Nyet! Neutrality!

16 December 2017

The underlying principle behind “Net Neutrality” would also bar Disneyland or Kings Island from selling “fast passes.” It’s just not fuh-fuh-fair that some people can afford, and are willing to pay for, cooler stuff than I can. This analogy is super apt. You don’t “need” to watch NetFlix or display your virtues on FaceBook any more than you “need” to ride The Beast or Space Mountain. History is replete with examples of the tragedy of the commons, usually leading to depletion of resources, deforestation, and starvation. Today’s lefties would inflict similar damages to net freedom.

We witness it almost everyday on the socialist road system. When there is no apparent cost to enter and max out your consumption, people will enter when they wish and max out their consumption — getting the goods before their greedy neighbors catch on. With toll roads and net freedom, people will assess the costs of their consumption without the assurance that casual users are subsidizing their cherished hobbies, and actually think about the cost of their goods and maybe consider alternatives to peak use periods.

update 171222:  correspondent EA ignores my point and enquires after my empathy. Then she wishes for me to experience the soul crushing anguish, apparently, of waiting on line and seeing those who can afford the fast pass blow by me and my family. Unfortunately for her presumed designs on my misery, I was actually there at the time and it didn’t bother me in the least. I knew the deal going in, and I hope I took it like a grown up. I don’t recall my daughter’s reaction at the time; it seems to me she was just mainly delighted to be there. EA goes on to opine that those who do hold such perks are “spoiled brats” endowed by their “parents’ inheritance” or their ability to “thrive off… minimum-wager[s.]”

Based on her broad sneers at “the rich,” correspondent TE expresses grave concerns about the ideological environment in which EA raises her children and wonders what this might portend for their future lives. This apparently makes him a “Neo-Nazi”, or likened thereto (EA), or at least “discourteous” per correspondent ML.

Gentle Gene scratches his head and ponders that one.

Correspondent EA goes on to warn us that without the protections of “Net Neutrality”, we face as much net access as North Koreans.
Correspondent GP warns that without government oversight, service providers will price us all out of the market. Correspondent RW points out that competition will work against such fantastic monopoly scenarios. GP steps up her objections to net freedom by citing examples of “corporate” insiders paying off legislators and regulators. I thank both EA and GP for their concessions in re state control and regulatory capture.
Correspondent BA wonders whether government should treat the net as a “public utility” and correspondent ML points out that the net was created by the government, and is therefore still the property of government and therefore in its proper sphere of control.

I’m willing to concede that FedGov got there first. But it is in the nature of techno-geeks that they’re going to play with their toys. Propelled by the twin advantages of plunder funding and suffocating regulations for the rest of us it is not a surprise that Leviathan wins again. So what? Since darpa-net, thousands of additional servers and millions of man-hours have been devoted to it and it has grown well beyond the nursery. More private hours and private resources have been devoted to develop what we know as the net today and what we may not yet imagine for the future than was initiated in Al Gore’s garage.

I’m even willing to concede that early growth took place over cable systems that were controlled by government enfranchised monopolies. Again, so what? Despite its corrupt origins it is still private property. Throughout history rights in real property have been created by homesteading and development and negotiation. To suggest that all the results belong to those who only planted the seed is to ignore the years of skull-sweat, tedium, and toil that went into our present good fortune. (That was also the excuse of the Ante Bellum slave-master and the East German border-guard.)

“Net Neutrality” was a cruel hoax that helped to solidify the positions of entrenched insiders (as all regulations do). It was a response to a problem that didn’t exist, and the horror stories that attended its demise will soon fade from memory.

update 171224:  I thought that was a fitting ending, above, but correspondent ML invites me to a more thorough discussion of the issues in a less vituperative environment, and challenges me to address “the disconnect”, though he declines to clarify what that might be.

