Who wrote this stuff?

Ah, old movies. Specifically, old science fiction movies. A good one has a few basic plot elements:

1. A brilliant but socially inept scientist who uses terms like "neutralization of mass." He should have glasses made from the glass bottoms of Coke bottles still available in the fifties.

2. A horrible monster. Giant insects are always a favorite, provided they don't break the movie's budget ($120, excluding the cigarettes everyone smoked back then). Carnivorous plants are better because you can get away with stop-motion animation. "Alright, Phil, now move the ivy a little further over the model of San Francisco." Alien robots are best because you can make 'em out of old milk cartons and talk about horrible alien weapons like the xenon-helium electron baryon ray pulse heat wave gun. It should look like the offspring of a stand mixer with an attitude problem and a .50 sniper rifle. It's waves/pulses/beams should be manually drawn on the film by a four-year-old.

3. Deep, thought provoking dialogue. "Oh no, I think it's going to eat the world." "If it reaches Los Angeles it will eat Los Angeles." "Millions are fleeing the doomed city/country/planet." "Gee, we really were thick, doing all those nuclear tests."

4. Special effects. Smoke is always useful, as are scale models. Just remember that a burning wad of newspaper does not look like a flaming planet. Also, stuff looks larger when slow motion is used. Rabbits scurrying through a model of a city can be turned into ponderous, thundering bringers of doom just by playing the footage at 1/4 speed. Oh, wait. Someone already tried that...maybe if they'd played "Eye of the Tiger."

5. Someone who looks kinda like Marilyn Monroe. She should end up with:

6. The hero. The hero is, ideally, six foot one, has dark brown hair (insofar as you can tell in black and white), and carries a lot of guns that don't work against the insects/plants/alien robots/giant rabbits until the scientist bails him out. I never got why the hero (instead of the scientist) ends up with the girl. Maybe the nerd in me is just jealous. Then again, I never really liked Marilyn Monroe.

So, let's break down an old sci-fi classic: Them. Them is a movie about ants that, due to nuclear testing, grow to abnormal size (think Rosie O'Donnell only with more human kindness) and proceed to kill and eat everything they encounter.

The movie opens with a little girl being found in a catatonic state in the desert. An eerie, howling wail is present in the background, indicating the Cubs have lost again. She is picked up by some kindly people in a car or plane or something (it's been ten years since I've seen this, okay?) and brought into town. Everyone wonders what happened to the people she must have been with, but all she ever does is flip out and start yelling about "them." This is where the movie gets its title. Clever, eh? I didn't think so either and I was eight. Cigarettes are bad for you in so many ways...

Anyway, a bunch of people on the outside of town are found dead looking like they've been attacked by giant insects. The townspeople are unable to figure this out even thought he ants left a business card on every table and a few Polaroids of themselves eating the deceased's belongings and legs.

Eventually, THE SCIENTIST is brought in, aided by THE HERO and escorted by his long-suffering daughter THE MARILYN. They find an ant and THE HERO blows it away with sustained fire from a Thompson that is apparently modified to accept five-hundred round magazines. His aim is terrible, but the sheer volume of fire was evidently sufficient. He then stares at this eight-foot long ant and asks what it is, confirming that listening to sustained gunfire without ear protection can also damage one's brain. THE SCIENTIST explains that it is a giant ant, earning him admiring glances from the townsfolk, who by now have figured out how to understand normal speech.

By the end of the movie, the ants migrate to a major city and are mowed down by machine gun fire. Life goes on, but the movie has proved its point: nuclear testing results in giant bugs and you have better odds of winning the girl if your brain is smaller the .45 rounds you lug everywhere.

Ah, old movies. At least they aren't new movies. But that, I'm afraid, is another post.

On continuity of experience

Postmodernism can be reduced to absurdity in so many fun little ways, but I thought of a particularly interesting one recently. I doubt that this is new, but it's still an intriguing argument.

First, a little background. Postmodernism, for the purposes of this analysis, is the idea that "there is nothing outside the text." Picture a short essay, say on the superiority of Lincoln-Douglas debate over Team Policy. The contents of this paper are, according to postmodernism, entirely a matter of interpretation because no extra-textual (Yes, I just made up a term. No, I don't care.) data or context exists. My interpretation is just as valid as yours even if one of us were to assert (gasp!) that the paragraph proves that Team Policy is superior.

According to postmodernism, the entire world is like that paragraph. It has no meaning beyond what we assign it as individuals, and no one individual's assertions are any more or less valid than the next's. No higher or absolute truth exists. A few problems do exist here. The most obvious, of course, is that even the claim that no absolute truth exists is an absolutist claim. Slightly more subtle are postmodernism's other flaws.

