Tracking the arms of Morpheus.

If you ever needed proof that government is the least effective way to govern, consider the gridlock on death row in many states. The roadblock is the authorities can’t get the drugs they need to conduct the executions. Meanwhile, tens of thousands of ordinary citizens are successfully giving themselves lethal injections every year.  Once again, the private sector leads the way. Myself, I oppose capital punishment. My logic is –  and try to follow me here –  we shouldn’t kill people. Except some guys, because every once in a while there’s somebody who ought to be put down like a rabid skunk.

Or Paterson, New Jersey

Okay, I looked it up. Worldwide, about 150,000 people die every day. That’s right around the entire population of Rockford, Illinois. Fortunately it doesn’t happen in a localized way like that, with Rockford suddenly a massive cleanup challenge and no more Cheap Trick concerts ever. That would be creepy but also it would have advantages for everybody else, because if Rockford had already done all the dying we needed for the day you could go ahead with all the potentially fatal activities you’ve been wanting to try. I can’t think of any right now, but you know what I mean.

OED, QED

I like how we just use whatever word works the best even if it’s not originally English. That’s useful since strictly speaking there are no precise words in our actual language for pizza, schmuck, angst, sombrero, ninja, kiosk, brassiere, sauna, kindergarten, shampoo, ukulele, pajamas, ketchup, almanac, slalom, chutzpah, robot, glissando, bamboo, paprika, tungsten, tundra, gumption, armadillo, and yoga. Also, mad props to the Norman invasion because if it wasn’t for French we’d describe hamburgers as being composed of ground cow, which is accurate but unappetizing. And nine out of ten reed players agree, embouchure sounds so much better than enmouthment.

Pencils. Music. Soup.

Nothing funny this morning. Instead, I shall impart some knowledge you may find, if not vitally useful, at least utterly useless. Johann Eberhard Faber was born in Bavaria in 1822, moved to the United States in 1848, and opened a pencil factory in 1861. (He was descended from an ancient lineage of pencil-makers back in the old country.)There is no connection here with the bassist and composer Eberhard Weber, but you should check him out anyway. Anyway, Faber reportedly named his Mongol pencil after purée Mongole, his favorite soup. I will find a recipe, cook it, and write about that.

Lives of the Philosophers, Pt. 6

Arthur Schopenhauer is confusing – a racist anti-Semite abolitionist proto-Buddhist, a eugenicist and an animal rights advocate. According to Wikipedia, his ideas had a tremendous influence on folks like Nietzsche, Tolstoy, Wittgenstein, Schrödinger, Mahler, Einstein, Jung, Shaw, Borges and Beckett, which probably goes without saying to anyone who has noted their common rejection of epistemological transcendental idealism. What the article does not mention is Schopenhauer’s brief cameo in a typically witty Ira Gershwin lyric. Also, I recommend finding a picture of him and deciding for yourself if he was responsible for the haircut on that guy from Flock of Seagulls.

ecru au lait

Odd to think that every paint company has at least one person whose job it is to think up new words for beige. Unfair that expensive trousers of the same nominal size are roomier although poor people tend to be fatter. Peculiar when commercial bakeries sell home-made bread, unless maybe they’re sleeping there. Weird to talk about the courage it takes to be a leader without giving any recognition to the cowardice required of followers, and ironic to observe a roomful of folks in neat business casual attire dutifully taking notes as a self-appointed expert conducts Lessons in Effective Leadership.

Nobody's from Venus.

Science fiction was more fun back when the solar system was inhabited by near-human races who epitomized their respective planets. Warlike Martians, jovial Jovians, grumpy Saturnians. Now we know for a fact that even if there’s something approximating life in, say, little moist pockets of Mars, these alien critters are likely to be microscopic, anaerobic, and stubbornly uncommunicative. Worse, since Pluto was demoted, my very excellent mother just says, um… no.  No pies. It’s okay. I have a cool mnemonic for recalling the names of the planets. I just say to myself, “Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune.”