING FICTIONAL), posting to your weblog about unnamed "you's" and crossing your fingers for feedback or questions of "who who??" just so you can act coy ("annoyingly unforthcoming") and say, "Ohhh, no one in particular," BECAUSE THE FACT OF THE MATTER IS THAT YOU ARE INCLINED TO WRITE LONG PASSAGES OF TEXT ABOUT PEOPLE THAT DO NOT FUCKING EXIST.

Thursday, March 22, 2001
6:06 PM:

pardon my absence. i am not in the mood to blog.

i'm fed up with all this hate hate hate you suck boo hiss fuck bitch damn you're an idiot anger shit. WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE FRIENDLY, SUPPORTIVE WEB SCENE? where, you know, you didn't have to feel under fire allthefuckingtime. yeah. that was nice.

i am going to go become a buddhist and leave you all alone to claw each other to death. HAVE FUN.

-- from smileasshole.com

And While We're on that Subject...

Found this bit of amusement over at Slam Media:

Will taking drugs make me cool? No. Unfortunately drugs do not work for everyone, and there is no guarantee that drugs will work for you. There may be insurmountable personal defects which will always keep you from becoming cool no matter how hard you try or how many drugs you take. If this is the case you must simply accept the fact that you are uncool and go with it into full anti-cool, or severely risk moving straight past cool into deep asshole territory.

-- from text accompanying web article, "Drugs Are Cool, You May Not Be," by James Kent, photos from Erowid, embedded links mine.

That should keep you busy for at least an afternoon.

Negative Energy -- The Not-so Silent Killer

At the risk of raising the hackles and attracting the ire of our fine female friends, The Band feels that, as a public service, the following statement must be made regarding PMS.  (oh, I can hear the disdainful mutterings and snippy outbursts already......)  But, all the same, here goes.

Please do attempt to take this in the spirit in which it is intended, that being an attempt to ease and facilitate the all-important and necessary interaction between the sexes.  That being said...

Based on what appears from conversation, discussion and literature to be the average length of time that women suffer (and they do suffer, this is not in dispute) from PMS (about a week, give or take), here's how those numbers play out: One week out of every month equals 25% of the month. Projected out over a year's time, that equals 12 weeks, or 3 months, or a corresponding 25% of the year. One week/month projected out over 79 years (the current average life expectancy of an American woman) comes to a thoroughly depressing 237 months. That's 19.75 years, or 25% of a lifetime. That can't be good.

We are not trying to be critical, obnoxious, or otherwise macho and insensitive, here, though we expect to be accused of such.  The above is simple mathematics, based on what women themselves have to say about how much of their time is affected negatively by PMS.  The Band finds this intolerable, and unacceptable.  Moreso even than how much an average pair of panty hose costs, given how much wear one can expect from them.

Given the real cost of unmanaged PMS -- in misundertandings and hurt feelings, in lost chances and no-win arguments, in wasted time and in shattered relationships -- hell, in tears alone -- we demand that something be done about this.  Immediately.  Your Humble Chronicler believes strongly in the dualistic nature of the universe and existence, as well as in the good to be had from learning how to convert this dualism into something more holistic, something kindler and gentler, even; and we Hereby refuse to believe and further here Rebuke the notion that the female body is, by design, "intended" to experience this level of physical and emotional discomfort on a regular basis.  If that's truly the case -- if some so-called "god" or "creator" meant for this to happen, then fuck it all, 'cuz we aint gonna get anywhere with a higher power who's this UN-enlightened. Brings to mind the old phrase, "Never tell a madman with a shotgun he can't shoot no one."  I mean, there is no reason for this.  It is as unacceptable as anything can get.

The question remains:  Why?

Is it a function of American/E&W. European diets?  Is it tied to stress?  Is it a function of how western civilization has become so completely out of touch with the natural cycles of life in the human organism that women's bodies are screaming "FOUL!!!!!!!" once a month, like clockwork, to everyone within hearing distance??  All I can say is that it isn't right.  Not at all. And something must be done about it.

