I wanted to put up a post, but I'm a little pressed for time... time to post a video! Because I have been scarfing on stinging nettles for the past week (tomorrow, I am planning on harvesting a buttload (known to users of the metric system as a fuckton) of nettles tomorrow, cooking them, and freezing a portion for later use. I made creamed nettles last time (hat tip to Pupienus Maximus, who should have his "Cooking for Numbnuts" blog, but he's lazy), but I am envisioning nettle "spanakopita" and fettucini with nettles (or nettle fettucini... nettucini?). Here's a video on harvesting wild nettles:
Stingy has never tasted so good!
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Friday, May 6, 2011
I See My Old Comrades, How Proudly They March
Reading about the death of the last WWI veteran, I could not help but be struck by the opening sentence:
The last known combat veteran of World War I was defiant of his place in history, becoming a pacifist who wouldn’t march in parades commemorating wars like the one that made him famous.
This, of course, reminded me of the song And the Band Played "Waltzing Matilda", in which an old (SPOILER ALERT), maimed veteran of the Battle of Gallipoli ponders his service, his maiming, and the celebration of celebration of ANZAC Day- these particular lines jumped into my mind:
Now every April I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me
I see my old comrades, how proudly they march
Renewing their dreams of past glories
I see the old men all tired, stiff and worn
Those weary old heroes of a forgotten war
And the young people ask "What are they marching for?"
And I ask myself the same question
And the band plays Waltzing Matilda
And the old men still answer the call
But year after year, their numbers get fewer
Someday, no one will march there at all.
Rest in peace, Claude Stanley Choules, rest in peace.
My introduction to the song was to the version by The Pogues, but the song was written by Scottish born resident of Australia Eric Bogle. As much as I love The Pogues, I'm going to embed the original:
Mr Bogle also wrote the song No Man's Land also known as "The Green Fields of France", another anti-war song rooted inspired by the "War to End All Wars":
Although Mr. Bogle's two most famous songs were inspired by the horrors of the First World War, he also wrote about more trivial topics, he also has a talent for trenchant satire, old man grumpiness, and wistful prettiness.
As an added public service, I'll embed a version of Waltzing Matilda... I referenced billabongs in a previous post, it's the appropriate thing to do:
The last known combat veteran of World War I was defiant of his place in history, becoming a pacifist who wouldn’t march in parades commemorating wars like the one that made him famous.
This, of course, reminded me of the song And the Band Played "Waltzing Matilda", in which an old (SPOILER ALERT), maimed veteran of the Battle of Gallipoli ponders his service, his maiming, and the celebration of celebration of ANZAC Day- these particular lines jumped into my mind:
Now every April I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me
I see my old comrades, how proudly they march
Renewing their dreams of past glories
I see the old men all tired, stiff and worn
Those weary old heroes of a forgotten war
And the young people ask "What are they marching for?"
And I ask myself the same question
And the band plays Waltzing Matilda
And the old men still answer the call
But year after year, their numbers get fewer
Someday, no one will march there at all.
Rest in peace, Claude Stanley Choules, rest in peace.
My introduction to the song was to the version by The Pogues, but the song was written by Scottish born resident of Australia Eric Bogle. As much as I love The Pogues, I'm going to embed the original:
Mr Bogle also wrote the song No Man's Land also known as "The Green Fields of France", another anti-war song rooted inspired by the "War to End All Wars":
Although Mr. Bogle's two most famous songs were inspired by the horrors of the First World War, he also wrote about more trivial topics, he also has a talent for trenchant satire, old man grumpiness, and wistful prettiness.
As an added public service, I'll embed a version of Waltzing Matilda... I referenced billabongs in a previous post, it's the appropriate thing to do:
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Secret Science Club Post-Event Recap
Last night, the Secret Science Club hosted Rutgers University physics support specialist and experimenter extraordinaire David Maiullo in a program that could best be described as "an entire year of high school physics in an hour-and-a-half... WITH FLAMES!!!!!"
David and his assistant John began with a series of experiments demonstrating classical mechanics. His first "stunt" was the classic demonstration of inertia with the tablecloth trick. He demonstrated Newton's Second Law by lining up a sponge, a wood block, and a lead brick on a table, and hitting each with a hammer- launching the sponge into the audience, the wood block off the table, and hardly moving the lead brick at all. Force equalling mass times acceleration, an equal force was able to "accelerate" the lower mass objects more than the higher mass objects. He demonstrated Newton's Third Law (for every action, there is an opposite and equal reaction) by propelling himself on a cart with a cannister of carbon dioxide. Ah, enough of my yapping, here's a video of a physics demonstration- David Maiullo is the muscular gentleman in the T-shirt:
One of the highlights of the demonstration dealt with a visualization of sound waves WITH FIRE!!!!!
Here's David's "singing bowl" demonstration:
I had the benefit of watching these demonstrations at the beautiful Bell House, while quaffing pints of beer. Beer, science, and FIRE!!!! Hell, he even "popped" hydrogen-filled balloons with a blowtorch... FOR SCIENCE!!!! What could possibly be better?
