Listics

I keep the subject constantly before me and wait till the first dawnings
open slowly, by little and little, into a full and clear light.
–Isaac Newton

It had been a long time since I did a Sandhill Interview. I asked some friends if they could help me get back into it. Elaine “Kalilily” Frankonis introduced me to Betsy Devine and it felt good. Ever an acolyte to the ‘if it feels good do it” school of thought, I eased into an interview with this charming, bright, and witty woman. I sent her a few questions, then waited impatiently for her reply:

Betsy,

Hello, hello?? Are we doing it?

Frank

Hi Frank–Yes, sorry, I started a reply and then dropped it into unfinished drafts and ran off elsewhere. Yes she said yes she said yes she said yes she said at least I think it will be fun. I am going to be in Chicago in late May for Alex Golub’s conference, will you be there too? 
– Betsy

Betsy Devine and David Weinberger at Digital Genres Conference

Frank Paynter:

Betsy Devine: I think of myself as “New Hampshire” because I grew up there, in Manchester, now home of the Segway. But I now live in Cambridge, MA, and wake up each morning enchanted with the idea that I live in a really big city with ethnic foods and trolleys and lots of bookstores. (Friends from NYC think this is funny.)

Yes, I was very sad about the Old Man–I sent off my blogpost to the New York Times, hoping to nudge them into saying more about the event. They published my edited post as a letter, even adding nice gfx in their print edition. I’m glad I’ll get to meet you in Chicago; I like meeting bloggers! Betsy

Old Man of the Mountain: The Spirit Lives

May 7, 2024

To the Editor:

Re “Iconic Rock Face Succumbs to Age and Gravity” (news article, May 4):

Last week, a few tons of granite fell down a New Hampshire mountainside, injuring nobody. This heap of granite used to be special. It was New Hampshire’s landmark stone profile, our Old Man of the Mountain.

Daniel Webster wrote a poem about it. It was the subject of amateur sketches and watercolors before anybody invented the camera. Every New Hampshire kid was dutifully taken to admire the craggy stone face.  After you looked at it for a while, you looked at the upside-down version reflected in Profile Lake. Then you and your folks could all go to drink local birch beer and hike in the Flume.

I grew up in New Hampshire, and though I don’t live there now, I took my two daughters to see the Old Man.  Now I’m having a lonely feeling, thinking of generations stretching ahead who won’t see what I saw, what Daniel Webster saw.

I also grew up enjoying clean air and clean water, a strong Bill of Rights and a sense of being part of one human family.  There wasn’t a thing I could have done to save the Old Man, but I’m going to keep working to pass that other stuff along.

BETSY DEVINE Cambridge, Mass., May 5, 2024

FP: What do you do in Cambridge Betsy? Are you a full time professional writer, or what? How long have you been writing professionally?

BD:

“Betsy Devine has parlayed a master’s degree in engineering from Princeton into a high-powered 30-year sabbatical. She is the C++ programming genius behind “Funny Bits From Your Talking Chips,” whose free shareware version delighted Mac users worldwide and whose $25 version has sold exactly one copy. Her enormous collection of jokes, barely tapped by this book, is founded on years of nerd symbiosis in Princeton, Cambridge, and on the World Wide Web. Other distinctions include making microwave popcorn in Einstein’s kitchen and two years as captain of the Princeton Eulers–the world’s most mathematical softball team, and probably one of the few teams in history to have a Fields Medalist playing second base and a MacArthur Prize winner at shortstop (Betsy was worse than either.) Her weblog “Funny Ha-Ha Or Funny Peculiar?” is universally granted to be both.”

FP: Was that you on Niek Hockx blog? You maybe make a little money modeling?

BD: I was as surprised as anybody to learn I’d been having alien sex on Niek’s blog. Still, I can’t help feeling honored by such attention from an International Babe Magnet like Niek.

FP: I googled you a little and discovered that besides the humor, there’s a serious side of Betsy… “Longing for the Harmonies“… How long have you been writing professionally? Can you give me a bibliography?

BD: I’ve published two books, and I’m at work on a third, which will be even better!

* Absolute Zero Gravity: Science Jokes, Quotes, and Anecdotes (Betsy Devine and Joel E. Cohen, Fireside/ Simon and Schuster, 1992) was published at $8. It is now out of print–used paperbacks (when available) sell for about $25. Three reader reviews at Amazon.com describe it as “addictive,” side-splitting,” and “hilarious.”

* Longing for the Harmonies (Frank Wilczek and Betsy Devine, WW Norton, 1987) was a NY Times Notable Book of the Year

FP: I our daughter Amity just started her own blog,

I love Gary Larson and chocolate ice cream, not necessarily in that order. I look forward to reading more Mark Morford someday when I have more time to read more things I’m thinking about reading someday!

FP: It’s almost dinner time here… as I think about dinner (pot roast with cucumber/tomato salad) I’m led to wonder how you might deconstruct the humor in Chris Locke’s recipe posted today… funny ha-ha or funny twisted?

BD: I adore pot roast with any kind of salad. Some of the folks I admire (e.g. Jeneane Sessum) admire Chris Locke. But what would be the point of all his rage if he didn’t offend anyone? Wouldn’t he be disappointed if we all just chucked him under the chin and said “Aw, you’re so transgressive?” So I am fulfilling a useful cultural role when I admit I’m offended by a joke whose punchline is basically “battered women.”

FP: When you were in New Jersey did you ever run into any of the multi-talented Dysons, Esther or her dad or her brothers? Freeman Dyson and Gerard O’Neill informed my tech-imagination as a youngster through the science fiction writers that cribbed their ideas… colonies at Lagrange points, extraterrestrial civilizations with planetary spheres built around entire stars, atomic propelled space craft…

That Princeton scene is rich in food for thought. Lucky you to have spent so much time there!

I’m pretty curious about who you played softball with. Princeton Eulers is a delicious name for a sports team. I suppose you all went down to Bernoulli’s pizza for refreshment after the games. Care to name drop a little about some of the people you met on the softball diamond at Princeton?

BD: I *love* Esther’s dad Freeman Dyson. I did get to know him at the Institute for Advanced Study (IAS), though he was not on my softball team. My Fields Medalist was Enrico Bombieri, who also designed a great team T-shirt. Our MacArthur Prize winner was my own husband Frank Wilczek–who despite his honors was a pretty darn good player. Frank’s T-shirt had number 88, the number of keys on a piano.

Okay, let me tell you two reasons that I love Freeman Dyson:

1) He and his wife Imme loved little children. They went out of their way to make friends with everyone’s kids in the most intelligent and sympathetic way.

2) When I started producing a (volunteer) newsletter for the IAS, he volunteered to write a monthly astronomy column. And then he wrote it, monthly, carefully, wittily, fascinatingly, always on time–and for zero dollars per article. Bear in mind, at this time Freeman could easily command huge lecture fees, huge book advances, and was regularly winning $100,000 prizes.

I never met Esther or George Dyson, but I often heard about how they were doing from Freeman.

FP: Can I ask just one question about living with Frank Wilczek?… is the Lorentz medal solid gold?

