We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
“Go to the most prestigious college you can” is revealed to be bad advice. Similarly, the obsession with increasing the numbers of “underrepresented” students at top schools in the belief that this somehow improves their upward mobility (and “social justice”) looks like folly. Our selective schools, in short, are not all they’re cracked up to be and graduating from one is no guarantee of success.
That is because, Arum and Roksa maintain, our entire higher education system has pretty much succumbed to a non-academic mentality: “Educators have increasingly ceded their authority to students, and administrators have shifted institutional emphasis from students’ academic and moral development to their personal growth and well-being. Empowering and catering to students as consumers has only exacerbated these broader and deeper changes.”
An academic resume may matter socially, but after your first job it doesn't matter much for career. We wish strongly to believe that an elite "education" provides a foundation for more life enrichment and a dream-fulfilling career, but as time goes by I have my doubts. If you really care about intellectual enrichment, the Great Courses is all anybody needs.
... “the greatest tool to lift children and families from poverty is one that decreases the probability of child poverty by 82 percent. But it isn’t a government spending program. It’s called marriage.”
Statistically probably close, but a lot of unmarried people are likely either not interested, or are not desirable "marriage material." And sex material and marriage material are not the same things. Duh. Ref: Human History 101.
Poverty stats in the US do not take into account governmental or charitable benefits, both of which are huge and widely available to those who want them. The semi-voluntary poor, of course (eg grad students, recent grads, Maine Guides, new immigrants, beginning entrepreneurs, people who chose their own lifestyles to pursue happiness, hippies, starving artists, ski bums, people who choose the dole as a life style, etc) are not isolated from the stats so the stats seem meaningless to me. (Not to mention the pitiful people who work the system, game the system, etc. for a few extra bucks from the workingman's pocket.)
Few would refuse a gift of wealth obtained honorably, but I do not think pursuit of wealth is a major driver in American life, or in human life in general. Fortunately, and to the benefit of the rest of us, wealth is a driver for some highly talented people with commercial abilities (eg Derek Jeter, John D. Rockefeller, Jeff Bezos, Henry Ford, Steven Spielberg, Bob Dylan, JP Morgan, George Washington, Warren Buffet, etc etc etc).
The 15% in poverty measure is the number of people who would be in poverty if we didn’t help them by giving them money, food, housing and health care. It is not the number living in poverty. It is the number in poverty before we help them out of poverty. And as to the comparison with the 1960s, in the 1960s it really was the number in poverty after we helped, now it’s the number before we help.
"Poverty" is a political concept. Many people want free goodies if they are available, but sacrifice a bit of their precious human dignity in the process. As SDA always asks, "Why is there always a wide-screen TV?"
A real working man has every reason for pride in his work, regardless of wealth. Not sure what Bob was thinking with this weary but hopeful lullabye. Probably some part of himself. Try to ignore the images.
Many otherwise prudent people, many of whom may have smoked marijuana decades ago when it was far less potent than now, have gone along with the increased legalization of marijuana. It may be so that for most consumers, who do not abuse it, the harmful effects are minor. However, for many the short and long term effects are not minor. It is ironic that liberal politicians who are so eager to stamp out smoking tobacco and who are so fervent about controlling other things many consume are supporters of marijuana legalization. Their reasons are either that they still do imbibe or that they see another source of taxes they can spend on their other notions.
A scholarly analysis of the research since 1993 done into the health effects of marijuana finds:
Research in the past 20 years has shown that driving while cannabis-impaired approximately doubles car crash risk and that around one in 10 regular cannabis users develop dependence. Regular cannabis use in adolescence approximately doubles the risks of early school-leaving and of cognitive impairment and psychoses in adulthood. Regular cannabis use in adolescence is also associated strongly with the use of other illicit drugs. These associations persist after controlling for plausible confounding variables in longitudinal studies. This suggests that cannabis use is a contributory cause of these outcomes but some researchers still argue that these relationships are explained by shared causes or risk factors. Cannabis smoking probably increases cardiovascular disease risk in middle-aged adults but its effects on respiratory function and respiratory cancer remain unclear, because most cannabis smokers have smoked or still smoke tobacco.
Conclusions
The epidemiological literature in the past 20 years shows that cannabis use increases the risk of accidents and can produce dependence, and that there are consistent associations between regular cannabis use and poor psychosocial outcomes and mental health in adulthood.
