Monthly Archives: September 2017

This and that from re Thai r ment, by 3Th. 13 Pops 0006. (August 29, 2017)

 

 

 

 

“Jefferson warned that without economic democracy there can be no political democracy”.
Fred Harris

 

 

 

 

 

TODAY FROM AMERICA:

 

 

POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN EL DORADO HILLS:

 

A. Traveling from Bangkok to El Dorado Hills.

I do not know why it is but I usually find the most unpleasant trips the most interesting. It was that way on my trip back from Thailand. We left the apartment at about 7PM in order to get to the airport early enough for me to get a good seat. Suvarnabhumi Airport was more crowded and disorganized than I had ever seen it. After a difficult time securing my ticket, I was told the flight was delayed until 6:30 in the morning.

I arrived in Shanghai just as my connecting flight to the US was leaving. I had forgotten how the Chinese bureaucratic system differs from that in the US. In the US, probably for reasons of cost, people relating to the public are trained, for better or worse, to handle a number of somewhat discretionary activities. The Chinese it seems are not. Each functionary there appears to have been assigned only a single, not particularly discretionary, action.

As I exited the plane, I saw a young man with a sign that announced, “Transfer Passenger Assistance” and showed him my ticket. He looked confused. Walked away to speak to someone, returned and pointed vaguely toward a corridor leading from the hall. After passing through several hallways, I entered a large room containing several counters. Above one was a sign in English that read, “24-hour transit passengers.” I guessed that was the counter I was looking for. There was a long line and only one clerk. When I got to her and showed her my ticket she responded, “Transit Hotel.” I asked “Where?” She handed me a paper with my name on it and pointed to another traveler and said, “Follow that woman.”

“That woman” proved to be another lost and confused American who missed the same connecting flight as I. We passed through another warren of hallways until we came to a room even larger than the previous one with a lot of counters around the walls in front of which were crowds of clamoring travelers. We noticed a group of people in the center of the room who we recognized from our plane and asked them if they knew what was happening. One said, “I think we are supposed to wait here until someone comes for us.”

I noticed a counter over which was a sign that read something like “Transit Supervisor.” I approached him and asked what it is we should do. He pointed at a bunch of chairs against one wall and said, “Sit there, someone will come for you.”

So, we sat there for a long time and to our relief eventually, someone came and ordered us to follow him. We asked where we were going but received no answer. He marched us to a bus, too small to sit all of us and our luggage so many had to stand in the aisle amid the piled suitcases.

After a long long ride that ultimately brought us back to an airport hotel across the street from where we began, we disembarked and entered the hotel and milled around the lobby until one of us thought it would be a good idea to approach the reception desk. We did and at first, they did not seem to understand what we were all doing there. Then one of the women behind the desk motioned to us and began assigning rooms. When I approached and asked for a single room she said brusquely, “Two to a room” and assigned an elderly Japanese man to room with me. At first, I was offended that I had to share a room and with another, an old man no less, but I then realized he was no older than me. He spoke barely any English and I no Japanese but I soon discovered him to be one of the nicest and kindest people I had ever met.

I then asked about dinner and there ensued a several hour hullabaloo where I turned into the ugly American. I thoroughly enjoyed it, shouting away and laughing until everyone turned their back on me except for the servers who laughed with me (or at me, who knows).

The next morning at the airport the lines and confusion were staggering until a guard asked if I was on the plane to SF. When I answered in the affirmative he whisked me through everything and off I flew.

Having slept well the night before, I could not fall asleep during the flight so I watched all three episodes of Lord of the Rings. I found Frodo’s bulging eyes disconcerting and wondered why everyone had blue eyes.

It took five hours or so to get from SF airport to Hobbitown in the Golden Hills.

 

B. Back in El Dorado Hills.

Now some might wonder how I could equate EDH with the Shire. Easy, they both have a certain picturesque attractiveness; they both are set among rolling hills; they both are self-indulgent inward looking societies; they both see the outside world as full of orcs, goblins, sorcerers, violence and malevolence and; the citizens of both have hairy feet and do not wear shoes. Well, actually, the citizens of EDH do wear shoes.

I have resumed my life here as before; wake in the morning; drive HRM to school; Bella Bru for cafe latte and cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese; walk about three miles around the lake; return home and read a book; nap; have dinner and; retire to my room for my daily dose of existential anguish.

On Wednesday, I leave to spend a week at my sister’s home in Mendocino. She is hosting an engagement party for her son Brendan and his intended Ashley. She expects about 60 people to spend the weekend in and around the house. The Paella Lady and her huge paella pan will be there. Also, lots of Italian and Philippine food to eat and I expect a lot of music too.

On Sunday we plan to attend Paul Bunyan Day in Fort Bragg.

 

 

 

 

MOPEY JOE’S MEMORIES:

 

 

When he was about 5 or 6, I used to tell HRM stories every evening. The following is one of them:

“So, last night, at bedtime, I continued telling the series of stories to Hayden that I had begun about two years ago. The stories concerned the adventures of Danny (Hayden’s alter ego) and his trusty pony Acorn (who Hayden now and then rides whenever we visit Bill and Naida’s ranch).”

“Danny was resting at an oasis in the desert following his besting of ‘The Old Man Under the Mountain.’ With him were his two friends; “The Black Knight,” a gorilla (Whose alter ego cuddly toy shares my bed) who is “The World’s Strongest Knight” and rides a white horse with brown spots like a cow and is called appropriately “White-brownie or Brown-whitey,” and; “The White Knight Who Used to be ‘The Old Man who Dressed Like a Beggar’ and was The Worlds Most Powerful Magician,” until Danny, in the throne room of the Green Castle, defeated him in a duel of magic aided by “The Monster Who Lives in the Closet and Who Now Lives in Acorn’s Saddlebags,” and turned him into a mouse. In order for Danny and The Black Knight to escape from the dungeon of the “Old Man Under the Mountain,” Danny, again with the aid of “The Monster who lives in the Closet but Now Lives in Acorn’s Saddlebags” turned him from a mouse into a young handsome human except with less magical power so that his full name now became, “The White Knight Who Used to be an Old Man Dressed Like a Beggar and the Worlds Most Powerful Magician Until he was Turned into a Mouse and Then into A Young Man who was Not so Powerful a Magician.” The White Knight rode a black horse named, “Blackie.””

“They had just finished dinner and were drinking their milk while staring into the campfire when a troop of musicians and actors who were camping nearby came by and offered to put on a performance for the famous Knights.”