I’m thinking about humor and Locke’s offensive, tasteless joke. I had thought to link it in the “cat pictures and recipes” section of my blog, but I’m not sure I want the odor leaking over into my own often tasteless blogspace. Early in my relationship with Beth, my wife, I ran across a feminist joke: “How many feminists does it take to screw in a light bulb?” Answer: “That’s not funny!” I asked Beth the question and she didn’t miss a beat with the right answer. We were soon laughing together about it…. I’m sure there’s a point here. I guess one point would be the difference between awareness of what’s offensive and taking offense.

BD: Frank Wilczek is a lot of fun to live with, and I try very hard not to blog about him.

I love lots of jokes whose punchline is basically “women!” (or basically “men!”), including the feminist light bulb joke. It was the “battered” part I didn’t like, though I forget now what grumpy thing I said, and I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings. We women are joke-wise much better off than lawyers–those guys are the subject of some really dark punch lines.

A lot of what humor does is create shared spaces. It invites you into a warm and primitive circle of people laughing together.

Some people use jokes as a weapon, to create a small circle all laughing at someone who just got pushed out of the group. That’s what I think of as offensive humor–humor that’s meant to hurt someone while others laugh. You’re right that it’s better to be aware of offense, not consumed by it.

FP: How harmful do you think offensive material is to us as individuals and as a culture?

BD: Divisive humor (think of Rush Limbaugh) can be an ugly thing. Banning rude humor would do much more harm. Besides, can you think of a joke that would never offend anybody in any way?

I had fun writing about offensive and meta-offensive jokes in the “Learn To Write Funny” department

FP: Here’s a joke I’ve always wondered about:  Horse walks into a bar. Bartender says, “Why the long face?”

What’s so funny about that? It cracks me up every time.

BD: Joke theorist walks into a bar, says “I have a theory about why we laugh at the horse joke.” Bartender says, “That’s not funny!”  Admitting the bartender probably has it right, here are some thoughts:

• When we hear “walks into a bar”, we know it’s a joke, and the mental image of a horse (or a sandwich, or a neutrino) walking into a bar already makes us smile.
• If punch lines work by “congruity plus surprise”, this joke has both.
• Congruity–The punch line is something you’d expect a bartender to ask a normal customer.
• Surprise–The punch line is a pun–and when you finish doing the work of figuring out which meaning of “long face” applies to a horse, you feel kind of pleased with yourself.
• Surprise–The joke is so short–part of your surprise is that it’s over so fast.

Halley has a fun page of Internet jokes.

BD: The 2024 elections made it clear Democrats don’t win as a party of “me too!” We need our own distinct people-friendly vision, and a candidate of stature to represent them. I guess you can tell by looking at my blog, I think Dean’s the one!

FP: Do you blame Ralph Nader for the debacle of 2024?

BD: No….. the last place I want to pin blame is on a bunch of idealists who hoped to make things better.

FP: How do you feel about Dennis Kucinich then? Is his outspoken peace advocacy an asset or a liability in the current climate?

BD: I admire Kucinich’s ideas and his courage–but he needs to work on some presentation skills until he sounds confident and competent. I like Dean not just for his ideas, but because I think he can go out and win the election. Remember, I’m a practical, engineer type!

FP: What do you think of John Kerry? Is he too close to the center to benefit the party? Will the Kerry and Lieberman forces hold the power and assure Democrats another loss in 2024? How can that be prevented?

BD: Mmmm, (gazing into my crystal ball)–I predict–that sensible readers would skip right over my inexpert responses, even though it would take me an hour to write them. I am glad Howard Dean has a lot of smart people who know a lot more than I do advising him on issues like those you raise!

FP: Over the years have you always found a political candidate who made sense, or is Dean exceptional in your opinion? Perhaps those aren’t mutually exclusive.

BD: Have I always found a candidate who made sense? I wish! Dean is exceptional in lots of ways, e.g.: 

1. Dean tries to make his ideas very clear–even though most politicians try to make their ideas very vague.
2. Dean fights for what he believes–he doesn’t apologize for it. 
3. I think Dean is the Democrat most likely to beat Bush.

FP: In Israel and Palestine there is a terrible conflict. A nation with security policies informed by the horror of World War II, and a post-war “survival of the fittest” UN policy faces a displaced people who have come to believe that the only clean acts in the face of their own oppression are nihilistic. The Bush administration backs the Israelis. My own consciousness was shaped in that World War II context and I still think of Israel as an underdog surrounded by countries that would wipe it out. Yet there are Palestinian humanitarian issues that are ever more compelling. Is there a “right path” for the Democrats to follow that is different from the Bush approach to middle eastern foreign policy?

BD: My history of attitudes looks like yours. I wish I knew what a good solution was–even a not-so-good-but-better-than-now solution. Professor Issawi of Princeton had this to say of the Middle East. “God sent Moses, and Moses couldn’t fix it. He sent Jesus, and Jesus couldn’t fix it. He sent Mohammed and Mohammed couldn’t fix it. You think you are going to fix it?”

FP: Do you think Syria will be next on the list of countries we invade over there?

BD: I hope we aren’t going to invade any more countries–I think even Congress now feels Bush has had two bites at that apple.

FP: I feel a certain chill on my rights to free speech even discussing these matters. Do you share that concern?

BD: Not yet, as you can tell by the Bush jokes on my website.

FP: I’ve been a pop-physics fan for years. As an undergraduate I was a beater in the bubble chamber jungles, helping the quark hunters flush their prey. I scanned and edited film from Argonne labs for a few years as a part time job.

BD: What a great job–or more accurately, what an inspiring description of an interesting job. Did you think of it that way then, were you inspired at the time? My undergrad part-time jobs were far less grand–waitress and art-class model. In my mind, I am now reconfiguring that waitress job as “feeding hungry people,” and realizing that if I’d thought of it that way I probably wouldn’t have slopped ice water onto one very annoying customer..

FP: Art class model? So that MAY have been you on Niek’s blog? Around the time your book was published, there was a burst of pop-physics publishing. A couple of books that I read then come to mind. “Dancing Wu Li Masters” and “The Quark and the Jaguar.” Chaos theory, fractals, and non-linear math was big then too in the pop-smart category. We seem to have absorbed that information from a pop cultural perspective and moved on to other themes with which I am less in touch. Anyway, have you read some of these other pop-physics books?

BD: Frank, I regret to say I haven’t read any of the books you mention. I’ve read all the Feynman books though–he was a cool guy!

FP: At Sterling Hall on the UW campus where the High Energy Physics research was done, there was a quantum improvement in restroom graffiti compared with other campus venues. There was, I remember, an ongoing interchange between faux-Abelard and faux-Eloise. But my favorite message from that rest room wall was: “Raisins are physics.”   Do you think feminism and the more egalitarian access to advanced degree programs has improved the quality of graffiti in campus women’s rest rooms?

BD: In early-seventies Princeton, biology department women’s rest room graffiti was written on yellow legal pads, taped to the wall. People would write paragraphs–or more–about what the surprises of being vastly out-numbered by men everywhere you went. (The grad school had just started admitting women, and the undergrads were still exclusively male.) It was funny, not angry stuff. I guess it spoiled me for later rest-room graffiti experiences, though I admit being charmed by NH rest-room graffiti, very heavily into the theme of “Annie loves Bill.”