David Maiullo has been tapped to host the upcoming series Humanly Impossible on the National Geographic channel. Show the man some L-U-V because he's an all-around great guy. Plus, he's doing the Good Work, bringing his demonstrations to university-level physics classes, elementary school classes, and beer-guzzling nightclub patrons. His current assistant, John, is finishing up his degree in science education and will be teaching high school physics in the fall. Hopefully, he'll get a spinoff show, maybe a sitcom about a young physics teacher.
I have to say, also, that while I am totes het, David and John are pretty damn hunky- they're the kind of hunky science guys that one usually associates with the casts of science-fiction thrillers or the faculties of New Zealand universities. I am saying this in totally hetero fashion, mind you.
David and his assistant John began with a series of experiments demonstrating classical mechanics. His first "stunt" was the classic demonstration of inertia with the tablecloth trick. He demonstrated Newton's Second Law by lining up a sponge, a wood block, and a lead brick on a table, and hitting each with a hammer- launching the sponge into the audience, the wood block off the table, and hardly moving the lead brick at all. Force equalling mass times acceleration, an equal force was able to "accelerate" the lower mass objects more than the higher mass objects. He demonstrated Newton's Third Law (for every action, there is an opposite and equal reaction) by propelling himself on a cart with a cannister of carbon dioxide. Ah, enough of my yapping, here's a video of a physics demonstration- David Maiullo is the muscular gentleman in the T-shirt:
One of the highlights of the demonstration dealt with a visualization of sound waves WITH FIRE!!!!!
Here's David's "singing bowl" demonstration:
I had the benefit of watching these demonstrations at the beautiful Bell House, while quaffing pints of beer. Beer, science, and FIRE!!!! Hell, he even "popped" hydrogen-filled balloons with a blowtorch... FOR SCIENCE!!!! What could possibly be better?
David Maiullo has been tapped to host the upcoming series Humanly Impossible on the National Geographic channel. Show the man some L-U-V because he's an all-around great guy. Plus, he's doing the Good Work, bringing his demonstrations to university-level physics classes, elementary school classes, and beer-guzzling nightclub patrons. His current assistant, John, is finishing up his degree in science education and will be teaching high school physics in the fall. Hopefully, he'll get a spinoff show, maybe a sitcom about a young physics teacher.
I have to say, also, that while I am totes het, David and John are pretty damn hunky- they're the kind of hunky science guys that one usually associates with the casts of science-fiction thrillers or the faculties of New Zealand universities. I am saying this in totally hetero fashion, mind you.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Gotta Lighten Things Up a Bit
My last couple of posts were pretty heavy, so I figure I'll put up a quick, light post before heading off to Brooklyn for a beer. The title of my last post was lifted from Hello Angel by Scruffy the Cat, a Boston-based bar band which made it to the college music charts with the single My Baby, She's Alright, in which singer Charlie Chesterman, in perhaps the most romantic lines ever written, describes the object of his adoration as long and lean like a Cadillac, supercharged like the Batmobile... ah, poesia romantica!
Charlie's voice is, paradoxically, droll yet lugubrious. Whether singing wistfully of unrequited love or fantasizing about getting away from it all, Charlie juxtaposed his wry vocals with a sincere delivery. Yeah, this guy could actually pull off comparing his girlfriend to the Batmobile. My brother Sweetums met Charlie, and Charlie, in characteristic smart-yet-goofy fashion advised him, "Ask each of your friends for a quarter, and be rich and friendly." Who the hell else would have given such good-natured, goofball advice?
Here's a great performance of the "relationship gone awry" lament My Fate Was Sealed With a Kiss:
Yeah, these guys were alt-country before alt-country was cool. Even if you don't dig their music, you have to recognize the fact that they may have had the best band logo of all time (drawn by the aforementioned Mr. Chesterman):
Unfortunately, the best Scruffy the Cat fansite has disappered (It was "tinybum")- the mp3 collection was great, including an incredible sequence of Teddy Bears' Picnic, Will the Circle be Unbroken, and Amazing Grace. Goofy to earnest, without missing a beat. I have steadfastly refused to update my browser (I'll probably spring for a new laptop sometime this year), so I can't access the unofficial "Myspace" page for Scruffy the Cat. Check it out if you do the Myspace thing, and if they have Teddy Bears' Picnic/Will the Circle Be Unbroken?/Amazing Grace, you're in for a treat. Another highlight is Swearing Off the Women, and I'm Swearing on the Booze, which, in clumsier or less good-natured hands, would have come across as a rotten "Men's Rights" anthem.
Charlie's voice is, paradoxically, droll yet lugubrious. Whether singing wistfully of unrequited love or fantasizing about getting away from it all, Charlie juxtaposed his wry vocals with a sincere delivery. Yeah, this guy could actually pull off comparing his girlfriend to the Batmobile. My brother Sweetums met Charlie, and Charlie, in characteristic smart-yet-goofy fashion advised him, "Ask each of your friends for a quarter, and be rich and friendly." Who the hell else would have given such good-natured, goofball advice?