“The knights agreed that they would enjoy that and the chief musician tuned up his Lute and began his song by introducing his main protagonist a skinny boy of indeterminate age named ‘Heimlich.’ Heimlich lived in a not so great but good enough castle in a dreary country somewhere that was always foggy. Heimlich was sad because his father, who was called Pruneberry the King of the Castle (and, if truth be known, King of little else) had just died. In addition almost before the body became cold or whatever it is body’s become after its inhabitant dies, his mother Natasha Dewlap married Heimlich’s uncle, Julius Caesar (we both thought that was a very funny name).”

“Anyway, Heimlich and his friend [who strangely did not have a name but it could just as well be something as ridiculous and Guildenstern or Rosencrantz or even Miracle Max] one evening, for some unknown reason, decided to go the cemetery to visit the site where Pruneberry was buried. Along the way, they came upon a pile of bones and a skull. Heimlich thought the skull reminded him of “Mortimer” his old kindergarten teacher.”

“Anyway, Heimlich’s friend decided to return home after they discovered the bones because he was a sensible lad and was creeped out by the bones and Heimlich’s weirdness. Heimlich went on by himself.”

“When Heimlich arrived at the gravesite, a Ghost popped out and said, ‘Heimlich I am your father, Pruneberry and I was killed by Natasha Dewlap and Julius Caesar who put poison up my nose while I was asleep.’”

“At this point, Hayden asked me ‘How can a ghost speak after he died?’”

“‘A keen observation,’ I acknowledged. ‘That is why Heimlich did not believe him and went back home.’”

“The next morning, as coincidence and fairy tales have it, a group of traveling actors came by the castle and asked Heimlich if he would like to have them perform a play. Maybe, Heimlich thought, if they perform Pruneberry’s death like the Ghost told it in front of Natasha Dewlap and Julius Caesar one of them would be reminded and say something like, “Say that looks familiar,” and Heimlich would then know what the Ghost said perhaps could have been true.”

“And so, the traveling players put on the show and at just the right moment, Julius Caesar turned to Natasha Dewlap and said, ‘Say Natty does this look familiar to you?’ At which point Heimlich became furious and drove Natasha Dewlap and Julius Caesar out of the castle where they were forced to live in a tent and sell apples and rutabagas to passers-by.”

“Hayden then asked me, ‘What are rutabagas?’ I said, ‘I did not know.”’

“Heimlich, thereafter spent every day alone in the little castle in that dismal country with his furry white cat named ‘Snowy,’ looking out of his window and down upon Natasha Dewlap and Julius Caesar trying to sell their apples and rutabagas to passers-by, except for once a year when the troop of actors came by and they had a party.”

“The End.”

“I then told Hayden that the actors would perform another tale that I would tell him about tomorrow [I was already working on a children’s version of King Lear]. But, Hayden asked me if Danny was ever going to go back home to visit his mom who lived in the cottage by the “Deep Dark Wood,” before setting out on another adventure. He thought it would be a good idea if he did.”

“I told him that Danny told the musicians that he would not listen to the story now because he needed to get a good night’s sleep so that tomorrow he would be well rested for his trip back through the ‘Deep Dark Wood’ to visit his mom.”

 

 

 

DAILY FACTOID:

 

“Perhaps the greatest challenge of the algorithm revolution is that as machines and the algorithms that drive them have become ever-more complex, we are rapidly losing our ability to understand how they work and anticipate unexpected behaviors and weaknesses. From just 145,000 lines of code to place humans on the moon in 1969 to more than 2 billion lines of code to run Google in 2015, today’s systems are labyrinths of interconnected systems.”
Kalev Leetaru, Forbes Magazine.

 

 

 

 

PEPE’S POTPOURRI:

 

A. Levinson on Top:

 

1948 — 1973 a golden age like no other.

“The second half of the 20th century divides neatly in two. The divide did not come with the rise of Ronald Reagan or the fall of the Berlin Wall. It is not discernible in a particular event, but rather in a shift in the world economy, and the change continues to shape politics and society in much of the world today.”

“The shift came at the end of 1973. The quarter-century before then, starting around 1948, saw the most remarkable period of economic growth in human history. In the Golden Age between the end of the Second World War and 1973, people in what was then known as the ‘industrialized world’ – Western Europe, North America, and Japan – saw their living standards improve year after year. They looked forward to even greater prosperity for their children. Culturally, the first half of the Golden Age was a time of conformity, dominated by hard work to recover from the disaster of the war. The second half of the age was culturally very different, marked by protest and artistic and political experimentation. Behind that fermentation lay the confidence of people raised in a white-hot economy: if their adventures turned out badly, they knew, they could still find a job.”

“The year 1973 changed everything. High unemployment and a deep recession made experimentation and protest much riskier, effectively putting an end to much of it. A far more conservative age came with the economic changes, shaped by fears of failing and concerns that one’s children might have it worse, not better. Across the industrialized world, politics moved to the Right – a turn that did not avert wage stagnation, the loss of social benefits such as employer-sponsored pensions and health insurance, and the secure, stable employment that had proved instrumental to the rise of a new middle class and which workers had come to take for granted. At the time, an oil crisis took the blame for what seemed to be a sharp but temporary downturn. Only gradually did it become clear that the underlying cause was not costly oil but rather lagging productivity growth — a problem that would defeat a wide variety of government policies put forth to correct it.”

“The great boom began in the aftermath of the Second World War. The peace treaties of 1945 did not bring prosperity; on the contrary, the post-war world was an economic basket case. Tens of millions of people had been killed, and in some countries, a large proportion of productive capacity had been laid to waste. Across Europe and Asia, tens of millions of refugees wandered the roads. Many countries lacked the foreign currency to import food and fuel to keep people alive, much less to buy equipment and raw material for reconstruction. Railroads barely ran; farm tractors stood still for want of fuel. Everywhere, producing enough coal to provide heat through the winter was a challenge. As shoppers mobbed stores seeking basic foodstuffs, much less luxuries such as coffee and cotton underwear, prices soared. Inflation set off waves of strikes in the United States and Canada as workers demanded higher pay to keep up with rising prices. The world’s economic outlook seemed dim. It did not look like the beginning of a golden age.”

“As late as 1948, incomes per person in much of Europe and Asia were lower than they had been 10 or even 20 years earlier. But 1948 brought a change for the better. In January, the US military government in Japan announced it would seek to rebuild the economy rather than exacting reparations from a country on the verge of starvation. In April, the US Congress approved the economic aid program that would be known as the Marshall Plan, providing Western Europe with desperately needed dollars to import machinery, transport equipment, fertilizer, and food. In June, the three occupying powers – France, the United Kingdom, and the US – rolled out the Deutsche mark, a new currency for the western zones of Germany. A new central bank committed to keeping inflation low and the exchange rate steady would oversee the Deutsche mark.”