And so we come to my argument. Tag this one as the argument from continuity of experience. If you throw a rock at me and manage a hit, I will experience pain. Trade sides with me and I bet you'll feel the same. We both would rather not be eaten by bears. Such experiences are uniformly unpleasant. Similarly, we both probably like clean air, chocolate, and the song "There's No One As Irish as Barack O'bama." This implies that our minds function in similar ways, in turn suggesting that there is some uniform constant that forms a reference point. Even if it is merely biological in nature, such a constant is immutable and not "subject to interpretation." This is the first half of the argument, namely that our minds deal with reality in similar ways. The second, and more forceful, aspect of the argument is simply that the rock you just threw nailed me right between the eyes. You can apologize next time you see me. From your perspective, the rock traveled in a parabola from hand to mark. From my perspective the rock traveled in a parabola from hand to mark. Then blackness. The point is that this event was obviously independent of perspective and interpretation. You were able to take an action that I then perceived. Thus our minds engaged in interaction via some sort of medium (the medium that allowed conveyance of your intent to throw the rock to my perception of your intent). This medium, I postulate, is called reality, and it changes only when acted upon and not with "interpretation."

Treating reality as a medium through which minds interact is an interesting idea. I'm probably not the first person to think of it, but it still has some interesting implications even beyond a refutation of postmodernism. If reality really is simply aether for the conveyance of data, then some credence goes to the philosophy of Berkeley, who asserted that an object only exists insofar as it is observed. I think he is close. He claimed that the world continues to exist when you close your eyes because God is still watching. Hmmmm.... I think it may be still more fundamental. Let us progress from philosophy to theology.

First postulate: God created us to love him. Love, according to Augustine, requires that we make a decision. A decision requires that we possess information.

Second postulate: Such a decision is inherently heuristic because we cannot know God fully in our present form. If our form were changed so that we could fully know God no decision would be necessary. (Who would turn away from God revealed in His majesty?) This decision must be based on limited or incomplete data.

Third postulate. A means of limited communion must therefore exist between God and Man to allow the conveyance of knowledge of God without total exposure.

Fourth postulate: The universe provides exactly such a medium. God reveals His attributes to us in limited form through the universe. We gain fleeting but awesome glimpses of His skill in design, of His omnipotence, and so on.

Fifth postulate: The universe (Scripturally, nature) was corrupted by the Fall because Man's ability to commune with God was damaged by our sin nature. The cataclysm extended from the direct connections of the soul to God to the indirect link through Creation.

I am not an expert or ordained theologian. I have no degrees (although you might be wise to trust me less if I did). This is merely a though experiment and should not be regarded as teaching. But it is an interesting and perhaps helpful way of looking at the world. Suddenly any philosophy (and there are postmodernists and existentialists who claim to be Christians) that denies the absolute nature of reality starts looking a bit odd. Once matter becomes an absolute aether, the external world takes on an interesting purpose.

Recycling and the prospect of alien invasion

My sources (by which I mean the little voices) have informed me that the aliens are at it again. That's right, folks. Once again we face annihilation as a species. This case is peculiar, however. Previous means used by the alien horde have been comparatively subtle. This one is blatantly obvious. I wonder why I failed to notice it before. Recycling is evil. Follow carefully.

We begin with what recycling actually is: conversion of existing material into another usable form. This means that less production is necessary. Which means less production actually occurs. Thus the industry of Man becomes conversion of one substance into another, of McDonald's wrappers into newspapers, of plastic bottles into Tupperware. The impact of this is that Man eventually loses the ability to produce, to strip mine coal or pump oil or turn trees into houses or turn raw materials into massive directed energy weapons to engage the alien forces. We won WWII through sheer economic might and unrivaled production. The aliens will not allow us this strategy a second time. (That's right, a second time. No human has a mustache like Hitler's or Mussolini's.)

The effects of recycling reach beyond eliminating our ability to build directed-energy weapons. Even if recycling fails to completely supplant production the aliens are in excellent shape. Even a decline in production involves a decrease in the number of jobs available. Recycling jobs are all well and good, but most of them have already been claimed by robots and members of the Earth Liberation Front (often the two are hard to distinguish, but usually the robots are easier to reason with). The result, once recycling really comes into its own, is widespread unemployment. President Obama will respond by Creating Jobs and buying up the Legacy Assets (I kid you not, that's what he's calling toxic assets) because, as a lefty, that's essentially what he does. The ensuing economic instability will cause shortages and riots. Eventually America's (and soon the world's) population will be split into two factions: the robots and the Earth Liberation Front members (everyone else having emigrated offworld to escape the Congressional Hearings about how This Is Everyone Else's Fault and We Are Going to Frown Importantly Down at You and Watch Our Approval Rating Meters Climb Because of the People Who Are Grateful Not to Be the Targets of Our Multiple Chin-Quivering Wrath). The Earth Liberation Front will launch a savage attack on the recycling robots using eco-friendly weapons like sticks and dirt. Oddly enough, this will have exactly no effect. The robots will then begin converting ELFers into newspapers, Tupperware, and directed energy weapons. The aliens just have to do some quick reprogramming and they will have gained another planet. Not to mention a free, Energy Star-approved army of robots.