FP: Tom Veatch says, “Humor is pain that doesn’t hurt.” Do you ever blog in the nude?

BD:

FP:

BD: What a fun question! The list of annoying cliched proverbs is fun to read–but not funny.  Part of the problem is that lists aren’t funny. Even jokes are less funny when stuck in a list of jokes. IMO, that’s because real laughter is an involuntary response, a kind of release of tension built up by the joke. Picture the joke itself as–errrr–something like foreplay? So if jokes in a list of jokes get read too fast, and you rush through them double-time, joke after joke after joke–you are shortchanging the anticipation that makes any punch line funny–then you are shortchanging the afterglow of savoring the one you just enjoyed.

Stand-up comedians work hard on their timing. If a comic rushes into a brand-new joke when the audience hasn’t stopped laughing at the first one, Robert Provine claims that such “premature ejokulation” creates disappointing “laftus interruptus.”

As for cliches, there are lots of jokes made from cliches. They take the familiar basis and add a surprise. Lots of pun jokes (mostly groaners) build up to some mangled cliche punch line–”The squaw of the hippopotamus is equal to the sum of the squaws of the other two hides” for example.

Even less PC, but one I like is this use of “horticulture” in a sentence: You can lead a horticulture but you cannot make her think.

FP: What’s your earliest recollection of this abstracted interest in humor?

BD: I was writing poems and songs meant to be funny when I was in second grade. But I didn’t start thinking about how humor “worked” until I found myself under contract to Simon and Schuster to deliver a book of math-and-science jokes. Because my contract required me to deliver a certain number of words by a given date, worrying about how to make those words work better was a distraction from my actual job-at-hand. All my life, I have worked hardest at things I was not required to work at–most especially during those times when I was supposed to be working at something else.

FP: As a younger person, were you one of the ones people looked to “make it funny?”

BD: Yes, I always loved being a funny girl. I re-told or invented jokes, wrote funny lyrics to popular songs, designed funny birthday cards, wrote funny skits that I got all my family to act in–and this is all before I turned 13.

FP: Did you perhaps one day “bust a gut laughing” and decide to be on the look-out for dangerous situations?

BD: I see funny things everywhere in the world around me–just the way someone who loves to draw sees beautiful lines and shapes everywhere in the world. My nerdy interest in humor is thinking of ways to convey the funny thing I saw, in the funniest shape it could have, to somebody else.

FP: Betsy, you’re nerdy. I’m nerdy too. Some would say geek-like. I always thought nerdy girls were hot. Many were also funny.

BD: Thanks–and I always fancied nerdy guys.

FP: So do you think we should just…

BD: Not right now. Halley and I did a chick thing yesterday, going to a matinee of Down With Love. So much fun, and Halley is a wonderful person to sit next to in the darkness…

FP: No doubt!

BD: …laughing in the darkness. I thought nerdy David Hyde Pierce was sooo appealing. Halley writes brilliantly of the joy of Alpha males, and I’ve defined the kind of guys I like as “Alephs.”

FP: “When we were kids the United States was the wealthiest and strongest country in the world: the only one with the atom bomb, the least scarred by modern war, an initiator of the United Nations that we thought would distribute Western influence throughout the world. Freedom and equality for each individual, government of, by, and for the people — these American values we found good, principles by which we could live as men. Many of us began maturing in complacency.”

A few weeks ago, Ryan Irelan wondered when there would be another Sandhill Trek interview. I asked him if he’d like to be the subject. “Only if I can write it off as a business expense,” he said.

I replied.

“Alright, Frank. I’m only doing it as a major publicity stunt (that and because you linked to my cat)… I’m unemployed, so I have nothing but time.”

And we were off and running.

On April 28th Steve Jobs quoted Hunter S. Thompson as follows, “The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free and good men die like dogs. There’s also a negative side.”

There’s nothing funny about the music business. But I am sure I do not have to convince anyone of this. DRM and the alienation of customers by the RIAA is enough. The “war on piracy” and the other doings of the RIAA only scratch the surface of a severely corrupt and wretched industry.

I have had some very good friends get baited, hooked and clubbed by the music biz. They worked hard to make it and eventually signed a record deal with Elektra Records. A bundle of money was thrown at them and they lived the hard, edgy rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle. While they were never really required to repay the money the record company advanced them, it wasn’t for free. They, much like hookers, gave up a bit of their freedom to the record company, the pimps, with great hope of making it “big time.”

I’ve been pimped out myself. In between my first stint at college and my time in Germany I worked as a sound engineer for a few local bands, some of which were signed to an indie label. The label folks always stalled on paying me for my work, holding the metaphorical carrot in front of my face, wanting me to sacrifice for the good of the band, which would ultimately “benefit” me (Side note: it never did). I cannot even count how many times I worked for free; sometimes it even cost me money. I often traveled at my cost, many times not even receiving a per diem to cover my meals. One trip to SXSW cost me hundreds of dollars. Sure, I was dumb. But I was also young and willing to take a risk. That’s where they get you, in your youth.

(But a few of those risks also brought some unique opportunities. Most notably the time I met D.J. Fontana and Scotty Moore, the original drummer and guitarist for Elvis. I will never forget sitting in the dark, plush control room of a Nashville studio watching Scotty Moore play the historical guitar lick from Heartbreak Hotel. Only earlier to have listened to D.J Fontana, during an interview with a reporter from Drummer Magazine, tell hilarious stories about Elvis. It was amazing.)

In short, the music biz isn’t just corrupt at the upper levels in LA or NYC. It’s clearly infected all the way down to the roots, because everyone will do anything to move up, make more money and get better coke. It’s really all about coke.

There’s only one thing worse than the music industry, the Christian music industry. Just take my word.

(For an interesting, though somewhat predictable, take on the music biz pick up Tom Petty’s latest album “The Last DJ.”)

But back to Apple and their music store.

I think the interesting question is why did the record execs work so willingly with Apple in setting up the music store? Why does it appear that the labels have had a seemingly sudden change of heart? It’s simple. Mac users aren’t “pirates.” They figure that anyone who will pay so much money for a computer and then for the software has to either a) be an idiot or b) be a honest hard working person who is willing to fully participate in the capitalistic wet dream of big corps.

You pick the answer.

Mac users are the perfect audience for this type of service and its no surprise that is has been so successful. They are willing to spend gobs of money on anything that Steve Jobs personally promotes, citing it as “the next best thing.” Sure, the Mac community is very cultist-like but I’m sure any user group that is only 5% of the overall pie would also seem cultist. Look at the Southern Baptists, for example (ooops, did I say that?). So, the success of the Apple Music Store (over 1 million downloads in the first week) seems a no-brainer.

I understand that school’s out and the job market is a little bleak… what did you study? What degree did you take? Any plans to leave North Carolina? When did you marry? Any children?

Let’s start with the basics, shall we? I was born on April 26, 1975 in Newton, New Jersey to a large family (I have 4 sisters and one brother). Yes, I am the youngest. I had the exhilarating experience of growing up in Freehold, NJ, the hometown of Bruce Springsteen, living what I like to call a Leave it to Beaver (or maybe even Brady Bunch) life. I have a fine family and some very tolerant parents. I would conjecture that I was not the easiest kid to bring up, what being the youngest and all.