“Postwar chaos gave way to stability, and the war-torn economies began to grow. In many countries, they grew so fast for so long that people began to speak of the ‘economic miracle’ (West Germany), the ‘era of high economic growth’ (Japan) and the 30 glorious years (France). In the English-speaking world, this extraordinary period became known as the Golden Age.”
Marc Levinson, End of a golden age, Aeon

 

 

B. Trenz Pruca’s Observations:

 

We would not expect someone to have the talent to pitch for the New York Yankees simply because he is wealthy, so why would we give to the wealthy, solely because they have been successful in making money, the right to tell us how we live, how our money invested in government is to be spent and a host of other things of common interest. After all, their expertise is limited to making money, usually in a very narrow field of endeavor. Why would we not expect their advice to be biased to favor them making more money?

 

 

 

 

TODAY’S QUOTE:

 

“A criminal is a person with predatory instincts who has not sufficient capital to form a corporation”.
~Howard Scott

 

 

 

 

TODAY’S CHART:

 

 

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At 7, I could not speak a second language and except for a passing acquaintance with Italian, I still cannot.
At 18, my mind concentrated on baser pleasures than the quality of its processing.
At 22, I could not remember anyone’s name. I still cannot.
At 23, I was in law school. It was not compatible with life satisfaction.
At 25, I was as weak as a baby. Still am.
At 26, I was married — the first of many.
At 28, I had not yet run a marathon. I still have not.
At 30, I do not know about bone mass but my adipose mass was clearly increasing.
At 31, it had been 10 years since I had last played a game of chess.
At 32, I could remember faces. I still can. There are some I wish I could forget.
At 39, whatever peaked was not applicable to me.
At 40, I had not won a Noble Prize — still, haven’t. I have never been nominated either.
At 48, I had not reached my peak income. That occurred 15 years later. I lost it all a few years after that. Is there a peak year for losing your money?
At 50, I could not balance my checkbook — still cannot.
At 51, I did not understand peoples emotions — never could, never will.
At 69, I was dissatisfied and moved to Thailand.
At 71, I began to use more profanity whenever I spoke with anyone.
At 74, you have got to be kidding.
At 82, I sure hope my psychological well-being will peak— nothing else will.

 

 

 

TODAY’S PHOTOGRAPH:
Pasted Graphic 2
Richard K. Diran. Danae and the Shower of Gold.

“The King of Argos had only one child, a daughter named Danae. Although beautiful, the king wanted a son and went to the Delphic oracle to ask if there was any hope of having a son. The oracle said, ‘no’ and worse that Danae would have a son who would kill him. The king could not put his innocent daughter to death so he built a room sunk underground but with part of the roof open to the sky so that light and air could come through. “

“As she lay there a mysterious thing happened. A shower of gold fell from the sky, it was Zeus in this form who impregnated her and she would bear the son who would kill her father the king.”

 

 

 

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Categories: July to September 2017, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

This and that from re Thai r ment, by 3rd.    2 Pops 0006 (August 17, 2017)

 

 

 

“He speaks loudly and carries a small stick.”
A Mexican official referring to “He’s Not My President.”

TODAY FROM THAILAND:

POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN BANGKOK.

 

The Hotel-Health Club is hosting the International Youth Muay Thai Championships. It is amusing to see these slender wide-eyed young people about HRM’s age arrive at the hotel accompanied by their huge tattooed coaches and parents. The most interesting is the New Zealand team of pale white youngsters alongside their gigantic Maori trainers and their facial tattoos. Alas, they have taken over the pool where I swim challenging each other in something or other that requires a lot of splashing and squealing. Although I secretly am amused by them as I sit on a beach chair and watch, I still am enough of a cranky old man to refuse to enter the water and brave their hi-jinks.

The other thing going on at the health club is that it is the time of the year that the Arab men with the shriveled or missing legs arrive with their bench press equipment with massive rubber covered weights. Each day they compete with one another in what appears to be bench press only contests.

The overcast skies and afternoon showers that characterized the weather here in Bangkok since I arrived appear to that ended replace by blazing hot sun all day. During the blazing afternoons, I can usually be found back in my apartment deciding what I will be taking with me when I leave. I will be giving up my apartment and have to decide what to take with me and what to leave. So far, I seem to have very little to take with me.

While walking to breakfast this morning I passed by an attractive woman wearing a tight pink shirt and jeans short shorts. She was talking to a rent-a-cop for one of the buildings nearby. As I began to move away the rent-a-cop started walking across the narrow street. The woman followed him and began shrieking at him. When they reached the sidewalk the young woman threw herself onto her back on the ground, her arms and legs wiggling in the air. She then did a backward somersault eventually tipping over and lying on her side like she was dead. She then sprung to her feet and did it all again but this time she ended up bowing her head to the ground in front of the several security people who had gathered. She leaped again to her feet and leaned close to one of the security guys as though she was telling him a secret. He pointed vaguely towards the end of the block and the woman strutted off in that direction.

I spent my breakfast trying to figure what it was all about. Couldn’t hazard a guess and just put it down to the theatre of the streets.

A lot else has happened to me here in BKK the last few days, but it is time for me to leave today and return to the Golden Hills. It saddens me a bit. This may be my last trip to South-East Asia. For almost 30 years I have been coming here and for a few of those years, living here. I will miss visiting with my few friends, the old sailor, the gemologist, the Canadian hockey player, the little masseuse, and others. There is a certain point in like when everything appears to be a parting.

On a positive note, both Peter and Naida seem to be doing well.

 

 

 

PETRILLO’S COMMENTARY:

 

Charlottesville, the American Kristallnacht.

The title of this post may appear overbroad. I am sure some people will be happy to point out the many differences between the two events. But, look at it this way:

We have a group of heavily armed men attacking mostly innocent civilians. In this case breaking bodies instead of glass, but the message is all too similar. The response of progressives or right thinking citizens and social media expresses shock and outrage but also urges calm. Meanwhile, the evil buffoon heading the nation at first support the thugs and then realizing they may be becoming politically dangerous and not under control issues a tepid criticism of them.

Imagine then, if the Nation’s leader and his cronies create an anti-terrorism, entity to subdue these Alt-right terrorists and all other groups or individuals they or the entity decides are terrorists. Sounds Familiar, doesn’t it?

Meanwhile, the Progressives and others will probably still call for a reasoned careful response that will not place their supporters in harm’s way or to wait for the hoped-for return of the rule of law and reason that never comes.

This is madness. We should rather think about what the German Progressives, liberals, and people of good sense the very morning following Kristallnacht should have done to prevent the catastrophe that ultimately occurred. This like then is no time for tepid hopes and half steps. Like it or not the war has already begun and we either confront it now or we certainly will suffer its consequences later.