Is there a solution? Yes. Start suing your local environmentalist group for destroying the planet and/or conspiring to hand it over the alien forces. You'll be amazed at how seriously the courts take you.

We are not what we think we are.

I've been thinking about the philosophies of Jeremy Bentham and John Stuart Mill. They both are credited with the formation of utilitarianism as a legitimate philosophy, but I've never taken utilitarianism all that seriously. Bentham would have us all hunched over computers our entire lives, trying to model and predict what consequences our actions will have. Mill reduced utilitarianism to heuristics, a more viable option, but he also assigned qualitative (in addition to Bentham's quantitative) values to pleasure and pain, thus introducing a criterion aside from pleasure or pain for standards of right and wrong. Mill's philosophy is closer to what people actually do, of course. Recall the first law of humanity: people act in what we perceive as someone's best interest.

This is how so many of us wind up in Hell.

Perhaps my favorite of C.S. Lewis's books is The Great Divorce, in which he describes why so many people choose Hell. It is a disturbing book, to my mind, for it depicts, with merciless precision and astounding accuracy, the mental and emotional hoops people will leap through to protect our paradigms. Every single condemned soul in the book acts based on what they think will best serve their interests. The artist refuses Heaven because of the loss of "recognition." The philosopher returns to Hell to continue "free inquiry." These examples illustrate how ill-equipped we really are to identify what our best interest is. I think every Ghost in The Great Divorce commits the same underlying error: they all insist on viewing the world through their own biases, ideas, and mental constructs. The purpose of all these abstracts is to distort the universe around them to enhance their own importance. The inability to even identify our best interest lies in our molding the entire world around ourselves.

This peculiar lensing results in an equally peculiar view of the world. Suddenly all that matters is me and the rest of the world is merely some external motion picture I participate in or have to deal with from time to time. Well, guess what? Within seventy years I'll be dead. Odds are, so will you. The world, second coming notwithstanding, will still be here. I suspect that we could avoid many of the problems we experience if we acknowledge that cold and corrosive truth: as individuals we don't actually matter all that much.

One maxim I am thoroughly sick of hearing is the claim that it doesn't matter how much money you make or what car you drive but rather what relationships you form. Friends, family, these are the demigods of secular culture and the true meaning of Christmas. Horse hockey, as Colonel Potter would say. The relationships we form matter no more than the money we earn. What counts is what we do with our relationships and other resources. The attitude that the relationship itself is somehow of value reflects a deep-seated egocentrism. It's one of two expressions: "Look how lucky that person is to know me," or "Look how lucky I am to know that person." Either way, the focus is on "me." Focus upon what the relationship accomplishes, on the other hand, is actually quite selfless (or can be). Inherent is the acknowledgement that it is not "I" that matter but what I accomplish, how I change the world around me. Suddenly the focus is external.

Applying this concept to Christianity, we need to stop focusing so intensely on how we feel or how we are victimized by popular culture or even how "special" we are. Let us focus on an external. How about God? When we focus on ourselves we are building our lives around nothing of consequence. Do we matter to God? Sure. Does that give us value? Yes, but it is not a value to be proud of for our sakes, but it is instead a testimony to the grace of God. Christian existentialism is as deadly a trap as any other, for it folds us inward and implodes the soul to a spiritual singularity, so very nearly nothing that it cannot love or change or grow. Who we are is of little consequence, what matters is what we do and in whose name. What matters is to whom we surrender ourselves for salvation. What matters is our assimilation into the body of Christ. What matters is our reconciliation to our true purpose. When we simply act in "our best interest" we can never see beyond our collective nose. The impact we have the world around us and our eternal condition is a matter of how well we can turn our attention to God and, eventually, to those around us.

Who's on first? (revised for the 21st century)

Adam Smith: So whose money is being used for the stimulus?

Barack Obama: The taxpayers'.

Smith: What will you do with it?

Obama: Spend it.

Smith: What would they do with it?

Obama: Spend it.