Here's a great performance of the "relationship gone awry" lament My Fate Was Sealed With a Kiss:
Yeah, these guys were alt-country before alt-country was cool. Even if you don't dig their music, you have to recognize the fact that they may have had the best band logo of all time (drawn by the aforementioned Mr. Chesterman):
Unfortunately, the best Scruffy the Cat fansite has disappered (It was "tinybum")- the mp3 collection was great, including an incredible sequence of Teddy Bears' Picnic, Will the Circle be Unbroken, and Amazing Grace. Goofy to earnest, without missing a beat. I have steadfastly refused to update my browser (I'll probably spring for a new laptop sometime this year), so I can't access the unofficial "Myspace" page for Scruffy the Cat. Check it out if you do the Myspace thing, and if they have Teddy Bears' Picnic/Will the Circle Be Unbroken?/Amazing Grace, you're in for a treat. Another highlight is Swearing Off the Women, and I'm Swearing on the Booze, which, in clumsier or less good-natured hands, would have come across as a rotten "Men's Rights" anthem.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
The River's Rising, There's Gonna Be a Flood
And a lotta good people will be buried in the mud.
One topic that I can "geek out" about for a good long while is riparian geography. Seeing that this year's spring flood is going to rival the devastating floods of 1927, I figured that talking rivers would be timely.
Since the 18th Century, a series of levees have been built in an attempt to mitigate flooding and maintain the river's flow. The Mississippi is an old river, which shows characteristic features- fast moving water will erode portions of the riverbanks, and the sediment will be deposited in areas of slow moving water, changing the course of the river by forming bends in the river called meanders. The accumulation of sediment and a change in the main current of the river can "cut off" meanders and form oxbow lakes (known in the drouthy Antipodes as "billibongs"). The water course of an old river has a natural tendency to change, which poses some problems for shipping- in 1963, the Old River Control Structure (who said ORCS weren't real?) was built in an attempt to prevent the Atchafalaya River from "capturing" the flow of the Mississippi and shifting the main watercourse in the Delta.
To compound matters, the Mississippi River forms an extensive floodplain, which is considered desirable land- consequently, much of the land has been "sequestered" from the river by levees- along some stretches of the river more than 90% of the floodplain is behind levees. This combination of development on the floodplain and the "constriction" of the watercourse has potentially disastrous consequences. As Charles Ellet Jr warned in his report to Congress in the 1850s:
"The extension of the levees along the borders of the Mississippi, and of its tributaries and outlets, by means of which the water that was formerly allowed to spread over many thousand square miles of low lands is becoming more and more confined to the immediate channel of the river, and is therefore, compelled to rise higher and flow faster, until, under the increased power of the current, it may have time to excavate a wider and deeper trench to give vent to the increased volume which it conveys."
Naturally, Ellet was not heeded, and the construction of levees began in earnest.
What is the solution to this problem? Yearly floods are a reality in the region, and the increased intensity of storms will only compound the problem, and a paucity of funding will make mitigation of the problem more difficult. Could resettlement of floodplain residents be Constitutional, or even feasible? Would a shifting focus of plans, a move from riverbank levees to levees along the perimeter of population centers, be possible? The Army Corps of Engineers does incredible, heroic work, but does all this effort make sense in a long-term perspective? Can any organization, no matter how heroic, no matter how competent, constrain such a mighty beast as the Father of Waters? Perhaps it is better to acknowledge defeat, to recognize that struggling against nature is a fool's errand, and to take steps to work within the constraints imposed by natural processes.
It's often been said that "Mother Nature is a bitch"- yeah, she's indifferent to the insignificant organisms that build their homes on her corpus, blowing them away with a burp or smashing them to paste with a twitch. That being said, Mother Nature has nothing on human cruelty- just check out speaker of the Missouri house Steve Tilley discuss a decision whether to blow levees by Cairo, Illinois (a majority black town with a history of racial strife) or to blow levees protecting Missouri farmland:
I wish I knew who the laughing hyena was- to make a joke about a decision which a humane person would find agonizing is appalling. Yeah, they're only poor black people, so some monster could make light of the situation. As it turns out, the levee was breached to protect Cairo. The long-term management of flooding in the region, though, is an uncertain prospect, and nobody seems to want to make the hard decisions regarding this perennial problem.
One topic that I can "geek out" about for a good long while is riparian geography. Seeing that this year's spring flood is going to rival the devastating floods of 1927, I figured that talking rivers would be timely.
Since the 18th Century, a series of levees have been built in an attempt to mitigate flooding and maintain the river's flow. The Mississippi is an old river, which shows characteristic features- fast moving water will erode portions of the riverbanks, and the sediment will be deposited in areas of slow moving water, changing the course of the river by forming bends in the river called meanders. The accumulation of sediment and a change in the main current of the river can "cut off" meanders and form oxbow lakes (known in the drouthy Antipodes as "billibongs"). The water course of an old river has a natural tendency to change, which poses some problems for shipping- in 1963, the Old River Control Structure (who said ORCS weren't real?) was built in an attempt to prevent the Atchafalaya River from "capturing" the flow of the Mississippi and shifting the main watercourse in the Delta.
To compound matters, the Mississippi River forms an extensive floodplain, which is considered desirable land- consequently, much of the land has been "sequestered" from the river by levees- along some stretches of the river more than 90% of the floodplain is behind levees. This combination of development on the floodplain and the "constriction" of the watercourse has potentially disastrous consequences. As Charles Ellet Jr warned in his report to Congress in the 1850s:
"The extension of the levees along the borders of the Mississippi, and of its tributaries and outlets, by means of which the water that was formerly allowed to spread over many thousand square miles of low lands is becoming more and more confined to the immediate channel of the river, and is therefore, compelled to rise higher and flow faster, until, under the increased power of the current, it may have time to excavate a wider and deeper trench to give vent to the increased volume which it conveys."