Fascism and the politics of hate have no place in any just society. It is time for Americans to throw back at these evil gangsters their own slogan and say, “No more, Not in our Country and Not on our Soil.” It is time to act massively. And if it comes to millions of citizens surrounding the White House and dragging these criminals out by their heels so be it.

 

 

 

 

MOPEY JOE’S MEMORIES:

 

While rooting through the bowels of my computer for something or other I came across the following notice. It mentions one of the few things in my life of which I am truly proud.

 

Sheppard Mullin and Joseph Petrillo to Be Recognized for Work to Benefit the Homeless; San Francisco Mayor Willie Brown to Honor Firm’s Efforts.

 

Business Editors & Legal Writers 

SAN FRANCISCO–(BUSINESS WIRE)–April 23, 2002 

The Treasure Island Homeless Development Initiative (TIHDI) has announced it will honor the law firm of Sheppard, Mullin, Richter & Hampton LLP and partner Joseph Petrillo at TIHDI’s annual fundraising dinner this Thursday night, April 25. On TIHDI’s behalf, San Francisco Mayor Willie Brown will honor Petrillo, TIHDI’s Fundraising Chair, “for his extraordinary dedication and commitment to building a new San Francisco neighborhood from the ground up.”

“I am deeply honored that Sheppard Mullin is being recognized for its commitment to the community,” Petrillo said, “but I am even more proud of TIHDI’s success.”

Through Petrillo and Sheppard Mullin, TIHDI has benefited from pro bono legal services including work that has resulted in subleases for housing and service spaces. Sheppard Mullin has also provided important assistance in the development of memorandums of understanding between member agencies and the TIHDI Board of Directors.

Petrillo practices in the Real Estate, Land Use and Natural Resources practice group in Sheppard Mullin’s San Francisco office. One of California’s pre-eminent land use lawyers, he was principal author and administrator of California’s monumental coastal program. He has represented public and private clients throughout the United States in resolving urban development, natural resources, environmental and land use conflicts. Petrillo was recently appointed to the High-Speed Rail Authority Board by Governor Gray Davis. Petrillo served as chief counsel to the California Coastal Commission from 1973-1975, chief counsel to the California State Senate Select Committee on Land Use Management from 1975-1977, and executive officer of the California State Coastal Conservancy from 1977 to 1985.

 

 

 

 

 PEPE’S POTPOURRI:

 

A. Dragon on Top:

In the last issue of T&T, I included a chapter of one of my two unfinished and most likely never to be finished novels. Ruth L. (not Ruth G.) inquired in response why I had not finished them and if I had written anything more than the chapter included in the post. I promised her I would respond to her questions in this post where I can muck about with half-truths and rationalizations for all to see

Sheldon Seigal told me he began writing his first novel to see if he could do it. Sheldon, however, is far more disciplined and ambitious than I could ever be. He pecked away on his computer every morning on the way to our office on the ferry from Marin and again on the way back in the evenings. He also attended writing seminars.

I, on the other hand, could neither see myself writing with such determination nor would I ever conceive of attending seminars. I may have yearned to write a novel but never to learn how to write one. Nevertheless, I had begun T&T several years before because I wanted to keep a journal following my retirement. I knew I could never do so if it was only for my own amusement. I would soon lose interest and stop as I had whenever I tried to keep a journal in the past. So, I struck upon the stratagem of writing a periodic missive of my thoughts and activities and sending it to my nearest and dearest friends. In that way, I knew that most of them would soon, out of boredom and annoyance, cease reading them and I would avoid undue (or well due) embarrassment. I would also be able to maintain the fiction in my mind that I had an obligation to periodically inundate them with my flights of ego or for some reason they would become unhappy and consider their lives less rewarding.

I decided that writing a novel as a serial for the enjoyment of the readers of T&T would be a fine way to approach writing one without bothering with the boredom of research or the annoyance of discipline.

As for why I had not finished them, there is a different reason for each of the two efforts.

Beginning with the second, one entitled, “Here Comes Dragon,” a short synopsis might be helpful.

Matt “Dragon” Dragoni, a minor character in the first book, quits his prestigious law firm to become a relatively unsuccessful detective in San Francisco. One day while sitting in a restaurant in North Beach he is hired by a woman who owns a local tattoo parlor to locate her ex-boyfriend. Entering the last known apartment of the boyfriend he is roughed up by two men also looking for the boyfriend. The thugs, at the request of their employer, pressure Dragon to help them to find the boyfriend. The next day, while visiting a muffler shop at which the boyfriend worked, he is cornered by the owner of the shop, a Vietnamese gangster, who coerces him to investigate the disappearance of a local businessman who was engaged in a venture with the boyfriend and the gangster to import furniture from South East Asia and to take on his nephew as an intern. Eventually, the businessman turns up dead and the furniture missing.

It was my intention that despite all the intrigue and red herrings there would be no murder, only confusion and that would be the surprise ending. Alas, after about 30 chapters, and almost 50,000 words someone is murdered and to make it worse, I knew who did it and why and even worse, they get away with it. So, annoyed by the whole thing, I stopped writing.

I have located most if not all of the chapters and will send a complete copy to everyone either before you receive this or after. I appreciate your comments and suggestions
B. Today’s Poem:

‘Whitey on the Moon’ (1970):

A rat done bit my sister Nell
(With Whitey on the Moon)
Her face and arms began to swell
(And Whitey’s on the Moon)
I can’t pay no doctor bill
(But Whitey’s on the Moon)
Ten years from now I’ll be paying still
(While Whitey’s on the Moon)
Gil Scott-Heron

 

C. Comments on Previous Post:

Naida.

Good to hear you are still up to the international journeys! Bill remains in a nursing home, and I have made a tiny bit of progress in the new abode: Learned how to turn off the air-conditioning. This cost me a mere $89. For 2 weeks I had tried to teach myself how to operate the heat/cooling thermostat but succeeded only in turning on the heat during the terrible heat waves. The AC would go on about 4 AM, numbing my feet and keeping me awake (warm bedding still in the Rancho Murieta house). No neighbor or relative could help. So I negotiated the $89 deal, which could have been explained in 3 minutes over the phone.

Bill might be released to the new house on Monday, and at that time I will become a full-time caretaker.

 

Peter.

Luv my new titanium hip. Surgery was successful if a little late happening. Rather anti-climactic. Anterior entry is quicker, infinitely less physically disruptive, and will have much shorter recovery period ( month +/-). Now I’m shuffling along with the cane only, and popping an extraordinary collection of pills for one purpose or another, and doing little exercises to get the muscles back in order.