Smith: Why is it better that you spend it?

Obama: They might save some of it.

Smith: Don't they need to?

Obama: No. The government gives The People social security for retirement, unemployment, and the measles.

Smith: How does the government pay for this?

Obama: We tax The People.

Smith: So...they don't need to save because the government saves for them?

Obama: No. We make 'em pay FICA taxes and then spend the money.

Smith: So where does the money come from for social security?

Obama: Some people die before they are eligible for benefits.

Smith: Hasn't the population curve changed so more people are living long enough to receive payment relative to those paying social security taxes? People living too long, essentially?

Obama: That's what government health care will fix.

Smith: So you're implementing government health care to kill off people at a younger age?

Obama: No. I'm implementing it to destroy the evil money-grubbing insurance providers.

Smith: And government insurance will be better?

Obama: Sure. The government can afford to operate at a loss, so there is no need for "profits" (which are really wages stolen from the proletariat).

Smith: Who compensates for the loss?

Obama: The taxpayers.

Smith: So doesn't everyone end up paying the same amount they would pay the insurance companies?

Obama: No. I said "the taxpayers," not "everyone." The rich have to cover it.

Smith: Who's rich?

Obama: People who earn over $250,000 a year. Wait, $200,000 a year. Wait, $150,000 a year...

Smith: But aren't these people often the entrepreneurs and investors who drive the economy?

Obama: Yes.

Smith: Why tax them?

Obama: Because it's not fair.

Smith: What's not fair?

Obama: That they make that much money when the average family at the poverty line only owns one television and most are not flatscreens.

Smith: But don't the poor usually not put as much into the economy?

Obama: They contribute just as much, you racist, classist, bourgeois swine.

Smith: Just askin'. What are you going to do about this situation?

Obama: Tax the rich and give to the poor.

Smith: How?

Obama: I'll start by signing a stimulus bill to jump start the economy. I'm also thinking of taking up archery.

Smith: Who gets the stimulus money?

Obama: The rich.

Smith: The rich?

Obama: The rich. Only they have to spend it on groceries. No business jets or office makeovers.

Smith: Or what?

Obama: Or we crucify them on national television before Congress.

Smith: But does it really matter to economic recovery how they spend the money as long as it gets back into the economy?

Obama: No.

Smith: So why do you care how execs spend the stimulus bill?

Obama: Grocers make less money than business jet manufacturers.

Smith: So we're back to wealth redistribution.

Obama: Such a harsh term...I prefer "enhancing socio-economic harmony with emphasis on the appropriate allocation of capital and the benefits there derived."

Smith: What does that mean?

Obama: Wealth redistribution.

Smith: Why not just let the people keep their money and spend it how they choose?

Obama: This way the government has oversight.

Smith: Oversight?

Obama: Oversight.

Smith: What's that?

Obama: Oversight?

Smith: Oversight.

Obama: I actually don't know. I understand it involves czars.

Smith: American or Japanese czars?

Obama: American, of course. I've put a high protective tariff on foreign czars.

Smith: I still don't get why the government should spend the money. Doesn't that mean that less money actually re-enters the necessary sectors?

Obama: Yes. That's why we are putting the Fed rate on the floor and deficit spending at the same time. We are "loosening the money supply."

Smith: Is that basically the same as printing money?

Obama: Yes. But it's more eco-friendly.

Smith: Does that cause inflation?

Obama: Yes.

Smith: Isn't that, well, bad?

Obama: Only for people who have been saving.

Smith: And they should have been counting on social security?

Obama: Yes.

Smith: But how does loosening the money supply actually help the economy?

Obama: It enables people to pay off mortgages.

Smith: Couldn't they pay them off before?

Obama: No.

Smith: Why not?

Obama: They couldn't afford the mortgages.

Smith: Then why did they get large mortgages in the first place?

Obama: People do silly things sometimes. You know, cling to guns and religion, vote Republican, listen to country music, pay attention to Rush Limbaugh...

Smith: And you are rewarding irresponsible finance?

Obama: Hey, hateful bourgeois scum, some of these people can't pay because they lost their jobs.

Smith: How does loosening the money supply help them? Especially if it devalues savings?

Obama: It creates jobs.

Smith: Jobs?

Obama: Jobs.

Smith: Will that work?

Obama: It already has.

Smith: Isn't unemployment at a thirty-year high?

Obama: No, I mean it got me elected.

Smith: Oh.

Obama: But job creation will save the economy.

Smith: If a job is economically viable, won't it already exist?

Obama: No.

Smith: Why not?

Obama: Yes we can!

Smith: Hm?

Obama: Yes we can!

Smith: Your grammar is wrong.