I was very different than the rest of my siblings and always took the “path less traveled,” which more times not was also the most difficult. All of my siblings have at least a bachelor’s degree; the youngest sister has a master’s of divinity and is an ordained pastor.

After a less than stellar high school career, I enrolled in the local community college with a major in music theory. I learned my theory and clapped by rhythms and then, after two semesters, transferred to Middle Tennessee State University (MTSU) in Murfreesboro, TN, which is about 30 miles outside of Nashville. At MTSU I studied (in this order):  Recording Industry, Photography and German.

Recording Industry was, much to your surprise, I’m sure, a complete farce of a major. Recording engineers are smart, skilled folks. However, the university attempted to train students how to be a perfect ear, while at the same time holding them to many traditional college requirements. The mix didn’t work for me at all. So I ditched it and moved to photography, where I could actually get hands-on quickly and hassled less. As a photography major I spent countless hours in the darkroom breathing in chemicals and the like, going through expensive print paper by the boxful. It was fun and I was pretty good at it.

This was an incredibly impressionable time for me and I, like many, defined my life with the lyrics and musical genius of Springsteen, Dylan, Petty, et al. One of my mottos was the Springsteen lyric that went thus: “We learned more from a three-minute record than we ever learned in school.”

After two semesters of photography I quit school (but not photographing) and became a full time pizza delivery engineer. I survived the hot and humid Tennessee summers in my ‘85 Nissan pickup truck, with no A/C and sticky vinyl seats. Oh the goodle days. In the evenings I would “run sound” for local bands in any number of smoke-filled, beer-spilled bars in Murfreesboro and Nashville. I had a few opportunities to travel with the bands; once to CMJ in NYC and to SXSW in Austin. Despite the lack of funding and a real over-anxious prick for a road manager, both trips were great times. In NYC the label actually put us up in a nice hotel off of Times Square. We thought we were living the high life. Ha!

So the life of a pizza boy and music moonlighter went on until December of 1997, however my focus changed in February of the same year. That’s when I met a girl.

I always told my friends that the last place they should seek a mate is in a bar. I won’t get into the intricacies of my theory on bar chicks, but suffice it to say that what goes around comes around; again and again and again. I bring this up because I, the preacher of the anti-bar girl gospel, met my wife, Alexandra, in a bar. But wait! This was different.

She was in the country (she’s from Germany) visiting a friend who attended the same college I did (although at this time I was well into my dropout phase). Consequently we also shared some common friends, so we were introduced during the show. The first thing she said to me was “what are you doing?”; referring to the large mixing board in front of me. I fell for her immediately and we started dating about a month later.

Alexandra stayed for three months, but returned a month later to visit again. I then visited her in Germany and a few months after that we met in Miami Beach. Exhausted from the long distance relationship, I sucked in my gut, packed up my stuff and moved to Germany. Best damn thing I ever did.

Ah, but there was a slight problem. The only thing I knew how to say in German was that I like to bite my fingernails. That, I told myself, would not get me very far.

I enrolled in an intensive four-day a week German class at the local adult learning school (Volkshochschule) and less than a year later I was fluent. Yeah, it shocked me as well.

While living in Germany I also worked a few odd jobs. I worked at an American Sports Bar, a popular fast-food establishment and, my favorite, as part-time freelance photographer at a regional newspaper.

A little more than a year and a half after I moved to Germany, on July 16, 1999, Alexandra and I were married in a small, stone, 400 year-old chapel across the street from the house that her grandfather built after returning from WWII. A few weeks after the wedding I returned to the U.S. to reenroll in school, majoring in German, and Alex joined me in October after her paperwork with the INS cleared.

I took two years to finish up my bachelor’s degree and applied and was accepted into three graduate programs in German literature (UNC Chapel Hill, UW Madison and UT Austin). For various reasons I chose Carolina for my graduate studies and began in the Fall 2024.

I just completed my M.A. in German Literature at UNC and, as you correctly write, am looking for a job. We will be staying in North Carolina for at least a year, as Alex has only been at her job for a year and would like to stay for the time being (not to mention she has great health insurance).

Alexandra and I are avid travelers and with her working for an airline with all the perks and privileges, we’ve been enjoying visiting different cities, one of most favorite being Chicago. Because of hellish schedule during grad school, she’s taken much more advantage of the flying privileges.

So, you want to know if we have kids? Last August we adopted a kitten from the shelter, named Marley, and he’s been our only venture into parenting as of yet. Marley has had some fairly serious medical problems this year which has been difficult, to say the least, but eased somewhat by the kindness and generosity of webloggers, with many of whom I had never previously corresponded. It was a truly awesome outpouring of generosity.

Analysts suggest that for many years a religious war has been fought on the frontiers of information technology — Apple advocates versus IBM fanatics. If you had to pick sides, I imagine you’d be posted out in the orchard somewhere. My question is, does one have to pick sides, and if so, why did you pick Apple? (This is a trick question… see the Book of Genesis for historical context).

Regarding my choice in computing devices, you should know that I purchased my first Mac only last February and I still own a rather bulky, ugly, beige, loud Dell desktop computer. So, you can attempt to paint me into the corner of avid Mac fan (which I no doubt am), however I am no Mac groupie, hanging on Jobs’s every word. First of all, I ain’t got the freakin’ cash and secondly, I refuse to turn into whiney old bastards like the mid-lifer’s at my local Mac User Group meeting. They’re totally pathetic at times.

But if I had to really choose? I would pick my iBook. I’ve never been much of saint, so why start now?

Ryan, the new Dells are black and they run fast and silent. I have a Dimension 4550 looking at me from the corner, waiting for me to get the monitor sharing switch hooked up. The old monitor I’ll be sharing remains quite beige.

A good friend of mine also has a slick new Dell. They are pretty nice. Thanks to Apple for leading the way. I have to say, I’ve had my Dell for almost three years and it has only had one issue with the power supply. It has been a reliable machine.

SXSW… did you go down there for the music and possibly stay for the tech? Or not. I’ve wanted to look into that event for years, but I either have the time and no money or vice versa.

I went to SXSW purely for the music. This was in 1997, so I don’t know if the tech portion was already underway. From what I’ve heard the tech portion of SXSW is very cliquey and high schoolish. If you do go, hang around the music scene. The people are most likely much cooler and who could pass up some great music?

I’m thinking that now must be the worst possible time to be job hunting in the pop music/German/photography fields. Have you thought about abandoning the job hunt and plowing on for a “terminal” degree?

Yes, it is a horrible time to look for a job. I originally planned on getting my PhD but for a variety of reasons decided not to continue. I’m somewhat worn out from the rigors of graduate school and was not completely happy at the university. Perhaps one day I will continue and earn my doctorate, however first I will take a break and explore some other options.

I don’t plan on working as a photographer or in music. I also have no plans to continue teaching German.

To be honest I have a pile of other things I’d rather do right now than continue on into a PhD program. I have not ruled it out completely, but it’s no longer a priority.

My experience in grad school has really cut me off from many other things and people I enjoy, and it has narrowed my viewpoint or angle, especially when reflecting back upon my own accomplishments and myself. The whole nature of graduate work (I can only speak from personal experience) has squelched my creativity, strained relationships and just made me simply less happy than I was before.