We wholeheartedly encourage you to write your Congress-person.  And write them immediately.  Before it's too late.

The life you save may be your own.

Thank you for listening.

This has been a Public Service Announcement of TBH.

When in the EU

The Band offers wholehearted congratulations to Steely Dan on its long-overdue induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (check out SD's own chronicle of their quest for infamy). Way to go, gang!

The Band encourages you to spend some time at SD's site, which is way more entertaining than most. Check out this humorous essay on touring in the EU, penned by one of Steely Dan's principal frontmen, Walter Becker. (Includes a fairly thorough comparison of the various incarnations of the club sandwich (!) across Europe.)

When in Rome

For nearly the entire decade-plus during which Yours Truly has resided here in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, Your Humble Chronicler has been befuddled, boggled, confused and generally disheartened by some of the behavioral patterns and styles of The Natives. After as many years of observation and interaction with The Natives, I can only conclude that they have some pretty strange ideas about what constitutes behavior characteristic of civilized societies. We will here examine how these strange ideas manifest themselves in the arena of so-called "responsible driving." I have struggled personally to understand it over the years, and only just recently experienced what might be considered a Breakthrough in determining some of the parameters used by The Natives, the 'Burghers, the Yinzers, the Sun-Deprived as regards their driving behaviors. These behaviors, coupled with their regional accent, so strong at times as to border on being a dialect, goes some way towards establishing native-born Pittsburghites as an endogenous population. But -- forgive me, Dear Readers, for getting quite ahead of myself.

That They Speak Real Funny around here is an observation which is neither new, nor unknown; in fact, it may generally be said that there is near national acceptance of this Weirdness of Speech. Studies (see above links), some informal, some scholarly, have even been conducted which trace the annoying-somewhat-less-nasally-than-Cleveland accent as being rooted in the heavy immigrant influx of the 1800's and 1900's. During that time, thanks largely to the cutthroat industrialist capitalist activities of such Robber Baron Royalty as Andrew Carnegie and Henry Clay Frick, Pittsburgh became a hotbed (literally, as the alchemical conversion of iron ore to steel by way of hellish coke-fueled ovens filled the skies along the three rivers with blue and orange flames, and kept the air grey and often smelling of sulphur dioxide) of opportunity for unskilled laborers from Germany, Ireland, Italy and Poland (the Asians and Russians held off until more recent times), whose command of their new language was less than commanding. To make a very long and well-documented story short, Carnegie and Frick needed strong arms and backs in their steel mills, not strong communicators. But, whereas I got ahead of myself in the previous paragraph, in this one, I digress.

Your Humble Chronicler actually grew up just over an hour from this metropolis. Growing up, I recall that the general sense among Those of My Tribe was that people whose vehicles bore license plates revealing their origin to be "Pennsylvania" were somewhat reckless drivers, prone towards excessive acceleration, fairly aggressive road behavior and other Sins of the Lead-Footed. I can't say that I personally agree with this; having lived here for over ten years, I will say that, yes, Pennsylvanians tend to drive faster and more aggressively than people in smaller cities. I can also attest to a marked naivete among people of smaller towns and cities, which becomes immediately apparent when they describe a small cluster of say a dozen or so cars waiting at a light at an intersection as "heavy traffic." This is silly, but nonetheless I'd bet that's true just about anywhere, except Montana, which, at last check, was still embracing freedom through state's rights to such an extent that its residents are permitted, on some roads, to select their own speed limits. So, it's not so much that PGH drivers are speed demons, as that people from small towns have a warped concept of the notion of "fast."