Obama: Well, CHANGE it!

Smith: You need a comma after the "yes." But quit dodging. Won't all economically viable jobs already exist?

Obama: If by "economically viable" you mean present without government intervention, then yes. We can.

Smith: Stop saying that.

Obama: I can do to you what I did to Rush.

Smith: No, you can't. I've been dead for three hundred years.

Obama: Whatever. Facts never really worried me. What matters is getting people employed. Then production will increase. Then the recession will end. Then I'll be crowned--

Smith: Isn't that what FDR tried?

Obama: Yes.

Smith: It didn't work.

Obama: Yes, it did.

Smith: No, it didn't.

Obama: Yes, it did.

Smith: Have you actually read a history book that some leftist professor did not feed you through a straw?

Obama: The Depression ended, didn't it?

Smith: Only because we had to blow up a few other countries (WWII) and needed the spike in production.

Obama: Well, there you go!

Smith: But the need for more production came first. It was followed by job creation.

Obama: In the absence of countries to blow up I propose job creation.

Smith: Shouldn't you encourage new enterprise by, say, cutting the capital gains tax?

Obama: No.

Smith: Why?

Obama: Because it taxes rich people.

Smith: But where will new companies get money if investment is discouraged?

Obama: From the government.

Smith: How is government money better?

Obama: Strings.

Smith: Strings?

Obama: Strings.

Smith: What are strings?

Obama: They enable the government to control the businesses.

Smith: And that's good?

Obama: Yes.

Smith: Why?

Obama: Because it enables the government to control capital and, eventually, all major industries.

Smith: Isn't that what Lenin did?

Obama: Maybe.

Smith: Didn't it fail?

Obama: Only when the government had to start killing peasants.

Smith: And that's okay?

Obama: If the peasants had ever received federal funding, you bet.

Smith: I'm sorry, but none of this is making sense to me.

Obama: Adam, Adam. If you can' t get the basics you'll never earn your degree in economics. And definitely not from a prestigious school like my alma mater.

Smith: Mr. President...

Obama: Yes?

Smith: If I weren't dead I'd be buying plane tickets for Switzerland. At least they admit to being socialists...

We who forget history...

Democracies seem to consistently choose bad policies. Ever wondered why? Britain is a welfare state. The U.S. is well on the way. Don't even ask me about continental Europe. General economic theory dictates that the non-systematic error should all cancel, so why do we experience such acute issues? In other words, inept voters should all cancel each other out. But they don't. Hmmmm....

The problem, of course, is one of human nature. That, and the fact that humans tend to naturally faction. Someone once said, "Democracy endures until the majority discovers it controls the treasury of the entirety." Issues arise when people stop thinking like individuals and start thinking of themselves as "white people" or "poor people" or "feminists" and then start towing the party line. Why do the groups not cancel? People, in large groups, are dumber than sheep. An idea (government control of the economy) that wouldn't survive ten minutes in a discussion group can endure and become policy because of people's inability to think clearly and rationally in groups. In short, groups are easy to mislead.

This phenomenon was obvious in a relatively recent social event. A man managed to get elected by a large plurality, largely due to his promises of economic revival. The validity of his programs was irrelevant, what mattered was that he offered reform and many groups--if not necessarily many individuals--loved his ideas. The issues were gradually transcended by "image," largely a result of careful cultivation by those very supporting groups. So, he was elected and promptly murdered six million Jews and millions more of other minority groups. Very nice, Hitler. He was a good orator too...

Kind of makes you wonder, eh? How a population could just drop moral issues and focus exclusively on personality and a distorted view of economics? Makes you worried, no? The solution here is, as I have previously claimed, to get people to start thinking rationally and doing our own analysis instead of counting on Oprah.

By the way, if anyone did not get the culture reference, just contact me and I will hook you up with Rush Limbaugh.

Why not to wear heels to a speech and debate tourney...

I am a competitive speaker and debater. I attend at least a few tournaments each year, and I am struck by how incredibly ironic a few of the aspects of the competition really are. Here are a few examples. I apologize to anyone who doesn't get the inside jokes. You'll come to realize that effective communication is a thoroughly alien concept to many speakers, myself included.