Naturally, Ellet was not heeded, and the construction of levees began in earnest.
What is the solution to this problem? Yearly floods are a reality in the region, and the increased intensity of storms will only compound the problem, and a paucity of funding will make mitigation of the problem more difficult. Could resettlement of floodplain residents be Constitutional, or even feasible? Would a shifting focus of plans, a move from riverbank levees to levees along the perimeter of population centers, be possible? The Army Corps of Engineers does incredible, heroic work, but does all this effort make sense in a long-term perspective? Can any organization, no matter how heroic, no matter how competent, constrain such a mighty beast as the Father of Waters? Perhaps it is better to acknowledge defeat, to recognize that struggling against nature is a fool's errand, and to take steps to work within the constraints imposed by natural processes.
It's often been said that "Mother Nature is a bitch"- yeah, she's indifferent to the insignificant organisms that build their homes on her corpus, blowing them away with a burp or smashing them to paste with a twitch. That being said, Mother Nature has nothing on human cruelty- just check out speaker of the Missouri house Steve Tilley discuss a decision whether to blow levees by Cairo, Illinois (a majority black town with a history of racial strife) or to blow levees protecting Missouri farmland:
I wish I knew who the laughing hyena was- to make a joke about a decision which a humane person would find agonizing is appalling. Yeah, they're only poor black people, so some monster could make light of the situation. As it turns out, the levee was breached to protect Cairo. The long-term management of flooding in the region, though, is an uncertain prospect, and nobody seems to want to make the hard decisions regarding this perennial problem.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Pondering Sparagmos, Channelling Athena
I never anticipated writing about the death of Osama Bin Laden. I had meant to post on another topic, but this news supersedes other subjects. Nine and a half years after the 9/11 attacks, the mastermind and poster boy of international Wahabist terrorism has been killed. Wow, while Congressman Cliff Stearns (R-FL) was insisting that 9/11 first responders be checked against a terrorist watch list, and some badly-toupeed arsehole was asking to see the president's birth certificate, the president was meeting with the Department of Defense and various three-letter agencies to plan the eradication of the perennial public enemy number one. Kudos to all persons involved in the mission.
I'm not the type of person to dance in the streets in elation at the death of anyone, even a world-class scumbag like OBL. This is a time for gratitude, rememberance, reflection, and consideration of our long-term national security strategy.
This morning, while listening to WWRL's Mark Riley, a caller said that he was displeased because Bin Laden's body was not paraded through the streets of American cities... Whoa, what the hell happened? We're the good guys, I've never seen a movie in which the good guys were the guys who put people's heads on pikes. Yeah, we treated OBL's body in dignified fashion, not because he was dignified, but because we are.
In Greek legend, the dismembering of the body, often in a ritualistic context, was known as sparagmos. The fear of sparagmos is reflected in the Greek epics- the tearing of the body by wolves and vultures was considered abhorrent, and mistreatment of the corpse a horrific prospect. Yeah, I'd like to think that we are beyond the desire for public sparagmos.
Pondering sparagmos got me to thinking about Greek mythology. The Olympian Ares was identified as the god of war- his portfolio was physical prowess and courage, the destruction of one's enemy. On the other hand, Athena, the goddess of wisdom, was also portrayed as a warrior goddess- her bailiwick was strategy and skill, as opposed to slaughter. For the past ten years, the United States military has proved that it is remarkably effective when it comes to killing people, while having no long-term strategy for ending the wars into which it had entered. We have been devoted adherents of Ares, well-suited to the destruction of our enemies- we have lacked the wisdom to consider who our enemies really were, we completely rejected the Athenian ideals of wisdom, discretion, and strategic thinking. Perpetual bloodshed is not a sustainable foreign policy. High enemy casualties do not a victory make.
I have written that I believe that U.S. foreign policy depends too much on "hard" power and not enough on "soft" power. That being said, I believe that human intelligence is also of tantamount importance. It was the steady accumulation of intelligence that allowed the U.S. special forces to bring retribution to Osama Bin Laden. Without "Athena's" guidance, the Erinnýes would never have been able to play their role.
Athena was pretty much out in the cold for the last ten years, 9/11 itself might not have happened if the intelligence had been heeded. With the death of Bin Laden, we prove that we can play the role of the Erinnýes as well as the role of Ares, but with the possibility of retributive strikes, and the certainty of continued terrorist plots of various type, we had better get better at channeling Athena.
I'm not the type of person to dance in the streets in elation at the death of anyone, even a world-class scumbag like OBL. This is a time for gratitude, rememberance, reflection, and consideration of our long-term national security strategy.
This morning, while listening to WWRL's Mark Riley, a caller said that he was displeased because Bin Laden's body was not paraded through the streets of American cities... Whoa, what the hell happened? We're the good guys, I've never seen a movie in which the good guys were the guys who put people's heads on pikes. Yeah, we treated OBL's body in dignified fashion, not because he was dignified, but because we are.
In Greek legend, the dismembering of the body, often in a ritualistic context, was known as sparagmos. The fear of sparagmos is reflected in the Greek epics- the tearing of the body by wolves and vultures was considered abhorrent, and mistreatment of the corpse a horrific prospect. Yeah, I'd like to think that we are beyond the desire for public sparagmos.