I respond — Not to worry, after four decades and more of advocating peace, freedom, and personal sovereignty, I am well accustomed to being belittled, berated, and reviled. So far, my delicate little feelings seem to remain uninjured.
This latest crop of invective (spoiled, stupid, disingenuous, lacking empathy, magic, and Neo-Nazi) seems fairly tame. Well, okeh, I guess throwing “Neo-Nazi” was a little nasty, and so far has been neither recanted nor renounced. I’ll wait.
Meanwhile, Happy Xmas and Shalom!

update 171226:  For the record and to his credit, correspondent ML apologizes for “magic”, stands on “disingenuous” and attempts to mitigate EA’s “Neo-Nazi” remark with a weak “he started it” defense. Also, for the record, I still love ML and EA, but so far only respect, admire, and enjoy TE (as we’re mostly strangers). Upon reflection, I think maybe TE believes now that he should have known better. Warning parents about the physical, moral, or ideological dangers they expose their children to rarely works out well. I believe his intentions were benign, and I expect that if he didn’t recognize the petit gaff himself, then Mrs Colonel Potter has clued him in.

update 211129: Since the above was composed, I have come to learn that Mrs Colonel Potter may have already withdrawn from schooling correspondent TE. I wish them both well as they pursue their now separate lives.

“They call me… Mister Lad!”

5 March 2019

I don’t hide my excitement when it comes to super-heroic fantasy, particularly my beloved Legion of Super-Heroes. As rumors abound about the portents of an anticipated Bendis Book, questions arise about the likely venue, tone, or composition. Since 1958 the LSH has undergone many transitions, but it has generally been an optimistic story about righteousness vanquishing evil (until the next issue), leavened with enough teen angst to make it relateable to its target audience.

The talk lately on the message boards has been what to do about Matter-Eater Lad (nee Tenzil Kem). Should we redefine his powers or alter his backstory or give him an edgy new name like The Masticator or Devourex?

Edgy names and edgy characters have been way overdone. Unlike many fanboys, most Legionnaires are too self-assured of their own identities and tribal allegiance to trip the light iconoclastic. I adore Mark Waid (second only to The Levitz Himself, and possibly me, Lethargy Lad, in canonical scholarship), but his Edgie Legion of the Naughties (except for the presence of Supergirl) may have been the nadir of their run.

ABSOLUTELY bring back Tenz, do not modify his powers, and call him Matter-Eater Lad. Even if he’s drawn to look like a fifty or eighty year old ex-President of Bismoll, call him LAD!
Or Garbage Gut. We could live with Garbage Gut.

Hapless Birthdays

25 February 2022

As kindly and benign as the intent was, I just couldn’t bring myself to answer the phone today. Mrs Axis likes to think she still cares, I presume, and maybe she does, but I’m not a fan of birthdays, in particular, nor of holidays in general. I like to be happy when I’m happy. Smiling on cue doesn’t work for me. Off stage, anyway. I’ll put on Christmas music in July if I feel like it, but I am not apt to take notice of “normal” birthdays or holidays. I am well beyond the single digits, and, at sixty-six, I’m even past the fractions of a century. And this one also doesn’t end in a zero. So I’ll just pass on courting more trouble this time, thanks.

8 September 2022

Try as I do to avoid them, they still tend to crowd my head. The pressure is particularly great during this upcoming Nativity Season. Contra Vivaldi, I think there should be more than just Four Seasons. There’s baseball, harvest, Christmas, planting, skiing… lots of seasons, and many of them overlap. For me, the Nativity Season begins in a day or so, on Early Riser‘s birthday. Within a week it will be Diva Dearest‘s, then in another two weeks more or less it will be Bud‘s, and three weeks after that will be Sugar‘s. Four birthdays in six weeks may not seem like a lot of pressure, but these four ARE a big deal, and always will be. These four are among the people (other than my own children) whom I’ve loved the most, and whose absence I still regularly mourn. All four of them have had their fill of me and have thrown me out. I never stopped loving them, and I never will, irrespective of whatever (real or imagined) crimes of which they will accuse me. It’s not a contradiction to have mixed emotions. I can respect your skills and still abhor your character. Or vice versa. Your mileage may vary.

5 March 2023 — Over and over, perhaps I need to rethink this stuff. As loathsome as holidays are to me, I must remember that I am the outlier here. So, no more generic “birthday season” greetings. Next time (or never) it’s going to be SPECIFIC! One card each! Doesn’t matter if it’s trite, puerile, or superficial. ONE CARD EACH! (May be too late for some, but…)

“I’ve been wrong before and I’ll be there again.”