... it is Dawkins’s identification with Darwin that is most incongruous. No two minds could be less alike than those of the great nineteenth-century scientist and the latter-day evangelist for atheism. Hesitant, doubtful, and often painfully perplexed, Darwin understood science as an empirical investigation in which truth is never self-evident and theories are always provisional. If science, for Darwin, was a method of inquiry that enabled him to edge tentatively and humbly toward the truth, for Dawkins, science is an unquestioned view of the world. The Victorians are often mocked for their supposed certainties, when in fact many of them (Darwin not least) were beset by anxieties and uncertainties. Dawkins, by contrast, seems never to doubt for a moment the capacity of the human mind—his own, at any rate—to resolve questions that previous generations have found insoluble.
I know how complicated a question that is. Are we talking about a date, a party conversation, a friend, a one night stand, friends with benefits, a husband's pal, an affair, a boy-toy, a potential marriage, etc?
If one is fortunate enough to be an appealing female, you know that all men will consider the notion of having a romp with you. They can't help it. Indeed, it is a no-brainer. You are a love-or-sex object before they even know you. Your Mom taught you that oafs want their hands on your body, creeps want to sneak into your head, and gentlemen try not to be either oaf or creep.
Women do live in a somewhat different mental world from men. As a shrink, I know both worlds. I know that many women find physical attractiveness appealing, tall guys with masculine physiques and regular features, etc., but I'm not asking about that, or that alone. And I am not asking about "marriageable," with its implications of good prospects, money, breeding, cultural affinity, intelligence, knowledge, skill sets, potential to make a good parent/mate, etc. Seductive expert men who try to get into your head? Red flag, always - those are would-be Bill Clinton types. Many women are drawn to charming sociopaths, and they know it because it connects with their own flaws. Been there in youth, done that, recovered, as have so many young women.
I am just asking about general "appealing," like somebody you want to talk to at a party and feel drawn to. Readers know that I have always loved Atticus Finch and that I married the closest I could find who also had good genes, who has effortfully made a lot of money while I pursued my medical calling, and been a great dad, a very hard-worker, a boy scout, and a loving and loyal husband despite his own difficult imperfections. Lucky me.
I will start it off:
The traits I find quickly appealing and charming in men are courage, honor, manliness, humor, shyness, but a confident attitude towards life and an easy, relaxed deportment which says that they are comfortable in their skin. They like to play sports and to play with power tools, books, and guns. Those things are instantly appealing to women like me, chemically. You do not have to mate with them, but I can just like it the way you like that chocolate dessert that you do not need and will not eat. We are not animals, but we do enjoy some people more than others. Decent men are the same way with the charming women they meet and enjoy. Normal guys who are out in the world develop instant crushes several times daily just from a chemical reaction.
How about you ladies? What appeals to you, in guys?
The simulacrum is often defined as a copy with no original, or as Gilles Deleuze (1990) describes it, “the simulacrum is an image without resemblance”.[9] Baudrillard argues that a simulacrum is not a copy of the real, but becomes truth in its own right, aka the hyperreal. He created four steps of reproduction: (1) basic reflection of reality, (2) perversion of reality; (3) pretence of reality (where there is no model); and (4) simulacrum, which "bears no relation to any reality whatsoever".[10]
The Trailhead Queen was dead. At first, there was no overt sign that her long life was ending: no fever, no spasms, no farewells. She simply sat on the floor of the royal chamber and died. As in life, her body was prone and immobile, her legs and antennae relaxed. Her stillness alone failed to give warning to her daughters that a catastrophe had occurred for all of them. She lay there, in fact, as though nothing had happened. She had become a perfect statue of herself. While humans and other vertebrates have an internal skeleton surrounded by soft tissue that quickly rots away, ants are encased in an external skeleton; their soft tissues shrivel into dry threads and lumps, but their exoskeletons remain, a knight’s armor fully intact long after the knight is gone. Hence the workers were at first unaware of their mother’s death. Her quietude said nothing, and the odors of her life, still rising from her, signalled, I remain among you. She smelled alive.