Bottom line: tedious but necessary. Shambling toward bionic beatitude.

 

 

 

 

TODAY’S PHOTOGRAPH:
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No Comment

 

 

Categories: July to September 2017, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

This and that from re Thai r ment, by 3Th.    18 Joe 0006 (August 4, 2017)

“We are not who we think we are. We narrate our lives, shading every last detail, and even changing the script retrospectively, depending on the event, most of the time subconsciously. The storyteller never stops, except perhaps in deep sleep.”
Doctor Michael S. Gazzaniga, Neuroscientist.
TODAY FROM THAILAND:
A. POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN CAMBODIA:
Having exhausted myself hiking and crawling around the ruins of Angkor, I decided to spend the time remaining before returning to Bangkok swimming in the tiny hotel pool and exploring the old French Quarter of Siem Reap (Siem Reap means “Defeat of Siam” to commemorate a victory over the Thais that never happened).
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Siem Reap’s old French Quarter extends in a narrow strip along both sides of the river which are connected by gaily decorated and lighted covered bridges.
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The French Quarter contains markets and sights mostly geared to delight tourists. The Old Market, located between Pub Street and the river, offers a mixture of souvenirs and a variety of food products. The Angkor Night Market and the Central Market mainly cater to tourists.
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That is dried fish behind me.
The area is also packed with bars, small hotels, and restaurants of all types. The streets are crowded with tourists, tuk-tuks, food carts and mobile bars.
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While most of the restaurants featured south-east Asian food, there were a few French Restaurants, a surprising number of Mexican places and a goodly number of Pizza parlors including one that featured pizza with crocodile topping.
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I ate crocodile fried rice at this restaurant.
In the evenings’ everything was lit up like a carnival, the bars were full and music poured into the streets like the monsoon rains.
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We spent most of the next two days before returning to Bangkok, walking around the markets, sitting on the bridges and staring into the water, eating in the restaurants and huddling under awnings to escape the afternoon showers.
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And then we left and returned to Bangkok.
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B. BACK IN BANGKOK.
As some of you know I suffer from depression and take “happy pills” to control it. Of course, when despite my medicine, I lapse into a depressive state, I rarely recognize it for what it is. “I am just tired,” I think, “If I nap a little longer I’ll feel better.” Or, “I think I am coming down with a cold.” Or, I am annoyed and snap at someone who perhaps I should be annoyed at, but otherwise, would avoid the snappishness. When I do come out of it, I usually recognize it for what it was. I then begin wondering if I should up my dosage.
Since returning from Cambodia, I have been down for some reason. I am out of it now. Still, I feel unhappy with my life here in Bangkok. It costs a lot to maintain my apartment and even more to travel back and forth. Why would I spend all that money just so I can walk back and forth to the health club, even if that walk takes me through a version of the theater of the absurd? Also, HRM is growing into his teenage years and I have become too old and frail to satisfy his needs for companionship. He still has Dick and Nikki and now Adrien to whom he has become quite attached. So, maybe it is time to look around for a last life change and a new adventure.
I approached the Old Sailor with the idea of returning with me to the Virgin Islands, buying a boat, and sailing around the Caribbean until one of us keels over from old age. I think that was too open ended for him at his age. Perhaps he is right.
Other options I have thought about, like relocating to Ecuador or Costa Rica or Taos or Sabina, run the risk of exacerbating the loneliness I often feel in Thailand even with the availability of the friends that I have made here.
Then again, tomorrow is another day — why plan for anything. As Rosanna Rosannadanna would say, “It’s always something.”
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It always is, even when it is not.
Anyway, a few days later after a morning at the health club, I had a delightful lunch at Monsoon with the Gemologist/Ethnologist/Artist/Soldier of Fortune Character in Cris Moore’s novels.
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This is one of Richard’s Paintings entitled Painkiller.
I thought it would be interesting to include Richard’s write-up about the painting that appears in his catalog.
Painkiller is based on a photo I took many years ago of my friend Roberto and my wife Junko. Roberto is seated on his opulent opium bed draped with leopard skins. The panels behind him contain spackled violet, pure gold leaf, and butterflies, symbols of the metamorphosis. Below the panels are the four horses of the Apocalypse, galloping behind a plume of opium smoke burning in a gem encrusted ebony and ivory opium pipe. Roberto is a light lime green, an emanation or aura of death which I have seen sometimes in those who die violently. Roberto was murdered, stabbed in the back. There was an attempted murder of my wife Junko late last year when she was pummelled over the head repeatedly with a hammer. He died, she survived. This painting was cathartic in that it illustrates the murdered and the nearly murdered. The opium smoke dissipates into the atmosphere as does the transitory nature of life. ~ R.K. Diran, 2004
We discussed the financing of the gem trade, the problems artists have in selling their works and the tax based economics of the art world today. He informed me he has the world’s largest collection of ethnological photographs of the now vanished tribes of Burma and indicated his wish to exhibit them in the US. I agreed to look into it.
As you know, Richard is a featured character as the soldier of fortune in Christopher G. Moore’s novels about the Bangkok detective Vinnie Calvino. He was a little miffed that Moore’s most recent book “Jumpers” did not provide his character the quality of clever lines as in some of the other novels, nor did Moore consult him about some holes in the plot like the $700,000 counterfeit money printed with only a single plate.
Mostly, however, we spent the time swapping stories, discussing politics and commenting on the attractive women also having lunch at the restaurant.
Finally, I met with the Old Sailor. He reconsidered my proposal and suggested we explore settling on Hawaii instead. He has an 85-year-old Philippine dope grower friend who lives on the East side of the mountain on the big island. He says he has talked to his friend and they have many stories they could tell me about their life in among the islands during the 70’s and 80’s that they would like turned into a novel. I suggested we all meet in Hawaii during the winter holidays.
PETRILLO’S COMMENTARY:
What is Elon Musk really up to?
Elon Musk is a phenomenon of our times. After a relatively brief period during which he made a lot of money but seemed to be reviled by his co-investors who removed him as CEO a few times, he launched a series of enterprises that appeared to gain the affection of investors and the media despite not yet turning a profit.
These ventures include: Tesla an electric automobile manufacturing and production company; SpaceX a reusable rocket and rocket engine development and production company; a battery research, manufacturing and production entity (in conjunction with other Musk operations); SolarCity a solar power provider (started by Musk’s cousins); Hyperloop, a high-speed transportation system incorporating reduced-pressure tubes in which pressurized capsules ride on an air cushion driven by linear induction motors and air compressors; OpenAI, a not-for-profit artificial intelligence (AI) research company; Neuralink, a neurotechnology start-up company, to integrate the human brain with artificial intelligence; The Boring Company, a company to develop and operate massive boring machines to dig tunnels under the earth.
In addition, he has stated his intention to establish a colony of 80,000 people on Mars by 2040 and has expressed his wish to die there.
He has often claimed he is doing all this in order to change the world and humanity, including reducing global warming through sustainable energy production and consumption, and reducing the “risk of human extinction” by “making life multi-planetary” by establishing a human colony on Mars.
Now the carnival barker may actually believe it when he tells you that you could knock the milk bottles off the stand and win the stuffed animal, but I am sure that if you believe it you will lose your money.
So, let’s look at what he is doing and see what we can make of it. Of course, making himself and his family filthy rich goes without saying. But why this particular collection of initiatives? They imply something more than simple financial accumulation and the saving of humanity.
We can see some relationship between the car company and the solar company; the Hyperloop and the Boring Company; SpaceX and Mars. But, unless we consider him simply another mad scientist whose attention is focused on whatever he last finds interesting, something else must be going on — some goal, hinted at somewhere sometime.
I got a glimmer of what at least part of the solution to the conundrum might be when I learned Elon had a brother, Kimbal (He also has a sister, Tosca, a film maker).
After working with Elon on the original start ups, Kimbal took his money and headed to New York entered a school for chef’s and opened a string of mostly high priced organic restaurants. He eventually became fascinated with organic and low impact agriculture leading to the launching an urban farming incubator called Square Roots. Square Roots grows everything inside of stacked shipping containers in a warehouse in Brooklyn. Each shipping container can produce the same amount of crops as on two acres of farmland. A container can operate on as little as 10 gallons of recycled water a day (about one shower’s worth). Everything can be monitored by a computer which can also alter the climate in the container. The light comes from LED lighting. The only problem is finding a reliable source of energy.
For someone like Elon Musk, convinced that humanity on earth is doomed and obsessed with “making life multi-planetary” by establishing a human colony on Mars, his brothers work is a missing piece, Everything Musk does seem to be ultimately directed to this goal —the reusable efficient rockets to get the materials and the colonists there; the inexpensive solar arrays and batteries to provide and store energy; cost-effective machines to bore through the Martian soil since the majority of a permanent Martian colony would have to be built underground; efficient transportation systems integrated into the electric grid; compact highly productive agriculture; and a wise computer that can communicate directly with the minds of the colonists.
Unfortunately, even if everything else is successful, there still is something missing and overlooked (perhaps several somethings) that must be in place before this utopia-lifeboat can achieve its goal and flourish. (Cont.)
MOPEY JOE’S MEMORIES:
Four Years Ago in T&T:
Chapter 20 from my never to be finished mystery novel, ENTER THE DRAGON:

Dragon’s Breath.

Vivian: What will your first step be?
Philip Marlowe: The usual one.
Vivian: I didn’t know there was a usual one.
Philip Marlowe: Well sure there is, it comes complete with diagrams on page 47 of how to be a detective in 10 easy lessons correspondent school textbook and uh, your father offered me a drink.
Vivian: You must’ve read another one on how to be a comedian.

Chapter: 20.

We drove to Crissy Field in silence, parked and bought some ice cream at the small restaurant and souvenir shop in one of the converted military buildings. We walked across the restored marsh on a little wooden bridge. In front of us was the Golden Gate, the bridge soaring over the strait to our right. Massive tankers and container ships lumber through flotillas of pleasure craft while wind and kite surfers dart among them seeking the strongest breezes streaming between the headlands.

It was a sunny summer day, breezy and cool. I leaned over the fence looking at the restored marsh, my back to the Bay. Joe faced the other way watching the joggers and power walkers pass by on the path in front of him.

Joe broke the silence. “So boss, what do we do next? Why are we here?”

I asked, “When you look at this wetland here, what do you see?”

He turned around, looked at the restored marsh for a moment then said, “OK,… I see some water, a lot of mud, a few ugly ass birds and a bunch of sick looking weeds. Do I pass?”

“It’s not a test. Wetlands like this are very fertile, a lot of things come here to eat, breed and grow, even humans used to hang around here, Indians. I agree with you its pretty ugly for something that is a nursery of life; the water is pretty stagnant, barely covering the land underneath and it smells. There’s mud everywhere and the “weeds” as you call them crowd the shore pressing against one another until like bankers they greedily seek more nourishment than the environment can supply and they die and eventually their husks will fill the marsh and it will disappear. The whole place reeks of death, and yet it is one of nature’s wellsprings of life. Nature made a mistake. No clear running water, crashing waves, or handsome trees. But here is where it, life, begins and flourishes hand in hand with death.”

“That’s sort of interesting boss. Weird too. What does this have to do about anything? You know private detecting or the case — er, the assignment.”

“This is a fake marsh. It was built by some rich people to memorialize what was here before. Sort of like a statue of a general on a horse representing some dead guy. In this case, it looks like the real thing and acts a lot like the real thing but, everything else that was there, that was a part of it, is gone even the Indians. We now have something else here, a new reality as well as a memorial”

“Are you stoned? It sounds like you’re stoned Boss. Did Martin freak you out? I remember at the temple monks talking like that, a lot of shit that makes no sense. Are you Buddhist?”

I chuckled, pushed myself away from the fence and began to walk back to the car. Joe followed.

“Did you notice in the movies I told you to watch everything took place over a couple of days, yet the movie only took 90 minutes or so. What do you think they were doing during all the other time? Living that’s what, eating, sleeping, jerking off, shitting and going back to their offices earning a living. That’s what they were doing.”

“So, what, we’re going back to the office? You don’t have one.”

“You’re right, sort of. I do not have any other assignments as well as no office. On this assignment, there is nothing to do until this evening. In the meantime, we eat ice cream and stare at a bunch of mud. If I were Buddhist I’d meditate to pass the time.”

“Does this mean you’ve figured it all out, solved it?”

“There is nothing very much to solve here. Nothing much has happened. Sometimes, most times, on most assignments nothing happens. People just imagine things.”

“Is that another rule Boss?”

I ignored him and continued on. We had passed around the edge of the restored marsh.

Joe said, “I don’t understand. You say nothing happened. The Reilly guy is dead that’s something and Martin’s furniture is missing that’s something too. And what about the two fat guys. That sounds like a lot of something.”

I responded, “As far as Reilly is concerned, he could have had an accident and fallen into the bay, or if he killed himself it could have been for a reason that had nothing to do with our investigation. And, if he was in fact murdered, Reilly was an asshole, a lot of people could have off’d him and I’m sure many have reasons to do so. We have nothing that indicates the failed business deal we are investigating has anything to do with it, except they sort of happened near to one another in time — the failure of the deal and his death — Interesting, curious perhaps but indicative of nothing. We, you, me and the others happened on the scene. Our ego’s want to make it all related. That makes good mystery novels but bad investigations.”