This would not be a concept that would work in The Commonwealth; however, it is a concept that The Natives would fight for, albeit in a lip-service-with-no-real-intention-of-following-through kinda way. Perhaps influenced by their Irish roots, always planning to run out of food, always expecting the world to end, if not tomorrow, then in a week. In other words, they'd make a lot of noise about it, but nothing would happen. The Natives, you see, generally choose "entitlement" over "acountability." They regularly fight just to fight. They jump into brawls that have nothing to do with them personally, so desperate are they for excitement of any kind, for real drama, for the stuff of stories and legend. Here, perhaps, it's the genetic impact of decades of blue-collar pro-union lifestyles manifesting itself as "in-your-face" behavior which comes out in various ways. Everyone wants to be protected and represented. Yet, when it comes to the fine art of negotiation, the Native Individual much prefers to settle the score with loud voices and exchanges of Neanderthal insults, perhaps in a bar. Or, perhaps in the street, where fisticuffs have yet to be completely eradicated from the list of acceptable public activities; while not encouraged, they are not forbidden. (This entire discussion, it seems, is conducive to digression.)

Anyhew -- you're driving along, minding your own business, paying attention to your driving. Generally, life on the road is pretty manageable. Until, that is, your driving experience intersects with the age-old concept of "Right of Way." Ay -- that's when things get strange.

Road Rage-aholics

• The Oncoming Traffic Dilemma -- You're stopped, first in line, at a red light, with oncoming traffic. Doesn't matter if there are two opposing lanes, or one, or two-to-one. The light changes -- what do you do? Before you answer quickly, confidently -- even smugly, maybe -- first consider where you are. In most of the civilized driving world, when the light turns green, it is common to respond by gradually accelerating and proceeding cautiously through the intersection. However, for purposes of this thought experiment, you are in Pittsburgh. And, in Pittsburgh, when the light changes, The Natives fully expect that you will wait for the first one, two or three cars (it remains unclear to This Reporter what the exact number is, if there is any such standard) in the opposing inside lane, those waiting for the light to change so they can make a lefthand turn, to make their turns in front of you. And they completely assume that you are aware of this, and that you furthermore agree with it in principle, and that you will, without question, allow for this to happen. In fact, you may expect people to begin making left-hand turns in front of you, against oncoming traffic, as soon as the light changes. They even hold up their hands in the universal "thank you" wave, as if you gave them some overt signal to just come on through.
  
  If you don't allow for this assumptive and annoying little control game to play out on The Natives' terms, you should expect them to start to turn in front of you anyway, then to very dramatically *slam!* on their brakes in a shameful and embarassing display of miscommunication, and to be not only irritated with you for failing to adhere to what can only be described as some type of high-gear ethnocentric driving behavior, but to quite possibly be openly furious with you for simply adhering to what you thought was generally a tried-and-true and near universally accepted right of way tradition.
  
  Not here.
  
  If you're expecting a moral to this story, you're shit out of luck.
  
  
• El Pollo Loco -- In our next example, you're again driving along, minding your road manners and your own business. You turn down a residential street, relaxed, perhaps anticipating that you'll soon be home, having survived another day of capitalism, or you'll soon be at a friend's place, relaxing over some music and conversation, or you'll soon be in the warm and welcoming arms of your sweetie, whose place always smells like lavender candles. So, you make this turn onto your typical residential street. Cars are randomly parked on both sides, as is common on most city streets in most city neighborhoods most anywhere in parts of America with older infrastructures ("older" is used here to imply that sidewalks are still extant, unlike in the 'burbs, where you must Run Free in the Streets. Perhaps 'burbs of the future will be clothing optional as well.)
  
  
  [ Aside. Another intriguing bit of Local Vehicular Zoning Information: If you have a driveway (we say "if" because there's often a marked lack of garages and driveways in the typical older big city neighborhood), in order for it to be legal to park your vehicle in your driveway, it must extend far enough up the side of your house so that you can park your vehicle with the edge of the parked vehicle not extending beyond the virtual plane established by the front face of your residence. In other words, you can't simply park your car off the street and off the sidewalk. How bizarre is that? Pretty bizarre, says The Band, though they admit that it may help explain the origins of yet another widespread and odd tradition -- that of saving spaces with chairs.
  