Pondering sparagmos got me to thinking about Greek mythology. The Olympian Ares was identified as the god of war- his portfolio was physical prowess and courage, the destruction of one's enemy. On the other hand, Athena, the goddess of wisdom, was also portrayed as a warrior goddess- her bailiwick was strategy and skill, as opposed to slaughter. For the past ten years, the United States military has proved that it is remarkably effective when it comes to killing people, while having no long-term strategy for ending the wars into which it had entered. We have been devoted adherents of Ares, well-suited to the destruction of our enemies- we have lacked the wisdom to consider who our enemies really were, we completely rejected the Athenian ideals of wisdom, discretion, and strategic thinking. Perpetual bloodshed is not a sustainable foreign policy. High enemy casualties do not a victory make.
I have written that I believe that U.S. foreign policy depends too much on "hard" power and not enough on "soft" power. That being said, I believe that human intelligence is also of tantamount importance. It was the steady accumulation of intelligence that allowed the U.S. special forces to bring retribution to Osama Bin Laden. Without "Athena's" guidance, the Erinnýes would never have been able to play their role.
Athena was pretty much out in the cold for the last ten years, 9/11 itself might not have happened if the intelligence had been heeded. With the death of Bin Laden, we prove that we can play the role of the Erinnýes as well as the role of Ares, but with the possibility of retributive strikes, and the certainty of continued terrorist plots of various type, we had better get better at channeling Athena.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Review: The Hobbit by Ayn Rand
The notable EPIC FAIL!!! of the film adaptation of Atlas Shrugged is probably due to audience indifference to a film which is sorely lacking in the "WHIZ! BANG! BOOM!" special effects which wow today's moviegoer. While the premise of Atlas Shrugged is rooted in fantasy elements such as "Magic Pony Power Machine" running on static electricity and invisibililty machines, these fantastic elements don't lend themselves to spectacular special effects and box-office gold. Rather than attempting to film Atlas Shrugged as a mass-market film, the producers should have started off with a crowd pleasing adaptation of Ayn Rand's beloved children's classic The Hobbit, subtitled There and Never Going to Come Back.
Ayn Rand's "Hobbit" starts off with the famous initial sentence, "In a gulch in the mountains, there lived a superman". In the first chapter, we are introduced to Bagby Taggins, a comfort loving moocher who is approached by the wizard Randalf to work on behalf of a coterie of dwafish industrialists who are trying to discover the whereabouts of the obscenely wealthy dragon Smayn. The dwarfs are led by the great Threarden, son of Throark, son of Thrand, better known as Threarden Steelshield, because he has developed an impenetrable metal which promises to undermine all the other armories in the world. Threarden is thwarted by various functionaries and bureaucrats, and is facing bankruptcy... his search for the dragon's hoard is a last-ditch gambit to save his finances. Threarden has received a clue regarding the dragon's whereabouts from his father Throark. Throark was a renowned delver who designed a fabulous underground city- finding a vein of unstable rock in the mountain in which he was building his masterpiece, the safety inspectors insisted that he change the plans, leading Throark to collapse the entire tunnel complex.
After a series of misadventures on the road, Bagby Taggins becomes separated from his companions, in perhaps the best-known sequence of the book. Alone in the dark, he confronts an isolated creature named Galtum, who challenges him to a riddle contest- if Bagby were to lose the contest, his life would be forfeit to Galtum, if he were to win, Galtum would consider leading Bagby to safety, though he would not genuinely consider himself beholden to such a weakling. The tension mounts as Rand describes the contest of wits:
Bagby considered his prospects in a riddle contest with this creature. He had spent many idle, mooching days sitting by the fire with friends, matching wits with his parasitical friends. He sadly considered his now-empty tobacco pouch, and began:
"Spark of Prometheus, Fire of Rand,
Yet it can be held in hand!"
Galtum rocked back and forth on his stony perch, and considered the hours when he sat alone, watching the smoke of a cigarette, thinking. He considered the great things that came from such hours. When he thought there was a spot of fire alive in his mind--and it was proper that he should have the burning point of a cigarette as his one expression. After his pleasant reminiscences, he shouted, "Cigarette!"
Now it was his turn. He considered the weak moocher before him, and intoned in a scathing voice:
"Foe of all Reason, weakening the mind,
Aiding the parasites, helping the blind."
Bagby only had to consider a moment, because he owed much of his looting, idle existence to the unfortunate tendency of his neighbors to demonstrate... "Altruism!"
Pressed for time in thinking of a suitable riddle, Bagby quickly extemporized:
"I sleep all day, I dance all night.
I'm a lousy parasite."
Galtum's contempt was palpable as he acidly intoned, "Moocher." The game was going on too long, this moocher was taking up too much of his time while producing nothing of benefit to him. Galtum now thought it was time to ask something hard and horrible, a riddle that could only be solved with pure reason, a conundrum that would forever escape the addled, sentimental head of the silly creature before him:
"WHAT... IS... A?
Bagby sat in the dark thinking of all the possible values for A, but not one of them could have adequately answered this question. He had a feeling that the answer was quite different and that he ought to know, but he could not think of it. He began to get frightened, and that is bad for thinking! His tongue seemed to stick in his mouth. In order to buy time, he decided to begin phrasing his answer, "A is..." He stumbled over his tongue, and began again, "A..."