The deception was made easier by the fact that in life she had never given orders or led them in activities of any kind—even though she could have performed all their tasks if she chose. She had taken the only initiatives she ever took all in a burst, at the beginning of her adult life, when she had abandoned the colony of her birth and, along with it, her mother and her sisters. First, she had spread her four membranous wings and flown into the air. There, she’d joined a swarm of flying males and other virgin queens. One of the males had caught her. He’d clamped his legs around her body, and the couple had spiralled down to the ground. On landing, he had used the large claspers at the rear end of his body to hold their genitalia together as he completed the insemination. Within five minutes, the act was finished, and the queen shook the male loose. All the sperm she had received flowed up into a special bag-shaped organ in her abdomen, where it would stay until called on to fertilize her eggs. It might last for years into the future. Each sperm was endowed with a potential life span equal to her own.
In contrast, the father of all her children was programmed to die almost immediately after the mating. The only thing that he had ever done was accept meals regurgitated to him by his sisters, as if he were a nestling bird, and wait, and wait some more, and finally take the one short flight from his home, followed by five minutes of copulation. In other words, the male was no more than a guided missile loaded with sperm, his life’s work a single ejaculation. Afterward, he was left with only one instruction, to be enforced if necessary by his sisters: Don’t come back. He had been issued a one-way ticket. He had no chance at all of survival. A delicate creature, he could not find food, or feed himself if he stumbled across some. He would die by dehydration, or crushed in the beak of a bird, or chopped into pieces by the jaws of an enemy ant, or, less quickly, pierced by the bloodsucking proboscis of an assassin bug.
To escape the same fate, the newly mated future Queen of the Trailhead Colony, full-brained and powerfully muscled, hurried to find shelter. She had to get back underground as quickly as possible. First, however, she had to take a few minutes to shed her wings. To do that, she simply bent her middle legs forward, pressed them against the base of the wings, and snapped them off. This mutilation caused no injury to the rest of her body; it caused no pain. The Queen was a parachutist who slipped her harness upon landing. Now she could move more quickly to avoid the ants, spiders, and other predators hunting around her in the grassroots jungle.
Soon she came upon an open space between grass clumps, a small clearing at the Lake Nokobee trailhead. By luck she had found an ideal site to build a nest. She began at once to dig a vertical tunnel in the sandy clay soil. Her movements were swift and precise, and within minutes she had deepened the shaft to more than her body length. This provided her some degree of protection, but she needed to proceed as quickly as possible. Her life remained in constant danger.
Everything in the attic, basement, and garage that has not been used in two years is on its way out today.
The attic will be emptied, completely. Nothing will ever go back up that attic pull-down stair, so long as I am alive. Will keep a few pieces of furniture that the kids might need when they find their own homes. Otherwise, total clean-out. A dumpster, and two strong helpers. Pancho and Ruiz, our good yard guys. "Nice house, but too much stuff" said Pancho.
Gave them nice tips - deserved it for sure.
Lots should probably go to Good Will but it's just too much trouble. Clothing, furniture, old kids' stuff, etc. If my legal immigrant helpers want stuff, they are welcome to it. I'm sick of my attitude of "I might need it or want it someday." Yeah, right. Will keep my Sawzall, tho. Best tool since the stone-age stone hammer. Chain saws? I use them frequently. Brio train set? A keeper!
If we lived on a busy middle-class street, almost everything would be taken by people if we put it on the curb. That's what my brother does with his excess stuff. Great set of 6 kitchen table chairs which I always liked, etc.
The way we Americans accumulate stuff is ridiculous. It expands to fill and then overflow the space - and then you can't find it even if you wanted to. That's why God, in his infinite goodness and wisdom, created dumpsters. Also, He created rent-a-tool places. Great. Why buy, store, and maintain something if you can rent it for a day or two when you need it?
Firearms? Well, I think I'll save all my spares for future grandkids. All most people really need around the house are a handgun, a deer rifle, a .22, a 16 ga. and a couple of BB guns for the little kids, but I do not even know how many firearms I have. More than I can use, for sure.
Update: It only took us only 5 hours to fill the dumpster over the brim. Found Mrs. BD's wedding gown, kept it (who knows, she might need it someday - it's a nice one and I can be a pain). Lots of keeper kids' books and keeper train set. And some antique oriental rugs I had stored away zipped up in mothballs and forgot that I had. Nice, but I don't need more rugs now. In fact, I already have a stash of very nice antique orientals waiting for my kids' use. They are not in fashion, but I love them. Especially the Caucasians. Well-worn but fascinating to look at.
Now just vacuum the whole attic, and it's done. Onward and upward with the autumn honey-do list...