  Incidentally, for those who are seriously intrigued by this, here's another tidbit: If you fail to adhere to the above regulation of the City of Pittsburgh, you can be fined. In other words, if you have the nerve, the audacity, the unmitigated gall to park your vehicle in your driveway on your property, you can still get Slapped by The Man for Not Doing it His Way. Isn't that lovely?? (It is a strange state. But the weather sucks!) Addendum: I tried but was unable to actually locate this statute. Ed. ]
  Back to our story. You turn down your street. And you notice that a car is coming in the opposite direction, towards you, on the opposite side of the street, where you would expect it. It has been This Reporter's experience that, in such a situation, the correct thing to do is, first, use that wonderful blob of wetware that you were born with to do some quick and painless calculus to determine whether there is enough room for both of you to pass side by side without colliding. If so, do that. If not, obviously one of you needs to pull over. Rather, one of you should pull over. We won't split hairs here, though, because, if this situation occurs in Pittsburgh, it doesn't seem to matter to The Natives whether there's enough room or not, let alone who actually has right of way. Instead, if you are the Non-Native driver, you will get the clear impression from the oncoming driver that you are expected to move over. For them. Every time. Regardless.
  
  How is this signal made clear? Put simply, the oncoming driver appears to make a conscious choice to drive not further left of center -- oh, no -- but instead even closer to the center of the street. Like in the no longer fashionable (as far as I know) game of "chicken," wherein two brainless drivers face off at opposite ends of some straight, flat open space and, upon some signal, point their vehicles directly at each other and drive headlong as fast as they can towards their opponent's radiator grill. Whoever turns away first loses. You get the picture. The question, however, remains: How has this dated, macho testosterone-poisoned type-A alpha male urban bonding/dominance game seeped into the otherwise peaceful task of daily civilian driving?
  
  I don't have an answer, though I suspect it has something to do with items touched on in paragraphs two and three, above. The Natives appear to be somewhat genetically wired to confrontational behavior. They are argumentative, and obstinate when they don't get their way. (Tourists should generally expect suddent displays of histrionics to substitute for enlightened behavior.) However, if you're anything like me, Dear Readers, this driving dynamic bothers you on many levels. It bothers you because it's assumptive, not to mention weird. Because it's rude, not to mention dangerous. Because no one has ever offered any indication that there is any reason for it. The closest thing to a reason that the Non-Native driver will experience will be the righteous indignation that you feel leveled at you when, innocent and unsuspecting, you find yourself in this situation and you do the standard considerate thing, which is to carefully guage the available space between the imaginary center line of the street and the very real side panels of the cars parked along the right side of the street to assure that there is indeed room for both vehicles to pass each other comfortable, and then to maintain your conservative speed (or possibly decrease it), and gently steer as far to the right of center as you can without sideswiping the parked vehicles. But, assume things work this way in Pittsburgh and you can almost expect to be flipped off with impunity by the oncoming Native driver.
  
  What's most bizarre to me -- aside from the overtly aggressive nature of this behavior, which makes it innately unattractive -- is that it's totally counter-intuitive to what a reasonable -- and reasonably seasoned -- driver would do in a similar circumstance. If anything, you would think that if a driver felt that there wasn't enough room, instinct (for survival), experience (from years of driving) and intuition ("let's see -- that car's coming right at me -- what to do?") would first encourage and then scream at you to get out of the way. Yet, this doesn't happen. I can't even count how many times I've had to swerve at the last minute to avoid clashing driver's side mirrors with one of these yokels, or just giving up in dismay, almost automatically pulling over when I see them coming, preferring to swallow my sense of reason rather than risk getting sucked into some twisted game of who's-the-toughest. I have pondered this for years now, seeking some resolution, or -- if that is unatainable -- then at least some rationale for this strange and antisocial behavior. At this date, I am happy to report that I think I've uncovered a pattern. But, I'm unhappy to say that it's not a very attractive one, at that.
  