For me grad school was all consuming. I lived in a very tiny world and everything I said, wrote and did was judged only within the context of the graduate program. It is a suffocating life.

But I’m glad I did it.

I’ll be in Chicago for the Digital Genres thing. I hope I get to meet you there. You might want to sell this to your accountant and CEO as a job search opportunity with some get-away time for the two of you!

I hope to return to Chicago at the end of this month. The only two things that might prevent me from attending Alex Golub’s Digital Genres conference are a possible job and not having a job. I can fly there for free, but the costs of staying the weekend may be more than what my accountant (read: wife) deems acceptable for my unemployed arse. So, we’ll see. It would be splendid to be in Chicago again and meet some of the interesting people that are attending the conference.

ST: I see you blogged recently about the purpose of academia being higher, nobler, than the commonly held vision that a University exists to improve markets… train the engineers, the product specialists, the businesspeople. A University you think exists also to cultivate some higher understanding. Would you care to elaborate on this… to put into your words instead of mine? I generally agree with the idea, but there has been a real and growing polarization for decades.

I almost pulled my post about the role of the university because I think it’s, well, crap. I have a very naive view of the university. I’m an educational idealist, if that makes sense. Basically what I wrote in that post was very unfocused (which is probably why you are asking me about it) and I still have no idea how to express my thoughts on it except to say that no matter what people say or do to pervert the university system, higher education will always serve a greater purpose, almost as if it is inherent in its nature to do so. It happens automatically, almost by default. Oy, I’m treading on some dangerous philosophical ground here.

What do you want to do when you grow up?

Retire.

I read on a bumper sticker on the way home tonight: “Imagination is more important than knowledge.” How do you, a freshly minted scholar, feel about that? Or rather perhaps, what do you think about it?

I think it’s complete crap. That statement is also saying that knowledge and imagination do not coexist, which is a something of a logical fallacy, don’t you think?

Yup. I think knowledge fuels imagination which is why I am very glad that I know everything! I’m wondering about the prospects for sushi in Chapel Hill? Seems like the weather may be a little warm for raw fish, but do you find it so?

Ahhh…Sushi. Off the top of my head I can count about six different places to get sushi (none chain restaurants) within 3 miles from my apartment. My favorite place to eat sushi is Kurama Sushi and Noodle Express, which boasts a rotating sushi bar and is packed full during lunch hours. I’m not sure how it is elsewhere, but here you can buy fresh sushi at almost any quality grocery store or market. I routinely pick up a mixed box of sushi when in the grocery store. I’ve even converted the traditional German palette of my wife to sushi, although she doesn’t venture into the raw fish area.

I’m curious regarding your sense of the commercial value of your photography. Have you made any large prints of the Luebeck architecture and peddled them in art houses and art fairs and such?

The only time that I have ever earned money for my photography was as a freelancer in Germany. I have naturally toyed with the idea of peddling my work but have never really put the effort into it. Perhaps this is the time to do such a thing. I’m assuming you’ll want to place the first order?

I was just over at Turner’s voice mail and I heard your telemarketing message for the “Blog Wonder” product. I wonder if you can tell me a little more about how this product has helped bloggers world-wide to reach out to dozens of like minded people with the skill of actual multi-media professionals? Also, are there any multi-level marketing opportunities here? I might want to get in near the ground floor.

BlogWonder is an all-in-one, all-in-wonder, weblogging tool that can turn your weblog into a international hit. There is no technical expertise needed because BlogWonder comes ready to roll and you’ll be online and publishing the next Scripting News in less than 30 seconds. Can you believe that?

In the interest of moving product I have to remain vague regarding the details. If not you will catch on that the package only contains pigeon poop, an AOL CD and assorted Jolly Ranchers from 1985.

I never thought about making the BlogWonder phenomenon a multi-level marketing scam opportunity. If I do initiate such a deal, you’ll be the first to know. However if you would like to help out BlogWonder Inc. is searching for financial backers. I envision a first round of funding to consist of a twelve pack of Dos Equis, an extra large veggie pizza and two boxes of honey butter microwave popcorn. Oh and 4 lbs of Peet’s Major Dickason Blend.

Tonight there’s a total eclipse of a full moon, David Weinberger is waxing virtually epistemological at AKMA’s school, and the Matrix sequel is opening. Three splendid entertainment opportunities and yet Beth and I are going upstairs to read in bed. (We’ll go look at the moon from the balcony from time to time though).

Eventually I will go see The Matrix - Reloaded, although the initial reports from the Blogosphere are far from glowing. I very rarely go see films on opening night. I like to see them on a Monday matinee when the theater is empty. As a kid I waited in line to see Karate Kid 2. In hindsight I realize what a terrible decision that was.

Last year I was in LA and I went to Universal City Walk and saw Austin Powers 3 on opening night. It was crazy. The theater had about twenty theaters and 15 were playing Austin Powers and you still had to go a couple of hours ahead to get a ticket. We got there a bit late and had to sit close to the front. Then about 20 minutes into the movie this guy and girl in the row in front of us began to argue (they didn’t know each other). I later find out that she told him to stop laughing so loud and that set him off. It was quite a scene. It was a good movie. I bought it on DVD and watch it when I need a good laugh. Have you seen it?

It’s raining and cloudy here tonight, so I don’t think I’ll be able to see the eclipse. Damn shame too.

If you had to pick a movie or two that provide references for your real life, what would they be?

That’s simple. Easy Rider, The Big Lebowski and High Fidelity. This is subject to change.

I’ve heard it said that the Chicago Cubs can’t have a website because they can’t put three W’s together. Have you heard that?  maybe it wasn’t the Cubs… maybe it was UNC.

Huh? But I’m laughing only because I think it is supposed to be funny.

I’ve been stewing over the post-Modernism complexity that so many of the heavy thinkers whose opinions I value are stirring into our soup. What do you have to say about this topic that will make it easy for me to understand?

I’m still on the exit ramp from a rough and tough semester writing a master’s thesis on eighteenth-century German theater, so at the moment I am not in the position to enlighten anyone on the finer points of Post-Modernism. However, I do have a book on my desk on the very subject matter. I plan to read it this summer. It’s called “After the Great Divide: Modernism, Mass Culture, Postmodernism” by Andreas Huyssen. It was given to me by a professor. We had plans to work together on technology and German literature. It is still a project I’m interested, but I will now do it on my own. I’ll always have library privileges.

How did you and Alex celebrate your most recent anniversary?

I surprised her and took her to the North Carolina Zoological Gardens. She always wanted to go, even in Tennessee, and for some reason we never made it. This year is our fourth anniversary and I’ve yet to figure something out.

And if the earth really rests on the back of a turtle and that turtle stands on a turtle is it safe to assume that it’s turtles all the way down?

No. I would have to see a pattern of at least 6 turtles.