22 February 2022

I’ve misunderstood before what friendship means and who are actually friends and who just like my occasionally amusing quips. I may never fully grasp it, but the last couple of years have taught me a bit more about what friendship is not. It seems to have less to do with honesty than with tiptoeing around delicate little feelings.

“In the field of [social intercourse] it’s plowin’ time again.”

Lyric from “Field of Opportunity” by Neil Young, 1978

Lyrical Scraps

Shabby Tricks”   23 August 1985
Shabby tricks!
You always pull such stinking shabby tricks!
You’re always getting yourself in a fix!
Down a ditch!
Up a crick without a paddle and you pull us in with shabby tricks!
You really are a foul disgrace!
You’re really in disfavor, ‘cause we hate the flavor,
Of your dirty lowdown shabby tricks!

With the Hair and the Music” 14 January 1994
What’s the matter with kids these days?
Goin’ through life in a smoky haze?
Why do they think that violence pays?
What kind of monsters did we raise?
With the guns and the drugs and the hair and the music!

Oldie, the round-Heeled Spice Girl” w/ Robi Jo &al (1 March 2000)

Well you know
Ginger, and Baby, and Sporty, and Scary,
Cinnamon, Nutmeg, Posh and Rosemary!
But do you recall,
The most ancient Spice Girl of all!

Hello my name is Old Spice,
And I wear the lamest clothes.
My legs are veined and wrinkly,
And I don’t wear pantyhose.
All of the other Spice Girls
Put out for the football team.
They just will not believe that
I was once their Pops’ wet dream.

When Versace hosts a ball,
We’ll show up to play!
When that party starts to stall
Then we’re on our way!
If you wanna be my lover,
Ya gotta get up with my friends.
But if you think it’s too much bother,
Then you can just kiss our rear ends!

“Capitol Hill” (28 December 2002)
(meter stolen from Sherwood Schwartz)

Just vote for me and I’ll bring home pork from Washington DC.
We’ll soak the other taxpayers, but you’ll get yours for free.
We’ll build you a mighty welfare state, and it will be your slave,
Offering full coverage from the cradle to the grave
(The cradle to the grave…)

We’ll regulate small businesses, we’ll tie them up in knots.
If not for the vigor of the working class, the budget would be shot.
(The budget would be shot…)

When things turn sour we’ll duck the blame,
You cannot pin us down.
Not two Senators, your Congressman (doodle-oodle-oot-doo)
The President, or his Vice (waa waa waaah)
His Cabinet, the Supreme Court, or the Pentagon!
What a slick bunch of lice!

(intermezzo)

So, that’s the way the system works, we’ll rob the country blind.
And blame each other’s party, you’ll buy it every time.
The Donkey and the Elephant will patronize the pest
Who whimpers for free goodies from the public treasure chest.
“New roads! Food stamps! More benefits! Not a single user fee!”
Don’t call it “Socialism”, we say “Democracy!”

So watch the action on the floor, it’s sure to make you ill.
Those lying scheming Congressmen, there on Capitol Hill!

“Don’t Touch My Junk” (w/ John Tyner, 23 November 2010)

I’m not a fan of your scans, but without help from God above,
You won’t touch my junk…
I wanna fly through the skies without fear of harrassment,
And no I’m not impressed with yer professional detachment,
Yer gropin’ up my thigh provokes a natural reaction,
Don’t touch my junk!

I want to fly to the west when my trip commences,
With my self respect and my common senses,
(You don’t need to know if I am on my menses),
Don’t want irradiated and don’t want molested,
Don’t touch my junk!

I think them porno portals are carcinogenic,
The latex on yer fist don’t make you a medic,
So git yer mitts off of my sweet stuff,
You’re givin’ me a headache,
Don’t touch my junk!

“Fake News” (2 September 2018)
“Week fans’ swank fee wakes fen, knew safe, kens a few.” — N.E. Fawkes

“Media Madness” (28 November 2018)
(meter stolen from Graham Nash)

In a cloistered room in Congress,
Under wraps so the world can’t see,
The President is hobbled,
In the name of “Democracy!”