  I will share my theory with you, Dear Readers. The pattern is one of standard schoolyard bully behavior. When local drivers find themselves in this situation, what appears to happen is that they attempt, through "bullying" behavior, to manipulate the situation so that they forcibly secure right of way. Their "strategy" is to try to be the first vehicle to pull closer to the imaginary center line and charge down the street. I know, I know -- it's damned hard to believe. Yet, I've been living with this for over ten years now, and I swear to you that I'm not making it up. I've experimented with it. For instance, if I see a car coming toward me and I simply opt to sidle over to the curb and wait for the oncoming driver to pass me, then everyone's happy -- no one's got their superiority complex all bruised and shit, or their control freak panties in a wad. Contrarily, if I see an oncoming car and I drift just a few inches closer to the center, and simultaneously increase my speed, my "opponent," the oncoming driver, will almost immediately pulls over and wait, reluctantly, for me to pass before they resume their travel. And there you have it. Chicken. The game is up.

{ ~ sigh ~ }

I still don't understand why people drive this way here. Where do they learn this? It's consistent enough that one could hypothesize that it's taught to them in The Commonwealth's driver's education courses. Or one might be tempted to guess that perhaps they learn it from their fathers, who traditionally is the first to school the Apprentice Child Driver in the Ways of the Road. It may be of interest to some readers that the above-described behavior is evidenced equally by males and females. This differs from another strange driving behavior -- that being the Rapid Acceleration from a Dead Stop behavior, which appears to be more in evidence among female drivers, though it is perhaps only manifested when the dead stop includes a female driver in one lane and a male driver in the other. Test it for yourself -- it's fairly safe. When you next find yourself at a read light, look over to see who is driving the vehicle immediately parallel to your vehicle. Both of you need to be first in line at the light. When the light changes, note what happens; typically, if the other driver is a female, she will appear to try to accelerate faster than you do, whereas, if the other driver is a male, his reaction to the light changing from red to green will be anyone's guess. Try it out. Very strange.

I, The Victor

Addendum: Your Humble Chronicler again had the opportunity to test the above theory on the way home from the office this very evening. The act of writing at length about this topic earlier in the day must have been more than simply cathartic for me. Turning onto one such residential street a block from my house on my way home, the sight of an oncoming car at the other end of the block triggered some internal meta-programming, possibly tuned by the devotion of my attention to chronicling these observations. Because, as soon as I saw the car, I felt the tell-tale surge of adrenalin that, roughly translated, indicated strongly that The Games Had Begun. So I instinctively dosed my trusty heather-mist Accord V-tech with some additional petrol, and simultaneously steered precariously closer to the center line. My "opponent" was obviously a veteran of these competitions, because being familiar with the Rules of Engagement -- and apparently sensing that his position had been rendered more or less inferior by my superior opening move -- he immediately pulled to the left, and thereby conceded the match.

His only attempt at competing was to blow his horn in defeated annoyance as I flew past him.

It's always hard to watch former titans fall.

You should be amused to know that I, the Victor, found it impossible to refrain from making a little kissy-face at him.

Before you Leave

Lo, it is all such vitriol and bile, piss and vinegar. Since you likely wandered in here not looking for a fight, The Band though it best to provide you with an opportunity to cleanse your palate before resuming your travels elsewhere. We thought this fit the bill nicely (excerpt below):

THE AFFLUENT and choleric comptroller heinously inveigled herbs from the impious valet who often harasses the dour governor with aplomb. The funny thing about this sentence (aside from the fact that it really doesn’t make any sense) is that it is mostly made up of words that can be pronounced in at least two distinctly different ways, regardless of the speaker’s accent or regional dialect. That is, when pronouncing these words, the speaker has a choice, whether to stress one syllable or another, or to pronounce a letter that for other people is silent, or to substitute or lose certain sounds. Because of all these choices, many speakers hesitate when pronouncing these words. The entries listed below will inform you about these words, and, we hope, will make you more comfortable about pronouncing them....

Ciao for now, bella. Have a good weekend.

Beware the Ides of March!

I took a walk in the rain one day on the wrong side of the tracks
I stood on the rails till I saw that train
Just to see how my heart would react
Now some people say that you shouldn't tempt fate
And for them I would not disagree
But I never learned nothing from playing it safe
I say fate should not tempt me.

-- from "I Take My Chances," by Mary-Chapin Carpenter and Don Schlitz

Decaf espresso??