People taking pictures of themselves has become a kind of 'normal' thing with the advent of the smartphone. Teens seem to do it regularly, and even the president takes part (which seems to give the practice validity, though he is very consumed with himself). The term 'selfie' has been added to the the dictionary and this self-indulgent practice has spawned a number of YouTube compilations. Some really are just self-indulgent. Others are well-designed and give insight. Still others have an artistic bend to them. But each has two things in common. The first is it is taken by the subject, the second is it is about the subject as an individual.
While the concept of taking regular pictures of a subject is not new, the ease with which it can be done (particularly on an individual level) has improved. As a project for an artist, however, it can yield intriguing results. Nicholas Nixon's study of the Brown Sisters provides a tremendous view of how a subject group, in this case a family, progresses through time. I am not sensitive enough to be moved to tears, though others have been.
My wife and I had very different reactions to the pictures. She focused on the items mentioned in the article, all of which are intriguing. I looked at the individual pictures, seeking to find indications of change and age. While each picture shows differences, I was of the opinion noticeable changes started appearing somewhere around the 16-20 year mark.
I was recently driving from New Haven to Boston and picked up the first hitchhiker I've seen in quite a while. He was hitching to Augusta, Maine, a Navy guy on leave.
I asked him why he did it. He told me had hitched since his early teens, and just liked it. I told him I used to hitch all over the Northeast, mostly going to see gals. Nobody gave me use of a car when I turned 16, or even when I graduated from college.
It seems to me that hitchhiking in the Northeast is a disappearing tradition. Too bad - it was a good thing, always interesting, but maybe that was a more innocent era.
Bulldog and I have been working on this for a while.
The plan is to hike from the Battery - South Ferry - to Central Park South. Or maybe vice-versa - we'll let you know details. However, it will be a somewhat meandering route so as to capture some fun sights and neighborhoods, and some cool locations, and for some fun beer/water and/or bathroom stops. We'll post a map of our route in advance.
As a result, it could be a 7-miler, a bit tiring for some but it's mostly all flat. We have no time frame for the hike (maybe 10 AM, until done). Totally doable in comfortable shoes. Cameras are good. If needed, we'll have a leader with an ISISSicilian Mexican American flag! Nobody to give talks, though.
Be there or be square. It's like, you know, like totally worth a trip to the city. Grab a hearty breakfast, because we aren't stopping for food. Backpack snacks if you need 'em.
Rain, snow, shine, or fire-and-brimstone. Bulldog and I will be there, News Junkie, family members, friends, and whoever, at the start. Join us, whether a Maggie's reader or not. We are friendly (and we do not care about your politics or your religion).
Details to you if interested in a group hike - just leave your contact info in the comments below, or we will post further details soon. Yes means Yes, but not maybe.
Why Girls Tend to Get Better Grades Than Boys Do - New research shows that girls are ahead in every subject,
including math and science. Do today's grading methods skew in their
favor?
Does this question require research? Anybody who has ever sat in a classroom knows why.
Sat. evening from the BQE (Brooklyn Queens Expressway - a terrible road in every way yet a necessary one), headed to the BAM (Brooklyn Academy of Music) for a Finnegan's Wake performance.
At Aeon, Earth is not a garden - Some of the world’s most powerful conservationists are giving up on wilderness. They are making a big mistake. A quote:
The garden metaphor is particularly loaded. A garden is not an ethical place. Life and death occurs at a gardener’s caprice. Plant or cut, tend or kill, include or exclude: it’s an exercise of morally unconstrained will, fine in a backyard but requiring boundaries both literal and philosophical. ‘Once we shift to a gardener’s mindset, it gives us too much freedom to do whatever we want,’ says the bioethicist Gregory Kaebnick. ‘And I’m speaking as an avid gardener.’
In a garden, there isn’t necessarily a sense that life has any value apart from what we assign. Neither individual beings nor larger entities – populations, communities, species, ecological processes – are intrinsically worthy of respect. The gardener ethic can’t account for that. What Leopold so eloquently advised, that we think of ourselves not as conquerors of life’s communities but as ‘plain members and citizens’, goes out the window.
I know how complicated a question that is. Are we talking about a date, a party conversation, a friend, a one night stand, friends with benefits, a husband's pal, an affair, a boy-toy, a potential marriage, etc?
I was recently driving from New Haven to Boston and picked up the first hitchhiker I've seen in quite a while. He was hitching to Augusta, Maine, a Navy guy on leave.