Another Side of Mike Golby -
The Interview, Part Five

This is an “interview” in the loosest sense of the word.  I asked Mike Golby to share his insights in five areas.  He has done so and the album cover art below provides links to the separate pieces of this interview… 

Only rarely do I encounter a person who really speaks my language, a person whose clarity and depth of experience make me stand in awe of his or her abilities.  Survival is at the foundation, but it’s a random chance.  The world could have lost Mike Golby and never known his brilliant wit nor shared his wisdom.  Creativity is built on that foundation and that’s another random chance.  Creativity is a gift and Golby has been given it.  How he has shaped his creativity, how he shares it with the world is a choice.  I am proud that he consented to share these profound insights through the vehicle of this Web Log. Thank you Mike.
        -fp-

“People are often unreasonable, illogical and self-centered -
Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish ulterior motives -
Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and true enemies -
Succeed anyway.

What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight -
Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous -
Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow -
Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough -
Give the world the best you’ve got anyway.

You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God -
It was never between you and them anyway.”

Ah, yes, running out of words… even in this medium, space is a problem, both physically and philosophically. But it is not a problem in the same league as that which we face on our increasingly small planet. I’ve forgotten the exact figure but, about three weeks ago, I was around at a friend’s place and he slipped a documentary on the twentieth century into his video machine.

I don’t recall much of the video [even why he put the damned thing on] but I do remember being brought up short by a statistic to the effect that, in the one hundred years between 1901 and 2024, the world’s population increased from about 1.5 billion to 6 billion. That staggered me.

No wonder my nerves are shot to ribbons of road rage and anger at my daily closure in a prefabricated box reaching for the smog-laden sky. There’s no fucking space, I’ve people crawling all over me, and the noise and fumes from the street [seeping through the air conditioner] are driving me insane.

Yep, the Johannesburg summit. Is this Rio III or Kyoto II? Will George tell us to shove it? I don’t know. Does it matter? Again, I don’t know but I’m willing hazard a couple of guesses. Frank, my short answer to your question is to leave the planet to King George and his ilk and kill off people like me. It’ll probably happen anyway. Yet, as an answer, it doesn’t suffice.

Why? You might well ask, you scurrilous, lowdown dog, you. Yes, Mr. Paynter, the man I’ve been trying to wriggle into my Blogtree Pedigree as a parent but have yet to work out the bloody gizmo’s structure, I know exactly what you’re up to. If there’s anybody left reading this, let me fill you in on the scheming and devious mind of our word wizard from Wisconsin. Deluged by a sea of verbiage from yours truly, our Frank has been pushing the outside of the envelope encasing his mind, wondering “How the hell do I shut this bastard up? I need a real blinder or he’ll have my blog and I’ll be laughed off the Web forever.”

It does not take a conspiracy theorist to work out this obvious and simple truth, but you are a master of your craft, Frank. On any radio or TV show, the politician’s immediate response to this question would be, “That’s a very good question”, and he or she would then proceed to waffle as I’m doing now before punting his party [read my blog at

[The above, of course, is not true. It is merely waffle designed to fill the yawning gap I find filling my mind on considering your question.]

Let me tell you why there’s a gap. There are two answers, one posing [for people like us] as the answer to the world’s problems and another [for people like Glenn Reynolds and Dick Cheney and scrape-kneed schoolboys all over the world] that also poses as the answer. I’m not going to shuffle treaties and accords here, argue the case for Greenpeace, Amnesty, or your sterling work in fighting for peace, Frank, or slam the vile and evil minions of dark forces currently turning our planet into a cesspit incapable of sustaining any life but cockroaches like them.

Let me put forward a concept. My family, a relatively wealthy, middle-class outfit comprising a mix of professionals and misfits geared for a life of work, retirement, ossification, and death, has some extremely wealthy friends. A couple I know and regard as family [Uli was MC at Wendy and my wedding, providing the requisite outsized Mercedes for the ride] have fallen on rough times. They have raised two daughters in wealth and opulence and owned a magnificent ‘house’ in Cape Town’s mink and manure belt and another up the east coast in a highly sought after resort town.

Uli tied up a lot of his money in an outfit selling satellite-signalling security systems for motor vehicles. He did so when white business went on the rampage post-1994. Being an honest guy, he didn’t realize what a bunch of hoods he was getting into bed with and saw most of his money fritter away over two years. He got out when he could but, being in his late fifties, he’s not exactly the most desirable candidate for a job. As a chartered accountant who has taken several businesses to obscene wealth, he falls into the CFO bracket. We don’t need them. Anybody can stuff his or her hands in the till.

To my overly wealthy friends, I’m a nice guy who never amounted to anything. “Married too young.” “He should have studied law. Even an academic would have been better than what he’s now doing. What is he doing?” “Well, why doesn’t he just start something and make some money from it?” I can imagine comments of that sort emanating from the plush splendor of Bishopscourt and Constantia. To these people, I am ‘cash poor’ and cannot therefore be very happy with my lot. This attitude is a creeping social cancer that poisons our minds most subtly and insidiously.

When I was covering live music, I frequented clubs most freelancers wouldn’t touch. One of them, Club Montreal, was great club in a low-income area called Manenberg. Yes, the same Manenberg that inspired Basil Coetzee and Abdullah Ibrahim (Dollar Brand) to rip off a piece of African music and write Cape Town’s unofficial anthem. For the average person living there, gangsters, druglords, and criminals of every kind known to man are a massive problem. they outnumber law-abiding citizens by about ten to one. It’s not a problem for the police. They just collect the bodies in the morning.

As a kid, I was a frequent visitor to suburbs my color precluded me from visiting so I have no fear of the townships. People are living there. It’s wise to be careful though and the people running Club Montreal were. Guards, dogs, guns, knives, clubs [baseball], and enclosed parking ensured a good evening’s jazz in a venue redolent of a fifties jazz club in New York. Afterwards, the guys outside would report any drive-by shooters, nearby incidents and the like, and plan the wisest route home. The club was a block or two from the main road but they took their jobs seriously.

I used to wonder how people could be happy living there. No money, no houses [stinking tenements ranked side by side, lit by high-rise lights at night, separated by dark stretches of sand, the shadows in which the gangsters went about their work], and no hope of work. Locked doors are no problem for gangsters. If they ‘wanted’ a woman they’d break into an apartment and take one, use her, and do whatever they wanted to do with the evidence. I recall a disgusting incident wherein a retarded man was decapitated and his head taken to a gang leader’s house in a bucket to serve as a ‘warning’. The headline the next day read “Decapitated man mentally impaired.” Call it Cape Town humor.

Many people in Manenberg took to whining about their lot, especially after the city council took some three years to repair damage visited on the place by a tornado. My feelings were, “For God’s sake, if you don’t like it there, just move across the main road into Heideveld or go the other way and move to Guguletu.” A good friend of mine lives in Guguletu. He has what probably constitutes one of the best jazz collections in the city. When I used to visit him on a regularly [he had me set up his CV and promotional material but I’ve seen little of him as he’s become more fully booked], I called his sitting room ‘the soul clinic’.

With regard to the sorry people of Manenberg, my thinking was of the same type that made my wealthy friends decide I could not be very happy. In other words, my attitude stank. My youth, political work, and covering jazz taught me something. Happiness has nothing whatsoever to do with situations over which you have little control and a great deal to do with your approach to that which you have. I’ve met happy, well-adjusted, optimistic people from every corner of this previously divided city and as many bitter and twisted shitheads.