Is there such a thing? In an attempt to launch my morning, I stopped on the way to the office and picked up a triple espresso. Fifteen minutes after consuming, I feel no affects, and could swear I'm completely at baseline. Strange.

.....ok, then -- we gotta break now for a little MadTV.........join us if you like........every Saturday, at eleven o'clock......right after the ten o'clock news.....on Fox.........I think this is the link.........try that, anyway....kind of a fun site....nice seein' ya......

Wow. Long-time, no post. Good to see you again. Really.

But -- you gotta hear this -- imagine The Band's...well, is it.....Surprise?......or Chagrin??....?.....let's listen in, alright?..........

(First, let's see that we do this right. There are rules, it appears.......~sigh~...)

The minimum size of the Webmonkey logo is 50 by 57 pixels. The
maximum size is 260 by 293. Sure, you can go ahead and push
the envelope with the sizing, but only if you're willing to fly in
the face of three years of design research and over $1 million in
government-subsidized grants.

Do not use the Webmonkey logo together with the hex-nut
logotype (see top of this page). Are you totally insane? Pick one
or the other.

If you're affixing the logo to an Adults Only site, please refrain from using it to cover the genitalia of nude models.

Like uranium or cute little kitties, the Webmonkey logo should be
treated with extreme care and respect.

The above is copied with due respect to its Creator(s), whom you may find right here -- go see them for the real thing! We've never claimed in these pages that our technical design skills are anything but rudimentary.....rather, we attempt to overwhelm your sensory intake systems to thereby confuse the otherwise critical reader's finely-honed critical faculties into perceiving, if not actually believing, that we actually know what we are doing.....

Shame on me for not being able to find time to post since almost 2 weeks ago? I mean -- ! -- shame on me!! That being said...

Who's more annoying?

After watching Dubya's first address to a joint session of Congress, I can't make up my mind if his smug cheerleading (a la Ronnie) good-old-boy (a la daddy, AKA Dubya, Sr) style is as bad as Cokie Roberts, who I can't even listen to anymore. And she's looking more like a grizzled veteran male journalist every month. Yow! -- how old is that pic??

Since that observation, I'm sure, pretty much kills my chances of ever working in public radio, we may as well drive the stake home -- it's almost enough to drive one to alternative sources of news.

[ The Band expects to catch some shit from feminists for that. But -- faced with either catching shit or breaking its policy of being an equal opportunity poster of links, the choice was clear. Remaining true to its First Amendment roots, it opted for the latter. And we'll still cook for you gals, any day of the week. ]

You're not just slipping...

...into a shoe. You're slipping into a slice of fleece-lined heaven.

No crap -- actual descriptive text from The Sportsman's Guide. No wonder it calls itself, "the fun to read catalog," by way of a banner graphic on the cover, which is actually trademarked! Fancy that.

What are they thinking?

Teens. Not as scary as you think, and pretty hip to how advertisers attempt to manipulate them and their tastes. Again brings to mind Faith Popcorn.

Belated Wishes

Happy Mardi Gras, and a blessed purple lent to all of you.

The Band Sings...

Happy Birthday to Me, Your Humble Chronicler. And my b-day wish is for all of you Dear Readers to enjoy a happy day. So, g'wan -- get on with it!

Always interesting in speculating over what next year may bring...

[ Coming soon -- More DOCUMENTED evidence of insanity in these parts! ]

The Nose. It Always Knows.

Our monthly horoscopic outlook -- posted yesterday, below -- noted that we'd be pondering our career direction. "Entertain the questions and the answer will appear on its own time," counselled the Oracle.

Well, methinks I should've been a neurologist, because one Dr. Alan Hirsch has the coolest job. Need evidence? --

• A new spin on the old apple-a-day theory.
  
• In a rut? Have a crunchy, salted snack. The Band can't determine which is weirder -- this blurb, or the fact that it ran in Entrepreneur magazine. Further evidence that capitalism is bad for your health, maybe.
  
• Smell the one you love. Pick your flavor: For Wo/men.
  
• Oh, what the heck -- Bubba-meets-Pinocchio