“Does this mean you are going to have me watch another prehistoric black and white movie?”

“No, it means we are going to visit a real private detective one with an office, a badge and who even carries a gun.”

DAILY FACTOID:
A scientific paper in Nature in September 2013 indicated that there exists a complete ‘machine ecology beyond human response time’ in the financial world, where stocks are traded in an eye-blink, and mini-crashes and spikes can occur on the order of a second or less.
“When we try to push our financial trades to the limits of the speed of light, it is time to recognize that machines are interacting with each other in rich ways, essentially as algorithms trading among themselves, with humans on the sidelines.”
 PEPE’S POTPOURRI:
A. Sam on Top: Can Machines Evolve?
“A number of years ago, a team of research scientists tried to improve the design of a certain kind of computer circuit. They created a simple task that the circuit needed to solve and then tried to evolve a potential solution. After many generations, the team eventually found a successful circuit design. But here’s the interesting part: there were parts of it that were disconnected from the main part of the circuit, but were essential for its function. Essentially, the evolutionary program took advantage of weird physical and electromagnetic phenomena that no engineer would ever think of using in order to make the circuit complete its task. In the words of the researchers: ‘Evolution was able to exploit this physical behavior, even though it would be difficult to analyze.’
This evolutionary technique yielded a novel technological system, one that we have difficulty understanding because we would never have come up with something like this on our own.”
B. Trenz Pruca’s Observations:
  If one can generalize a gender based approach to Justice based on scientific studies, it is, “For men, first punish the guilty and for women, first protect the innocent.”
C. Today’s Poem:
Catullus 16
Original Latin
Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo,
Aureli pathice et cinaede Furi,
qui me ex versiculis meis putastis,
quod sunt molliculi, parum pudicum.
Nam castum esse decet pium poetam
ipsum, versiculos nihil necessest;
qui tum denique habent salem ac leporem,
si sunt molliculi ac parum pudici
et quod pruriat incitare possunt,
non dico pueris, sed his pilosis
qui duros nequeunt movere lumbos.
Vos, quod milia multa basiorum
legistis, male me marem putatis?
Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo.
Literal English Translation
I will sodomize you and face-fuck you,
Cocksucking Aurelius and anus-busting Furius,
You who think, from my verses
Because they are delicate, that I have no shame.
For it is right for the devoted poet
To be chaste himself, but it’s not
Necessary for his verses to be so.
[Verses] which then indeed have taste and charm,
If they are delicate and have no shame,
And because they can incite an itch,
And I don’t mean in boys, but in
Those hairy old men who can’t get it up.
You, because you have read my many thousands of kisses,
You think me less of a man?
I will sodomize you and face-fuck you.
Whoa, them Romans sure knew how to deal with their critics. I did not know that what I heard on the streets growing up (and later in the offices of the high and mighty) was poetry. Now if modern artists could only have the balls to respond to their critics like Catullus did, one of them might even become Press Secretary for Not My President.
TODAY’S QUOTE:
From: Richard Diran 
Date: August 2, 2017 at 15:00:31 GMT+7
“Imagine a society that subjects people to conditions that make them terribly unhappy then gives them the drugs to take away their unhappiness. Antidepressants are a means of modifying an individual’s internal state in such a way as to enable him to tolerate social conditions that he would otherwise find intolerable”.
Theodore Kaczynski. Ph.D., IQ 167, Unabomber

 

TODAY’S CHART:

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Categories: July to September 2017, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

This and that from re Thai r ment, by 3Th.    11 Joe 0006 (July 29, 2017)

 

 

 

I talk to myself in my mind all the time. I guess we all do. I suspect some people have debates with themselves. I never debate. I only make speeches. I picture myself speaking to a small gray homunculus with large glistening eyes sitting silently in a huge chair in front of me as I go on and on — me talking and it listening. It frightens me. I believe one day it will jump out of that chair, kick me in the balls and tell me to shut up.

 

 

 

 

TODAY FROM THAILAND:

 

POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN CAMBODIA:

Those, like me, with only a 30-day visa who wish to remain longer in the Land of Smiles, must leave the country briefly and receive a new visa upon reentry. Usually, this means a run to a nearby country such as Cambodia, Myramar or Malaysia. I always wanted to visit Angkor in Cambodia. Although I know I will not visit everything on my prime bucket list, Angkor in Cambodia is on my secondary or fall back bucket list. So it was off to Cambodia for me.

We left for the airport at about six AM. I do not recall ever being up and about BKK that early in the morning. There may have been once or twice I came back home at that time but I am sure my diminished consciousness then erased any memory of them.

Anyway, the giant Koi were swimming gayly in their pool, the homeless sleeping on their cardboard beds and the ladies of the night on their way home passing the ladies of the morning on their way to work. We arrived at the airport in good time for our flight and without serious discomfort or difficulty, we landed in Siem Reap Airport Cambodia at 11 that same morning.

A tuk-tuk sent by the hotel met us and drove us to the hotel. I had spent a considerable amount of time choosing what appeared to be an elegant small relatively inexpensive hotel. The people at the hotel were quite nice but the hotel itself was, I am sorry to say, a bit of a dump. I later learned this is a common feature of all but the largest and newest hotels in the area.
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A Cambodian Tuk-tuk.

Siem Reap is a small dusty ex-French-provincial town with a delightful market and food center in the old French quarter along the river.

The next morning the tuk-tuk driver who drove us from the airport returned to take us to the archeological sites.

The first site was Angkor Wat itself.
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Angkor Wat is reputed to be the largest religious monument in the world. While the size and the scope of the buildings were impressive, what astonished me most was the exuberance of the open areas enclosed by the walls (over 400 acres) and the magnitude of the moat (over 600ft wide) that surrounded the complex. Later I learned that nothing of the old city streets and buildings made of perishable material that filled the open areas now remains.
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IMG_3068 IMG_3078

 

We also visited the old royal city of Angkor Thom (nine square miles within the moat encircled walls) and the state temple, the Bayon.

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We followed that with a stop at Ta Prom an eleventh-century monastery containing spooky trees whose roots appear to be eating the buildings and which were featured in the movie Tomb Raider. This was definitely a tourist favorite.