Given a Western lifestyle, with all the trappings of our vicarious genius in diverse fields, technology, medicine, building, services delivery, defense, etc., we lose sight of some fundamental truths. Much like substance abusers, we become addicted to our material comforts and, as I’ve seen with my friends, who’ve sold their large homestead in Constantia and moved into one of the biggest apartments in the ‘better’ part of our neighborhood, lowering our standard of living is like giving up alcohol, one drink each day. It seems that material wealth comes at a huge cost and most of us fail to realize that the price extends far beyond the tag or the monthly payments.

The Western world is like an anxiety freak threatened with the loss of his or her stock of Valium. It’s apparent to those of us living out here in the Third World. There’s a desperation to consolidate wealth at any cost. George Bush’s recent acquisition in the energy industry, Afghanistan, and his next foray into securing energy interests, Iraq, are less apparent signs of that desperation. Enron, Harken and other companies are more obvious signs and they are closer to home.

[I’m not preaching here, eh, I live as a so-called ‘Westerner’.]

How do we satisfy our anxieties best? We project our needs onto others. If we look at the globe, this vast, intricate, living, breathing sphere of which we form but a single component [covering the surface like a sun-fried cerebral cortex], there is enough - at present - for everybody. Enough food, water, shelter, means of production and sustaining production, etc. But we want most of it for ourselves and our projection leads us to believe in scarcity because we feel we should foist our waste-producing lifestyles on 5.5 billion other people. Can’t be done. American citizens produce nine times more waste than people living in the Third World. If we continue aiming to deliver health and wealth [and democracy] to the rest of the world, we are going to fuck up sooner than is necessary. Because we’re selfish and indulge in a neurotic projection.

Technology’s a problem, Frank. We’re screwing up fast. It’s great that we can swap ideas like this but, for God’s sake, let’s keep it out of the hands of the great unwashed. Can you imagine what we’d do to the globe setting up the infrastructure necessary to give everybody their own PC and Net connection? Not only is the equitable sharing of health and wealth a naive, misguided dream; it’s downright dangerous. I use the Net as an example of technology for one reason only. It epitomises the way we infect the world with our reasoning and misguided perceptions of what we need to live full lives. Living a simple life did not preclude Christ realizing self-actualization. Maslow would have been proud of him. I’ve not read all of Jung’s work but he must have, at some stage, used him as an example of an individuated being. A carpenter-cum-fisherman-cum-politician-cum-teacher-cum-savior.

How many war bloggers would even live in Israel? It’s tough country, especially without air-conditioning. We look up to the Ghandis and the Mandelas and the Nyereres and the Mother Theresas but we seldom look ‘at’ them. Simple people eschewing clutter. Most poor people have a far greater appreciation of life and our role in the grand scheme of things than we do with our intellect and reasoning. Look at the clutter on Everest. The mess at the South Pole [there was a mushy hole at the North Pole this year]. Most living in the shadow of Everest revere it. I revere my local mountain [it means I don’t have to climb the damned thing]. Most ‘poor’ people are a damned side more clued and in tune with their physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual needs than we Westerners.

While we are fucking up this planet on a scale not seen since that rock hit Guatemala, I believe it will survive us. Given our inextricable link to the earth of which we are a part, I reckon we’ll make it too, whatever happens. One of my father’s dictums was “The worst thing our ancestors could have done was set sail in ships.” Europeans killed some 100 million native Americans [north and south] through the spread of their syphilitic lifestyle to that part of the world. Where the end times happened for the Jews with the trashing of the Temple in AD 70 [I’m open to correction] by a bunch of lowrent surrogates of Rome, I guess colonization must have been the native American’s Apocalypse. We have our own. Why share it?

My father would follow his dictum with a contemptuous, Dylan-esque sneer; “Missionary zeal, hah!” As a pathologist, he knew something of medicine. While he was grateful that antibiotics were around to save his life the third time he contracted tuberculosis, he was under no illusions about the damage it was causing the world and its people. There is a great deal of money to be made in viral research, Frank. Keep it under your hat. Send me a fat check and I will invest it wisely. We will make a great deal of money and live high on the hog for the rest of our lives. The future lies in viruses. They’re going to kill billions.

Our problem or, rather, my problem is that I fight the natural order of things. Entropy was a good idea. That’s why its currency is still good. I fight entropy, as do most things. However, intelligent, sentient being that I am, I do not know when to let a good thing go. One of my problems, throughout my life and my alcoholism, was my determination to see the world run according to Mike, a privileged, moralistic little fucker who didn’t have a clue [on the one hand]. I learnt the hard way that it wasn’t going to happen. But my realization that we will fuck up gloriously again and again did not disillusion me. I can learn. Dying people need love and care. Hurting people need others who’ve been there and survived. Survivors of disasters need shelter and hope. Victims of atrocities need love, empathy, and caring while they recover as best they can. Old people need to know that they matter.

Another of my old man’s dictums: “Too much information, too little knowledge, and buggerall wisdom. Heh!” I mentioned in my last post to you that I hated my parents when I was an adolescent. That appears to be the natural order of things. It allows us to separate and become ourselves. I returned to find that my father was my best friend, sharing a similar outlook on life. I reckon he had a measure of wisdom and if I can attain half his insight into himself, I’ll count myself lucky.

Yet, what is the wise response to the snippet of information that tells us, in accordance with Sharia law, 30-year old Nigerian Amina Lawal will finish breastfeeding her baby in June 2024, when it will be taken away from her and she will be stoned to death for having had sex outside of marriage? Our information technology is giving us a great deal, including live pictures of collapsing skyscrapers and people crying tearlessly as they endure the last stages of a hunger that makes them seek death. What do we do? Send a check to the World Food Program or Medicines Sans Frontieres? We’re being bombarded with problems that have beset us since the beginning of time. Not too long ago, we did not know of such things. And then came Biafra. And Bangladesh. And soon, pushing every misfortune known to man [who used to regard it as a problem to be dealt with or a part of living] came the great Satan of Atlanta, CNN.

Were it not for the Dick and George Virtual Reality Show, you’d be watching southern Africans dying of hunger today and tomorrow. Next month, you’d be watching somewhere else while floods drown thousands; earthquakes rip the world from under the feet of countries; volcanoes spew ash and flaming boulders onto sleeping cities; planes, ferries, shuttles, ships, and buildings full of people go down; war and peace break out; diseases and vaccines come into being or fade to memory. You’d be following the story of Elian Gonzales, or checking up on how the Guatemalan twins are doing, or wondering whether a highly paid actor with a penchant for racing cars is going to become another what’s-his-name, Superman - ah, yeah, Christopher Reeve.

We need to follow the information trail because it gives our lives meaning. We learn that my wealthy friends have perhaps far greater difficulty finding a lasting happiness than those countless wonderful people I’ve known living [and dying] in conditions far different to those in which I live. But we need to keep our bearings or we lose sight of ourselves and our kids. Only I see the world through my eyes. Everybody else has a different but equally valid perspective. And so it is with our kids. They share the house with us, cause us endless hassles, bust the bank, give us gray hairs, are geniuses or are misunderstood, are good or bad, caring or selfish. They are, of course, all going to change the world for the better. They are these things because we love them. We cannot lose sight of the importance of that because, besides those charged with accomplishing other tasks in life, why else would we be fortunate enough to have them?