Bagby was saved by pure luck, for "A is A" was the answer. No matter what anyone tells you, it is axiomatic that A is, indeed, A. It would be an abhorrent rejection of reason and rationality to characterize A as anything other than A. Bagby's fortuitous answer enraged Galtum, it was just this sort of "Moocher's Luck" which led him to sequester himself away from lesser beings.
Bagby now had to think of a question quickly, in order to forestall Galtum's rage. His hand slipped into his pocket and closed on the 1,200 page manifesto he had found in the passageway leading to Galtum's inner sanctum. His inferior brain unable to formulate a better riddle, he asked, "What have I got in my pocket?"
Galtum hissed, "Wretched louse, you must give us three answers to your sub-standard question!" Bagby quickly assented, not having the rational self interest to drive a harder bargain.
"MONEY!" was Galtum's first answer.
Bagby chortled, "Wrong! Guess!"
Galtum considered other possibilities, "GOLD!"
Of course, this was a wrong answer- a moocher could hardly have the foresight to invest in gold, and would, at any rate, be hopelessly wed to the notion of fiat currency.
Galtum was stumped- while his intellect was incredible, his interests were rather one-dimensional, I am afraid. He considered the hedonistic, immoral figure in front of him and guessed, "Cupcakes, or nothing!"
"Both wrong" Bagby chortled. He had, against all odds, beaten a Superman using his underhanded tactics. The thrill of debasing his moral superior filled him with elation. In a rage, Galtum left his odious presence, moving deeper into his isolated lair. In a spot where he kept the few trivial oddments he kept for his amusement, he sought the manuscript he had written, so he could read from it and reassert his feeling of superiority. Upon discovering that his manifesto was missing from his abode, a horrible realization dawned upon him, "Louse! LOOTER!! PARASITE!!! We curses it! We hates it and curses it forever!!!"
With that, Galtum withrew permanently from the world, letting the criminal leeches fend for themselves.
This sequence is perhaps the best known one from Ayn Rand's Hobbit, though Bagby's encounter with a bunch of giant spiders building a trans-sylvan network of webs across the great Mirkwood forest is also a well-known one. After the forest interlude, the encounter with the dragon kicks the tale into narrative overdrive. The approach to the lair of the dragon is lovingly described by Rand:
The land about them grew bleak and barren, though once, as Threarden told them, it had been green and fair, kept untouched, unused and not even as property, but everybody was kept out so that they would live practically like animals. There was little grass, and before long there was neither bush nor tree, and only broken and blackened stumps to speak of ones long vanished. They were come to the Desolation of the Dragon, which was beautiful to Threarden, because from the most primitive cultures to the most advanced civilizations, man has had to manufacture things; his well-being depends on his success at production. The lowest human tribe cannot survive without that alleged source of pollution: fire. It is not merely symbolic that fire was the property of the gods which Prometheus brought to man, and this gift was echoed by the fortunate gift of the dragon
In his initial foray into the dragon's den, Bagby steals a golden goblet. The theft of the goblet enrages the dragon. On seeing that the goblet has been stolen, Threarden, son of Throark, son of Thrand, has an epiphany, and renounces his association with the looting Bagby:
"There is more in you of evil than you know, child of the 'kindly' West." Threarden sneered, "Some parasitism and some looterism, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a more morally corrupt world. But, moral or corrupt, I must leave it now, and leave the parasites and lice to their own devices."
With that, Threarden left the despondent Bagby shaking with grief and envy.
After reconciling with Smayn, Threarden tells her of Bagby's guilt, and informs her that he will probably hide in a nearby village, whereupon the dragon metes out her justice on this hotbed of moochers. Upon entering the town, the dragon meets with token resistance, a "grim-voiced" man named Branden seeks to thwart the desire of the dragon. While some critics characterized as "ludicrous and laughable" the idea that the population of a town would sit tight and listen patiently to a sixty-page speech by the town's attacker, it is not inconceivable that the overwhelming personality of a dragon would hold the town's residents enthralled. While the dragon has harsh criticism for all of the lice, looters, and moochers of the town, she has an especially virulent scorn for Branden:
The dragon roared, "I am permanently breaking all personal, professional and business association with you, I hereby withdraw my endorsement of you and your future works and activities. I repudiate you, totally and permanently. Your attitude... can best be described as authority flaunting, unserious and, at times, undignified.
"I am shocked to discover that you are consistently failing to apply to your own personal life and conduct, not only the fundamental philosophical principles of Objectivism, but also the psychological principles you yourself have enunciated and have written and lectured about... you admitted that in many respects you are acting on the basis of unidentified feelings!
"The realization that you are exploiting me intellectually and professionally has been bad enough; that you should also attempt to exploit me financially is grotesquely shocking!"
Branden hung his head in grief and shame, withering under the scrutiny of the dragon. Meekly, he let slip the bow and arrow from his hands. The dragon surveyed the town, and pronounced her judgement:
"I consign you to the flame, like the flame wrested from the corrupt, venal gods by Prometheus, brought as the spark to fire the imagination of Man. I cannot suffer such parasites as yourselves to impinge on my existence."