We begin with the first day of the tournament. Speakers pour in from several states and are all squeezed into such proximity that spontaneous fusion is real possibility. I thought I saw a petite debater actually be squashed out of existence between two boxes of evidence in Milwaukee. The reason for the crush? Everyone want to reach the table to Sign In. Signing In is a mysterious process, because no matter which line you choose you will be in exactly the worst possible place. If your last name begins with "g" you will end up in the "r" line and vice versa. This problem could be solved with signs, of course, but the signs are at the tables and the tables are inaccessible beginning thirty seconds after the doors unlock. Once one has Signed In one must proceed to Script Submission. Script Submission suffers from similar line confusion, but is made even more complex by the fact that the Submission Personnel must inspect every single script. This is difficult, especially when so many speeches are calculated to cause crying. I kid you not. Half of the speeches I hear at tournaments make Bambi look like a Red Skelton skit. Some of the Interpretives even make A Walk to Remember seem reminiscent of Charlie Chaplin's work. I think the people who work this station are either supernaturally gifted or simply fortified by preventative doses of Prozac.

The net effect of this process is to ensure that the tournament starts 20-60 minutes later than planned. Usually these minutes are spent, by the vast majority of the competitors, sitting around and waiting for Postings, the near-mythical sheets of paper that tell us where the rounds are and against whom we are competing. This is especially crucial in debate. Right before the debate rounds start, hundreds of suited teenagers pack the areas where Postings will soon magically appear, a bit like a bunch of giant penguins around a pile of decomposing fish. Unlike penguins, however, we treat the Bearer of the Postings with an almost eerie respect. Then, when the Posting is complete, we contemplate lifting him or her upon our shoulders and triumphantly parading him/her around the building, but mostly we just bolt for the competition rooms.

This activity deserves a paragraph to itself. Put yourself in my black dress shoes. The Postings go up. I am in Room SF 163 and up against a ferocious debater. Now, three factors come into play. First is the need for raw speed. Never underestimate the psychological advantage of being set up and coolly jotting down your value arguments as your opponent scrambles into the room. Second is the fact that the room is some distance across campus and on the far side of the building in which the Postings were placed. Third is the fact that both buildings involved are packed with scrambling people. The secret is to move fast and to never stop moving. I start down the first hallway, neatly dodging the first of two 12 year olds carrying unprotected chocolate ice cream cones randomly amongst the suits. The rest of the hall simply calls for footwork until I reach the first choke point. This is where LD debaters (who really don't carry much evidence) have a huge advantage over TPers who frequently have evidence crates the size of Chevy Impalas. I use my briefcase to wedge through the mass. Another debater uses my wake to slide through even faster. No matter. He tries to pass me as I clear the other side. I clothesline him with my Apologetics bag as we exit the clot. Splash one. The first point cleared, I head for the door. Like all doors in this building it is wheelchair friendly, meaning it is almost impossible to open the first few inches, after which it springs open and stays that way for a few seconds. I time my approach. The nearest debaters are six, maybe seven seconds behind me. I wait a half-second, trigger the door and dart through. I hear footsteps behind me quicken to a run, but I am down to the walkway and on the sidewalk by the time I hear a faint swoosh as the door suddenly closes, followed by a double thump. Splash two more. I approach the other building and see the unthinkable: the other debater is a girl and is almost as close to the building. Direct tactics of the type appropriate against male opponents are out of the question; chivalry is not completely dead, but I have options. I turn and detour across the still-soft ground, darting along a shortcut between buildings. She follows, and quickly pulls ahead as she follows an even more direct line along the wet surface. I see her high heels penetrate damp soil and hear the gunshot-like crack as one sheers off, followed by a bellow of rage. Splash another. I duck just in time as her briefcase whistles through the space previously occupied by my head. I am not quick enough to avoid the flung wreckage of a shoe, but by now I have a sizeable lead. I run up the steps to the destination building and manage to throw my case into the gap in the automatic door as it swings shut, holding it long enough to scramble through. More people are rapidly dispersing inside. One has a wingtip shoe protruding from his ear. I dive around a corner and tuck and roll as two TP teams collide and their evidence collections reach critical mass. The ensuing blast throws open the door to my room. I whip out my flowpad and notes, sit, and manage to scrape together my composure. One point three seconds later my opponent walks in. "Hello," she says, smiling. "Hope you haven't been waiting long." Both her shoes are intact. Spares, of course, but all in all a successful run. I was doing pretty well to take out one set. "Hi," I reply. "Not too long. Glad to see you got here okay. Some of these folks are barbarians."

This process repeats six times during prelim rounds for debates and four times for speech. The mood is less frantic on the subsequent days when we usually run on time. This allows for more effective use of elbows. There are also great shows of heroism and courage. Consider, for example, protecting the timers. Almost everything in this post is either hyperbole or mere fiction. Not this. Some guy off the street showed up after the end of a competition day and tried to steal the timepieces we need for both speech and debate. One of the moms, a small but evidently quite ferocious woman, managed to retain the timers. This cleptomaniacal creep is lucky, though, that he did not run afoul of either the tournament director or my mother. Remember the scene and the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark? These ladies have a stare that can melt your face clean off. Tournament directors deserve medals. If we ever get serious about negotiating with North Korea we should send in the Indy tournament director. She could stare steadily into Kim Jong Il's eyes and say, "You don't want to do that, Kim. I have the power to make you miss your round. I don't want to have to do that, Kim. So just shut the reactors down." It would work instantly, and the only thing we'd have to concede to North Korea would be a new pair of pants for Mr. Il.