Mueller-Trump Madness is thrilling the country!
It’s partisan hack work! It’s Dems on a spree!

Did Putin hack Her e-mails?
Did Assange let the truth get free?
Will schemers share the details,
For suborning perjury?

Manafort Madness is filling my country
With shock and amusement, free of dignity!

Wood Bits”     26 March 2019
Hoo Ray for Wally Wood!
Big-breasted women never looked so good!
The way he’d draw a damsel in distress
Without a dress!
In pen and ink his work was…
Undeniably the best!

Dear Diary(25 May 2019)
Did ya rare airy dread dry ear aid? Add ire ray.
Day raider read diary. I dye radar.
Dairy dare: aired yard.
Dryad Aire dried Arya.
A Dreary Id

“Space Gun 2036” (20 June 2019 for Wells et al)
“O Very Newt, we try oven.”
New Votery, Envy Tower,
Everytown

At the Vectory               5 May 2020
Germs are all around!  Every surface, every pore!
Pathogens abound!  Wuhan Flu™ and so much more!
Now I don’t know if I’m being cautious,
And I don’t know if I’m being fooled.
But I put on the mask like they ask us,
Though I know that I look like a tool.

Sanitize the world!  Spray down anything that moves!
Battle flags unfurled!  Our campaign is in the groove!
It’s a cinch that we’ll vanquish this virus!
By employing new means of control!
I can’t shake the thought that they’ve had us!
Or that next year I’m catching a cold.

A Lady Tonight, Syntax Be. 24 September 2020  
Predated Bill, Ted, and Yoda by decades, did Damon Runyan.
This he would do with most elegant prose.

Dough Reigh Miegh
12 October 2020  
A-C-B!
Much better than R-B-G!
Confirm her A-S-A-P, U-L-C,
Dems go mad throughout D-C!

Natural Anti-Semitism

13 February 2019

Anti-Semitism is the inescapable confluence of bigotry and demography.

Most ignorant savages hate and fear smart people. They either “think” that we’re evil wizards, or that we’re up to no good. (“[Constantly imposing] their safety and hygiene and prosperity [on the skeptical.]”) On the other hand, they seem to have no trouble at all with their cold beer, TVs, or “smart” phones. (“Oh look! Bright colors!“)

Decades of psychometric examinations on thousands of subjects have clearly shown that, Jews, taken as a cohort, often described as “crafty, cunning, clever, and conniving” (all ways of saying “smarter than me”) are indeed smarter than the rest of us, just edging out the East Asians in second place.

Can’t have that. [Them smart people is up ta sumpthin!]

update 190218:
At Matthew 6:6 Ministries, we are definitely Up to Know Good!
In addition to brains, poetry is also good, and I’d love to provide some. Instead, I’ll offer this collaboration from me and Elvis of Puna, with meter stolen from Hanna, Barbera, or one of their many minions:

Fundtsteins!
Meet the Fundtsteins!
They’re the modern Jewish family!
All their —
Sons are lawyers,
And their daughter has a PhD!
When it’s —
Time for you to pay your tax!
You can —
Be assured that you’ll relax,
With a —
Tax accountant,
Who knows all the hidden secrets,
You’ll never regret,
Your Jewish CPA!

Resisting or Yielding to Temptations

18 February 2022

I was good. Really I was. I had considered showing up wearing a useless facemask, just to wave my dick a little. In fact, I was going to cover it first with safety pins, thus folding in an earlier schtick that was de rigueur a season or so back. That way, of course, I would be twice as safe. I think I’ll do that anyway, adorn my surviving mask with safety pins, so that it’ll be ready when a harried merchant requests or a bureaucratic thug demands it next. But I did not wear it to Sugar‘s ([and BUD‘s!]) house, as much as I was tempted to crow out how much I’d told the world this time. But I was a guest, and besides, I’m a coward, so I wasn’t about to stir up an unnecessary confrontation.