With that, she brought the Promethean gift to the unworthy people of the town, who meekly accepted her judgement and repudiation.
The book ends with the chastened Bagby sitting in the ruins of the town, to wallow in despondency and guilt, having led the profligate life of a parasitical moocher, and idler, unfit to participate in the coming rebirth of civilization under the principles of enlightened self-interest as embodied in the dragon.
Notes: Any phrases "yoinked" from either the good professor or the Queen of the Objectivists have been yoinked for satirical purposes, so my looting constitutes fair use. In finding Rand quotes to paste into the passage regarding the Desolation of the Dragon, I found this quote, which increased the already great disdain and disgust with which I view Ayn Rand.
Also, while this quote was certainly in my mind as I wrote this, the inspiration for the post was a re-reading of The Hobbit, and the realization that, if Ayn Rand had written it, that Samug would probably have been the hero. At any rate, Bilbo would have been condemned for his (SPOILER ALERT!!!!!) appropriation of the Arkenstone to forestall an unjust battle for purely material gain, and Thorin's greed and mulishness would have been portrayed as virtue and Reason, so called.
Ayn Rand's "Hobbit" starts off with the famous initial sentence, "In a gulch in the mountains, there lived a superman". In the first chapter, we are introduced to Bagby Taggins, a comfort loving moocher who is approached by the wizard Randalf to work on behalf of a coterie of dwafish industrialists who are trying to discover the whereabouts of the obscenely wealthy dragon Smayn. The dwarfs are led by the great Threarden, son of Throark, son of Thrand, better known as Threarden Steelshield, because he has developed an impenetrable metal which promises to undermine all the other armories in the world. Threarden is thwarted by various functionaries and bureaucrats, and is facing bankruptcy... his search for the dragon's hoard is a last-ditch gambit to save his finances. Threarden has received a clue regarding the dragon's whereabouts from his father Throark. Throark was a renowned delver who designed a fabulous underground city- finding a vein of unstable rock in the mountain in which he was building his masterpiece, the safety inspectors insisted that he change the plans, leading Throark to collapse the entire tunnel complex.
After a series of misadventures on the road, Bagby Taggins becomes separated from his companions, in perhaps the best-known sequence of the book. Alone in the dark, he confronts an isolated creature named Galtum, who challenges him to a riddle contest- if Bagby were to lose the contest, his life would be forfeit to Galtum, if he were to win, Galtum would consider leading Bagby to safety, though he would not genuinely consider himself beholden to such a weakling. The tension mounts as Rand describes the contest of wits:
Bagby considered his prospects in a riddle contest with this creature. He had spent many idle, mooching days sitting by the fire with friends, matching wits with his parasitical friends. He sadly considered his now-empty tobacco pouch, and began:
"Spark of Prometheus, Fire of Rand,
Yet it can be held in hand!"
Galtum rocked back and forth on his stony perch, and considered the hours when he sat alone, watching the smoke of a cigarette, thinking. He considered the great things that came from such hours. When he thought there was a spot of fire alive in his mind--and it was proper that he should have the burning point of a cigarette as his one expression. After his pleasant reminiscences, he shouted, "Cigarette!"
Now it was his turn. He considered the weak moocher before him, and intoned in a scathing voice:
"Foe of all Reason, weakening the mind,
Aiding the parasites, helping the blind."
Bagby only had to consider a moment, because he owed much of his looting, idle existence to the unfortunate tendency of his neighbors to demonstrate... "Altruism!"
Pressed for time in thinking of a suitable riddle, Bagby quickly extemporized:
"I sleep all day, I dance all night.
I'm a lousy parasite."
Galtum's contempt was palpable as he acidly intoned, "Moocher." The game was going on too long, this moocher was taking up too much of his time while producing nothing of benefit to him. Galtum now thought it was time to ask something hard and horrible, a riddle that could only be solved with pure reason, a conundrum that would forever escape the addled, sentimental head of the silly creature before him:
"WHAT... IS... A?
Bagby sat in the dark thinking of all the possible values for A, but not one of them could have adequately answered this question. He had a feeling that the answer was quite different and that he ought to know, but he could not think of it. He began to get frightened, and that is bad for thinking! His tongue seemed to stick in his mouth. In order to buy time, he decided to begin phrasing his answer, "A is..." He stumbled over his tongue, and began again, "A..."
Bagby was saved by pure luck, for "A is A" was the answer. No matter what anyone tells you, it is axiomatic that A is, indeed, A. It would be an abhorrent rejection of reason and rationality to characterize A as anything other than A. Bagby's fortuitous answer enraged Galtum, it was just this sort of "Moocher's Luck" which led him to sequester himself away from lesser beings.
Bagby now had to think of a question quickly, in order to forestall Galtum's rage. His hand slipped into his pocket and closed on the 1,200 page manifesto he had found in the passageway leading to Galtum's inner sanctum. His inferior brain unable to formulate a better riddle, he asked, "What have I got in my pocket?"
Galtum hissed, "Wretched louse, you must give us three answers to your sub-standard question!" Bagby quickly assented, not having the rational self interest to drive a harder bargain.
"MONEY!" was Galtum's first answer.
Bagby chortled, "Wrong! Guess!"
Galtum considered other possibilities, "GOLD!"