Not everyone associated with our tournament has the Stare, but some other intimidating individuals are the judges. There are two types of judges: parent and community. Parent judges are people with kids in the tournament (but in a different event than the one being judged). Community judges are volunteers. Let me be clear here. Few judges are mean and without these fine volunteers tournaments would be impossible. The problem is that, while judging, judges often look quite intent. A lot of concentration is usually in evidence, and this frequently prevents laughter, a major downside when one's speech is meant to be funny. Nothing tops letting loose a joke that has three judges thrashing in their seats with laughter while the fourth clearly does not get it and the last is wearing an expression that implies he hates his life and speaker is Not Helping. Even worse is going immediately after a speech calculated to make the judges cry. Especially when yours is a funny speech. Here you are, telling funny stories and jokes to illustrate your points even as the tear stains are just beginning to dry. Just great.

Responsive judges are more fun in every event, but especially debate. My favorite judges are ones who nod when they like or agree with a point. This way, I have a good idea of how I'm doing relative to my opponent. A bit stranger, but still encouraging, are judges who nod all the time. I can say, "Hundreds of thousands are dying in Darfur because of blind idealism," and he just nods, slowly. My opponent says, "Well, millions are dying in Darfur because of evil pragmatism." He nods at exactly the same rate. I say, "The petaflop barrier has been broken because of Darfurian idealistic analysis of the Categorical Imperative's effect on climate change in conjunction with the ban on CFC's but only in months not containing the letter "e" and due to the increased levels of awesome following the release of Halo 3." He keeps nodding. Cautious probing with a pen reveals that the judge is animatronic. The real one is somewhere else in the room. She is playing with an Etch-a-Sketch and has already handed me the win because she likes my tie.

The last tournament went pretty well for me. I won Apologetics, Impromptu, LD debate, placed in a few other things, and got first overall. I love these events, but that doesn't mean they make sense. Still, hard to top in terms of sheer intensity, eh? Football has nothing on this...

Spread

I did some reading today on Von Neumann machines. To any reader who is not a complete nerd, John Von Neumann was a Hungarian-American mathematician born in 1903. He did some work on the Manhattan Project and the later hydrogen bomb project. Anyway, a Von Neumann machine is a device that, in addition to carrying out its primary function, is capable of self-replication. The only non-living Von Neumann machines in existence today are viruses. And, like Von Neumann's theoretical machines, viruses are generally not terribly good things to have around long-term. I'd contend that ideas are like Von Neumann machines. Richard Dawkins (someone of whom I am not fond) proposed that memes (cultural constructs) are capable of complex evolution and replication. This, I think, is the result of a much simpler idea. Rather, the result of two ideas.

First of these is the idea that ideas multiply and propagate. This should be fairly obvious. Let's say I decide that it is "cool" to wear hats inside out (and not just when the Cubs are behind). Suppose further I am someone anyone cares about regarding popular fashion. The idea to wear caps backward spreads to a few friends and then to a few more and so on exponentially until the entire hat-wearing population of the world look like idiots who can't figure out which way to wear caps. This wouldn't actually happen though, of course. Why? Because the idea of inverse hat-wearage lacks inherent force. To propagate, an idea must be one that can really spread itself. Consider democracy. Democracy, once established, tends to want to spread. The same is true of most religions. The ideas that endure are the ones that either claim to be necessary or that really bring some tangible benefit. In other words, the ideas that survive are the ones that shape their surroundings to encourage spread. If we regard ideas as Von Neumann machines, this second idea has some startling implications.

If ideas are capable of altering their surroundings and of replication, then we have an explanation for why ideas evolve over time. An idea arises under a given set of conditions and then alters them. Under new conditions the idea may or may not be capable of survival so it will have to change. The variants of an idea that survive will be adapted to the new environment will continue propagation and further alter the environment in a continuous cycle. This cycle occurs because an idea will invariably result in an environment ill-suited to its continuation. Democracy again provides an example. Democracy is popular (almost by definition) but democracies usually choose bad policies. This causes a new form of government (usually a less friendly one) to step in a restore power/order to a chaotic situation. Then the system slides back the other way over time.