 

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I especially liked the Bas-reliefs that appeared in the various buildings.
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The ancient city of Angkor at its height in the 12th Century was the largest city on earth containing about one million inhabitants in an area of about 200 square miles. It was not until 19th Century London that another city in the world matched that in population. The Khmer empire reached its height at about the same time as Europe entered the High Middle Ages, China experienced the Song dynasty, and India saw the expansion of the Chola Dynasty. The next 200 years or so, primarily due to the migrations out of central Asia (and Scandinavia) during the height of the Warm Medieval Climate Anomaly, saw the destruction of theses empires, including the Khmer, or in the case of Europe the collapse of its culture and the fragmentation of its various polities

Anyway, the day’s tour required a lot of walking and climbing up and down stairs and through narrow low ceiling hallways and I was exhausted, so I canceled my next day’s visit to the more remote archeological sites and decided to explore Siem Reap instead.

 

 

 

MOPEY JOE’S MEMORIES:

 

Five Years Ago In T&T, I wrote much of the following. I have included some more recent information and added a new conclusion.

 

— A study by Carla Harenski and collaborators revealed that when looking at pictures of immoral acts, women’s judgments of severity correlate with higher levels of activation in emotion centers of the brain, suggesting concern for victims, whereas men show higher activation in areas that might involve deployment of principles. [https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4174863/]

(What this seems to me to mean, if one can generalize it to a gender based approach to public policy, is: “For men, first punish the guilty and for women, first protect the innocent.”)

— In another study conducted by Tania Singer and collaborators, they discovered that when men watch wrongdoers getting punished, there is activation in reward centers of their brains, whereas women’s brains show activation in pain centers, suggesting that they feel empathy for suffering even when it is deserved. [ http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/bakadesuyo/~3/bea6srN06Qs/do-women-and-men-have-different-moral-values#ixzz1dEZVO7XD%5D

— Numerous studies reviewed by Rachel Croson and Uri Gneezy found that women are more likely than men to reciprocate acts of kindness.https://scholar.google.com/citations?view_op=view_citation&hl=en&user=TkNx8nUAAAAJ&citation_for_view=TkNx8nUAAAAJ:u5HHmVD_uO8C

In an analysis of the range of findings of the emotional differences between men and women in situations that could affect social decision-making, the authors opine that on the whole, women seem to be more empathetic and more focused on the collective good. This is broadly consistent with the suggestion by at least one of the researchers that women are more likely than men to base moral decision on a care orientation, whereas men gravitate more towards principles.

Even in that last vestige of unvarnished aggression and greed, the modern derivatives market, recent studies show that women outperform men.
,
— In a review of returns from January through November 2013 by Rothstein Kass, hedge funds run by women returned almost 10 percent on the funds invested while those run by men barely topped 6 percent.

According to Meredith Jones, a director at Rothstein Kass:

“There have been studies that show that testosterone can make men less sensitive to risk-reward signals, and that comes through in this study.”

The numbers are even more eye-popping for the six years from January 2007 through June 2013. Hedge funds run by women returned 6 percent compared with a 1.1 percent loss of the HFRX Global Fund Index. The Standard & Poor’s 500 index gained only 4.2 percent during the same time.

All which shows that not only do women hedge fund managers out perform men significantly but also beat the index which some economists maintain is impossible over time.

— My old professor, Carroll Quigley, who was a consultant to the Defense Department during WWII, told me that studies conducted during the war on responses to high-stress situations (like combat or assaults on hospitals) some men exhibited behavior that could be seen as heroic while others appeared cowardly. Women, on the other hand, appeared far less subject to these impulsive behaviors and mostly continued to do their jobs.

Also, women, absent external social influences, seem to outperform men in school to a greater and greater degree as those social limitations diminish.

After reviewing these reports and others, I wrote in Trenz Pruca’s Journal:

“For at least 10,000 years or so virtually every political system, economic system and religion have been designed by men for men. There is no natural or divine law that requires any of these structures to be designed in the way that they have been. During those same 10,000 years, every justification of those structures has been developed by men to benefit men.”

Can anyone really dispute that, had history, philosophy, economics and even science during these 10,000 years been written by women rather than men, their so-called fundamental verities would be much different then what we have now?

So what can we conclude? Women are more prone to protect the innocent, reciprocate kindness, focus on the collective good and less impulsive than men. When one adds that these qualities seem to also allow women to out-perform men even in the so-called manly activity like war and securities trading, is there any reason why women should not only be entitled to equality but the leadership of society as well?

 

 

 

 

PEPE’S POTPOURRI:

 

A. Peter on Top:

Some of Peter’s comments on the previous T&T post:

On life and Calcutta — is there a difference?

It’s all endless life — until it ends. Reminds me of the people who were going around the world for their honeymoon and would pass through India. Asked what to do for a couple of days. I said go to Calcutta (now Kolkata, of course), but it’s like Dante’s Inferno. You might take the next plane out. They went, and they did. Life’s kaleidoscope where the energy continues until there’s just Brownian Motion, but we’re gone by that time. Meanwhile, joys and sorrows in the Age of Kali.

On knowledge, olive oil, and atomic bombs:

How do we know what we know? Hume proved causality cannot be proved, so he stuck his notes in his desk drawer and got on with life.

I read an amazing tome, a classic, by Richard Rhodes about the Making of the Atomic Bomb. He went all the way back to the physicists of the late 19th century and early 20th – Germany in the ten’s and twenties. Factoid: Six Hungarians, including Teller and Szilard, were among the geniuses who developed the physics that led to fission and the bomb. This, and the Kochs, and the streets of BKK and Calcutta and NYC: Meanwhile, now reading about the glories and scams about extra virgin olive oil, the foundation of Mediterranean civilization. Next time you’re in town, we’ll visit our local 24th st. olive oil emporium. This as part of “….universe irrational and let it go at that.”

On quantum mechanics in Frascati with antipasto:

Once the box is opened and found to be empty, was the cat in there at one time? If Krishna is the ninth incarnation of Vishnu, which incarnation of the cat was in the box if it was in fact in the box at some point in time? And, if the box is still closed, which quantum mechanics would imply that nothing is set yet, does the box contain, not a cat, but extra virgin olive oil that is Not bogus veg oil smuggled in from Turkey? Reinforcing the notion of letting the irrational universe go and, with Hume, kicking back with cool Frascati and antipasto under an ancient olive tree.

On the meaning of life:

I always thought that life for people who had a calling or a vocation was easy. I will get my name up in lights; I will serve god; I will get rich. Whatever. In the absence of that, I figured survival and prospering would do.

More on the meaning of life:

The Tarot deck brother Jim gave me many years ago that was created by some woman in Sonoma includes a card the motto if which says: “Time Narrows as it passes.”
B. Trenz Pruca’s Observations:

 

“In the matter of the preservation of liberty, despair is not an option.”

 

 

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