Of course, this was a wrong answer- a moocher could hardly have the foresight to invest in gold, and would, at any rate, be hopelessly wed to the notion of fiat currency.
Galtum was stumped- while his intellect was incredible, his interests were rather one-dimensional, I am afraid. He considered the hedonistic, immoral figure in front of him and guessed, "Cupcakes, or nothing!"
"Both wrong" Bagby chortled. He had, against all odds, beaten a Superman using his underhanded tactics. The thrill of debasing his moral superior filled him with elation. In a rage, Galtum left his odious presence, moving deeper into his isolated lair. In a spot where he kept the few trivial oddments he kept for his amusement, he sought the manuscript he had written, so he could read from it and reassert his feeling of superiority. Upon discovering that his manifesto was missing from his abode, a horrible realization dawned upon him, "Louse! LOOTER!! PARASITE!!! We curses it! We hates it and curses it forever!!!"
With that, Galtum withrew permanently from the world, letting the criminal leeches fend for themselves.
This sequence is perhaps the best known one from Ayn Rand's Hobbit, though Bagby's encounter with a bunch of giant spiders building a trans-sylvan network of webs across the great Mirkwood forest is also a well-known one. After the forest interlude, the encounter with the dragon kicks the tale into narrative overdrive. The approach to the lair of the dragon is lovingly described by Rand:
The land about them grew bleak and barren, though once, as Threarden told them, it had been green and fair, kept untouched, unused and not even as property, but everybody was kept out so that they would live practically like animals. There was little grass, and before long there was neither bush nor tree, and only broken and blackened stumps to speak of ones long vanished. They were come to the Desolation of the Dragon, which was beautiful to Threarden, because from the most primitive cultures to the most advanced civilizations, man has had to manufacture things; his well-being depends on his success at production. The lowest human tribe cannot survive without that alleged source of pollution: fire. It is not merely symbolic that fire was the property of the gods which Prometheus brought to man, and this gift was echoed by the fortunate gift of the dragon
In his initial foray into the dragon's den, Bagby steals a golden goblet. The theft of the goblet enrages the dragon. On seeing that the goblet has been stolen, Threarden, son of Throark, son of Thrand, has an epiphany, and renounces his association with the looting Bagby:
"There is more in you of evil than you know, child of the 'kindly' West." Threarden sneered, "Some parasitism and some looterism, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a more morally corrupt world. But, moral or corrupt, I must leave it now, and leave the parasites and lice to their own devices."
With that, Threarden left the despondent Bagby shaking with grief and envy.
After reconciling with Smayn, Threarden tells her of Bagby's guilt, and informs her that he will probably hide in a nearby village, whereupon the dragon metes out her justice on this hotbed of moochers. Upon entering the town, the dragon meets with token resistance, a "grim-voiced" man named Branden seeks to thwart the desire of the dragon. While some critics characterized as "ludicrous and laughable" the idea that the population of a town would sit tight and listen patiently to a sixty-page speech by the town's attacker, it is not inconceivable that the overwhelming personality of a dragon would hold the town's residents enthralled. While the dragon has harsh criticism for all of the lice, looters, and moochers of the town, she has an especially virulent scorn for Branden:
The dragon roared, "I am permanently breaking all personal, professional and business association with you, I hereby withdraw my endorsement of you and your future works and activities. I repudiate you, totally and permanently. Your attitude... can best be described as authority flaunting, unserious and, at times, undignified.
"I am shocked to discover that you are consistently failing to apply to your own personal life and conduct, not only the fundamental philosophical principles of Objectivism, but also the psychological principles you yourself have enunciated and have written and lectured about... you admitted that in many respects you are acting on the basis of unidentified feelings!
"The realization that you are exploiting me intellectually and professionally has been bad enough; that you should also attempt to exploit me financially is grotesquely shocking!"
Branden hung his head in grief and shame, withering under the scrutiny of the dragon. Meekly, he let slip the bow and arrow from his hands. The dragon surveyed the town, and pronounced her judgement:
"I consign you to the flame, like the flame wrested from the corrupt, venal gods by Prometheus, brought as the spark to fire the imagination of Man. I cannot suffer such parasites as yourselves to impinge on my existence."
With that, she brought the Promethean gift to the unworthy people of the town, who meekly accepted her judgement and repudiation.
The book ends with the chastened Bagby sitting in the ruins of the town, to wallow in despondency and guilt, having led the profligate life of a parasitical moocher, and idler, unfit to participate in the coming rebirth of civilization under the principles of enlightened self-interest as embodied in the dragon.
Notes: Any phrases "yoinked" from either the good professor or the Queen of the Objectivists have been yoinked for satirical purposes, so my looting constitutes fair use. In finding Rand quotes to paste into the passage regarding the Desolation of the Dragon, I found this quote, which increased the already great disdain and disgust with which I view Ayn Rand.
Also, while this quote was certainly in my mind as I wrote this, the inspiration for the post was a re-reading of The Hobbit, and the realization that, if Ayn Rand had written it, that Samug would probably have been the hero. At any rate, Bilbo would have been condemned for his (SPOILER ALERT!!!!!) appropriation of the Arkenstone to forestall an unjust battle for purely material gain, and Thorin's greed and mulishness would have been portrayed as virtue and Reason, so called.
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