Given the limitations of a family life, we do what we can, Frank. Did I drive my car to work today? Yeah, well… Okay, but I won’t beat myself up about it. Look at the countless millions who shared the roads with me. Did I slag the Bush administration for continuing its cynical campaign to tie up futures in the oil market while the poppy fields flourish again under an Afghan sky and countless thousands stand to die? Yeah… but that was fun. Well, as far as I’m concerned, being human should be fun. I don’t believe we’re here to suffer. And besides, King George is but a symbol to me. He is no man. He is Bob Mugabe kicking commercial farmers off their land and millions into starvation. He is Thabo Mbeki pursuing a ludicrous AIDS policy visiting an unimaginably ghastly death on millions of South Africans. He is Ariel Sharon, pursuing the obliteration of the Palestinian people with whom he refuses to accept as his neighbors. He is Slobodan Milosovic and Jonas Savimbi and Laurent Kabila and Idi Amin and Stalin and Hitler. George W. Bush is a nebbish, a nobody symbolizing that which I despise in those wielding power uncaringly and irresponsibly.

Whether it’s child abuse, malnutrition, AIDS, war, trauma, fear, illness, environmental degradation, political structures, megalomania, global threats, imagined fears or lost causes, we suckers fighting entropy and the way things have been for aeons are on to a hiding to nothing. But, fuck, it’s great to be alive, eh?

Ultimately, we get to the question, “What challenges must be overcome to assure our children, the world’s children, a peaceful and healthy future?” Okay, I see. As the question draws closer to home, it becomes a missile, a warhead. In looking at the future of our kids, I forget that so many of them are casualties right now. I’m a lucky parent, Frank. But Wendy and I, as you know, have seen a lot of ugly stuff. Wendy’s recent stay in a rehab in the Karoo comes to mind like a tracer bullet through the heart of a darkness that is fundamentally evil. There are many things that really piss me off about us as parents. I am sick and tired of watching dime-a-dozen platinum blonde socialites posing as worried parents on TV, publicly decrying the practices of their hitherto anonymous kids as the misguided actions of demented loons led astray by wicked and conniving drug peddlers.

I have seen and spoken to their kids and I know that most of those chasing dragons and batting rocks and spiking it up between their toes will not live out their twenties. And it makes me fucking angry because it’s so avoidable. Ninety-five percent of the wasted freaks that are our children have become that way because they choose to be that way. Looking back at an earlier question, I have to say that, yes, I chose to drink and drug rather face a loveless, functional world I feared in every fiber of my being. These kids work extremely hard, with what appears to be a missionary zeal, to get into their terrible conditions and to stay that way. I did. The loneliness of the long-distance drinker is a terrible sight to behold. The alternative, respectability as defined and proscribed by the addled society into which our kids are born and are told they are a part of, takes the shape of a mind-numbing, passion-sapping, nine-to-five psychosis, is an alternative too ugly to contemplate.

That the kids I have met have been sprung from the sanitized loins of artificial people must be more than enough to send them over the edge. How can he or she contend with blinkered, unseeing eyes that see evil in all about them. The rehab at which Wendy spent three months with these kids ran a “Christian-based” program, paying lip service to AA and NA’s twelve-step program. Many of the parents I met are good, Christian folk in the cornflake tradition. Evil, for them, is neatly packaged and labeled and stacked on the supermarket shelves of their useless lives. It is an empty evil that they hear about and they read about in their boardroom churches with tiered cinema seats and three-piece pastors. It is an evil that is always without and never within. Their projection is absolute. And it is the same projection the Western world uses to justify inflicting its destructive ‘needs’ onto 5.5 billion other people.

Does it not ever strike those meddling in the minds of the young that it is they, the people with the disposable mind-sets, the born-again, quick-fix, throwaway moralities who might well be the ones sowing the seeds of self-destruction in the minds of the kids they don’t know how to love? Is it not possible that the get-rich-quick attitude they impose on all and sundry [I am not the only one judged by the wealthy] while denying their absolute enslavement to excess [yes, they are substance abusers] smacks of an hypocrisy so odious their kids are driven to anger, hatred, and despair?

They are two-dimensional, shallow, and completely out of touch. And they are perhaps worse off than their kids, the lost junkies who provide them an outlet for the guilt which builds up to pressure-cooker proportions as it’s repressed so far from consciousness they have as much idea about what’s going on inside their heads as a junkie who’s swallowed a truckload of acid?

Their pathetic, pitiful, and puerile pronouncements are the fish-like mouthings of the dazed and confused. They don’t know what is going on. They don’t know why their kids take drugs. They don’t have any of the answers. And the reason is simple. They don’t know how they fucked up. They have no comprehension of their own fears and phobias, their hang-ups, and their neuroses They’ve lost touch with their souls, sold them to the devil of material security and their designer brand of social responsibility. They’ve lost sight of who and what they are and they cannot presume to see the way for others. Their kids [some of whom, no doubt, will become as productively useless as their parents when they can be taught it’s better to shut yourself up in the fanciful castle of a Disney-mind than face reality] see, for now, what a fucking mess we’re in and it scares them shitless.

Somehow, yes, far closer to home, both the parents and kids who’ve skidded off the road of a meaningful life need our love and care. They need those of us who’ve who’ve been there and survived. They need shelter and hope, love, empathy, and caring while they recover as best they can. Not only old people need to know that they matter.

Rant over, I don’t blame the limping, soul-sick casualties of our twisted ways at all. I reckon we need to change our attitudes, do what we can to clean up the mess we’ve exacerbated, and leave the future to those of our kids that survive. Living one life is more than enough. We cannot proscribe the lives of others but we can be there for them. Where my kids go wrong, I am responsible [not for their actions, but for my response to those actions]. I am the greatest obstacle to my kids living their lives to the full. I have in me that which I see in George Bush. I am the obdurate war blogger denying my kids reasoned debate when they feel too ill to go to school. And I am something that I can do something about. None of my kids have ended up junkies yet, and I hope to God they never do.

If my three survive me, and I believe they will, they will know peace and health. They’ll also know war and illness, happiness and misery, ecstasy and despair, sorrow, joy and every human feeling. I just hope they enjoy it as much as I do.

Think of it, Frank. Those who went through the ‘flu epidemic in Europe at the beginning of the last century are dead today. Those who fought at Gallipoli and Ypres and countless battlefields stripped of all life by bombardments we will never see are all dead today. The millions who carried their hopes and aspirations into a new country, freed of British domination in 1776 [I think], are dead today. I hesitate to say “I see dead people” but the world is full of ghosts. We give them scarcely a thought. I hope we are more fortunate. I trust our kids will give an occasional nod to what we were able to give them. I hope they then get on living their lives in a world in which we are but members of that same legion of ghosts that gave us a world in which we could become ourselves. I hope they remember us fondly, with love, and come to know peace and health. They will if we give them [and those parents who continue denying the world about them] the love they need to appreciate these things.

In the end, I think that although we overcome these things alone, we do so together as well. Yep, that Mother Theresa, she knew what she was talking about. The future starts and ends with each and every one of us.