What can we learn from this? Any idea, even after successful implementation, will tend to suffer distortion over time. This is why, if an idea is to last, it must be tied to something it is powerless to directly change. This, I assert, is where the U.S. Constitution failed. The ideas in the document were subject to interpretation, and interpretation was based in external conditions. External conditions were altered by the Constitution, and the feedback loop has caused some, ah, issues. The solution? No clue, except one. Contrive a system that cannot be altered by its own influences. Isolate an idea from its effects and allow it to spread to the limits of its jurisdiction. Thus, stability is attained. The drawback is that it limits the idea's operational lifetime. Unable to evolve, it will die rather abruptly. Still, this may be worth the cost if the idea can last long enough. An example of this would be a constitution with no means of amendment. Change would come suddenly but only after a considerable period. This may be preferable to gradual decline. Pick your poison. The world of self-replicating, evolving entities is a bizarre one, but limitation of evolution may delay damage.

Pool Pics

These photos are part of my "motion experiments" project. They all involve high apeture and low shutter speed. The last one is probably the best, the other two would probably look better in black and white.

My computer crashed twice while I was writing this...

I like computers. Really, I do. But I just don't understand some of their...eccentricities. Imagine if today's operating systems were cars.

Windows XP

This is a Volkswagen Microbus fifteen feet long with the engine of a Pinto. It's large, wobbly, cartoonish, and seems to heavy for the available power to move it an inch. Upon entering the vehicle we find large, squishy seat cushions in primary colors. They are actually quite comfortable once one overcomes the sensation of returning to kindergarten. Time to drive. Insert the key into the ignition and turn it. Three to five minutes later, the engine starts. Now gently press the accelerator. Nothing happens. But what did you expect? We need Service Pack One. Time to get out and push. After four hours of painful dragging, pleading, shoving, we manage to navigate the Macrobus to the Microsoft dealership. There we receive Service Pack One: 15,000 pounds of armor plate to protect against attackers. The engine now gives a sort of feeble moan when started. But not to fear, Service Pack Two has been released! It strips off the 15,000 pounds of armor plate and installs 15,000 pounds of Kevlar. Also included are extra rubber bands for the engine.

Windows Vista

This is a slight upgrade. Vista is a conversion van. It is painted an attractive designer color and has a smooth, understated interior. Lifting the hood, however, reveals that the engine in encased in a solid block of epoxy to prevent any amateur mechanics from tinkering. The overall effect, though, is rather better than XP. Now turn the key. A light comes on in the dashboard. "Are you sure you want to turn on Vista?" Hit yes. Five to eight minutes later, the engine starts. Now look at the gear selector. Your options are Documents, Pictures, Music, and Games. Click Music. The little light switches back on. "Are you sure you want to listen to music?" Hit yes, maybe a bit more firmly this time. It opens Windows Media Player, or WMP. If Iraq had been discovered to be developing WMP, Obama would not be President. Microsoft can get away with it. But your Vista system was not really meant for playing music or typing documents. No, it exists mainly to update itself. You can't turn in on, turn it off, or touch it without having to visit the dealership for chunks of armor plate until the smooth, designer interior looks like the inside of a blender full of random nuts and bolts. Even then, it asks, "Are you sure you want to attack your computer with an axe?" "Are you sure you want to withdraw the axe from the keyboard?" "Are you sure you want to prepare to swing again?" "Are you sure y--"

Mac OS X

This is a shiny white Lamborghini Murcielago. It's fast, pretty, and no one else you know owns one. Upon entering the vehicle, we find that the seats automatically adjust, the mirrors change angle, and the engine starts, emitting a low, powerful hum. You begin to pull onto the highway, anxious to put the car through its paces, only to be informed that the interstate is not Mac-compatible. It turns out that only 4.5 percent of roads in this nation will allow the use of your Lamborghini. Even more disturbingly, the car seems to drive itself. Everything happens almost magically and without clear input, although your checking account seems to be empty and mine is swiftly draining. It's been fun, but it is also time to move on to Linux. The doors will not open. The locks close again as fast as we can open them. Once you buy a Mac and "experience" it, there is no escape. Luckily for you, I remembered to pack an acetylene torch.

Linux

I'm not yet sure what the Linux car is, because all we currently have is two tons of assorted parts and assembly instructions derived by consensus. Its incarnations range from a Corvette to a Beetle. Thanks to my prodigious programming and system design skills, ours is a bird fountain with three awkwardly positioned wheels.

You'll note that the software industry is not receiving a massive bailout. Perhaps they are just not worthy. But I suspect that the government still uses a single, enormous, convoluted abacus.