But avoiding provocation didn’t help, because out of the blue and apropos of nothing apparent, FP decided that she needed to look after L’Historienne‘s welfare, in whose home I will be living for the week or so it takes me to secure my own accommodations in Texas. “Has [she] been vaccinated (sic), and does she know that you haven’t been?” I assured her that L’H was fully aware of my jab-free status, and that she was also uninjected and uninfected with these experimental concoctions.

FP then had to go on and regale me with sad anecdotes about some of her “anti-vax” friends who (at advanced ages and with possible other compromises) had taken quite ill and in fact, in one case, actually succumbed. I agreed that that was very sad, then we sat awkwardly until pleasanter discourse prevailed. Maybe I should have expected as much, but I failed to reckon with how enduring a love of fear of Wuhan Flu® could be. 

A Promise is a Promise

update 220213: In Autumn of 1969, my (half-)sister was not yet seven and I was not yet fourteen, and we were both fresh to Hawaii and living in temporary housing. Her father (and my nemesis) had recently been transferred to his new assignment at Pearl Harbor and the Navy had yet to find permanent billeting for his dependents. July’s moon landing was fresh in our memories, and I was the weird kid who was super excited about the Apollo program. Looking up at a clear night sky, she asked me if I would take her with me to the moon, and I assured her that if that’s what she wanted, then I would.

You probably already know most of the intervening story, but years later I began to feel the pangs of having disappointed both myself and her, which was prompted by advertisements for a quarter ounce silver coin forged in the image of Luna. In the same package as the coin, I also sent her a copy of my latest novel, and this letter:

28 July 2020

Hey Kid,

Every promise carries weight, and as the years go by,
if they are not resolved, they get heavier and heavier. 

Promises made TO children carry the most weight.  Weight of commitment, because it is as important to teach children to trust as it is to teach them to be trustworthy, to cherish and to honor as much as to be cherished and honored.

Promises made BY children carry a different kind of weight altogether.  Weight of charm and weight of sentiment.   And the very least weight of commitment.  Children are childish and they do and say childish things, so we tend to take them less seriously than other people.  Still, we do want to encourage them to live up to their commitments as best they can, and to expect the same from others.

That boy standing on the balcony by the tabasco tree in Waipahu meant every word he said when he promised his sister the moon.  I think by now we can give him a bit of a break.  He was young and naïve and optimistic.  And plenty stupid.  He’s still plenty stupid, of course, that never changes, and naïve and optimistic, but not so young.  A little more experienced perhaps, and maybe a little more cautious and circumspect.  Certainly, less hasty to lead with his heart.

Still, a promise is a promise. 
For now, Kiddo, this is the most moon I can manage. 
Sorry about the delay.  Enjoy!
And I haven’t completely given up hope on the actual moon,
but it’s not looking all that promising.

her response (210822): “Good morning, [Gene], I want to thank you very much for the book and moon coin. I have not started the book yet, but will soon. The letter and moon coin brought tears to my eyes.” For all of my contempt for her father, I am nevertheless grateful that he lived, at least long enough to sire her. It may be the only good thing he ever did. I think she’s the best, and her husband, children, and grandchildren all seem to agree with me.

What’s a Nine Digit Word for Rubbish?

The nine digit ZIP Code is utter nonsense.
The original proposal for the Zone Identification Postal Code had merit. With just five digits, potentially a hundred thousand discrete locations, you can get a letter or a package to the nearest post office.

For decades, on the outsides of my correspondence, I have put only my name (or usually just my initials), my street address, and the five digits. Never a problem. For a couple of months in 1976 or ‘77 I sent it out with addressees’ explicit city and state lacking, as those data are supposedly subsumed by the ZIP Code. But, because the Post Office employs human beings (who are idiots) they couldn’t figure out how to read their own allegedly superior system, yet they somehow managed to get it back to me, marked “undeliverable”.

Insofar as the USPS can’t be relied on to take itself seriously, and those extra four digits only allow for ten thousand locations within each Zone, it is clearly inadequate to the urban scene, and irrelevant to the rural.
190208

If I Were So Wired

10 February 2019

I’ve long coveted the assurance of religious conviction, but my skeptical nature denies me such comforts. I understand the temptations of disbelievers to be swayed by extraordinary coincidence, extreme emotional trauma, and sentiment. Often the birth of a child or a near death experience will do it.

Last Friday a colleague of mine suffered a great personal tragedy. Her granddaughter was killed in an auto accident which also took the life of the girl’s de facto stepmother and put her father and her brother into intensive care with grim prognoses. It constitutes a very tough time for said colleague, and while I know I cannot help with the most important work of hugging and crying and sitting quietly as needs be, I still want to help. Cash can paper over a lot of logistical difficulties in the middle of such stress because the crap part of life never lets up. Whether it’s rushing meals or missing work or making arrangements for relatives, cash can help smooth the way. My means are modest, but I can help a little. Mine is the easy part; I cannot even begin to imagine what a bereaved grandmother must be going through. My heart breaks hard enough at just the thought of it.

Last night (Saturday) at the Quikk Stopp by the Interstate, a regular friendly customer, a local Corrections Officer, concluded the transaction portion of his visit, and rather than bidding each other the cordial farewells we normally do, he paused and looked a little bit embarrassed.

“I don’t mean to be weird,” he said, “but the Holy Spirit told me to give you this.” He pushed a wad of bills across the counter.
I picked it up and stammered and managed to say, “Wow. Thanks, CO.”
He smiled and said, “Christ loves you,” and turned and began to walk out.
“I…” was all I could think to say as I watched him leave.

It’s not unprecedented for shop clerks to receive gratuities. It’s not common, either, certainly not the standard. Maybe around holidays sometimes, after establishing personal relationships. (And of course there’s that occasional bit of “keep the metal” from some customers.) Actual deliberate tips, though, are rare, and usually just a matter of a small bill or two, but this was a day’s wage. This was something special.

A day’s wage is pretty much what I had already resolved to kick over to Comrade First Shift but just hadn’t yet. I’m not procrastinating, I can read the schedule so I know when she’ll be back. Right now she doesn’t need me in her shit. When she returns to her lighter paycheck she’ll also find my little boost with CO’s extra helping backing me up.

What so moved CO to bestow so lavish a gift? Well, he told me already, didn‘t he? It was “the Holy Spirit.” I expect he believes it, and I think I might like to, but for about a half a century now I’ve made a pretty steady claim of atheist materialism — with a generous dollop of Rastafarian Agnostic Sybarite folded in for flavor. CO spends his time around people who are a lot worse off than me. If he wanted to help someone out, and witness the gospel at the same time, I expect he has plenty of opportunities. Of course, working for the state, he may be constrained from proselytizing his charges.

I’m an old dude who works at the Quikk Stopp by the Interstate to keep himself in groceries and electricity and other expensive indulgences. My lifestyle is not lavish, but I’m not particularly suffering. Maybe I’m his mission and he thinks I need the help. Sometimes there are holes in my clothing, and my shaves and haircuts are often haphazard and irregular (because I don‘t care), so maybe he thinks I’m hungry. I don’t complain (about that.) Was my vicarious grief in response to Comrade First’s loss apparent in my body language? Did CO already know about the tragedy and was relying on my presumed character to “do the right thing”? A calculated risk that, but not impossible.

So far I am unable to rule out subconscious reasoning, subterfuge, deceit, coincidence, or psychic manipulation. Or divine intervention. My (poor) understanding of the mathematics underpinning current physical theory opens me to many unprecedented phenomena, but because they are unprecedented, the burden of proof rests on the positive. Of course, I expect CO would remind me that history is replete with reports of miracles, so, so much for “unprecedented”, and I might point out that sometimes you’re dealt a pat hand. I do know that I was emotionally distraught. People who know me tell me I have some obvious tells, and CO has been acquainted with me for at least a couple of years. His trade (security and corrections) calls for a good ability to read people. With inmates specifically I guess he’s watching for violence, but in so doing he’s also learning the emotional language that overlaps with other venues.

I’m no Saul of Tarsus, and I have no conversion to report, but I have a better idea now of what rapture and agape mean. It was a unique emotional rush for me, that confluence of circumstances — sadness, compassion, resolve, amazement, delight. And fraternity! CO is a man whom I’ve grown to trust and respect, and he offered to enfold me in his and Christ’s love!

If I were so wired…