Twisted ...

How evil are you?
... it's better than completely innocent, I guess. (Disappointed.)

And here's a shout out to Juggling Mother, on whose blog I found the evilness test.

Happy new year, everyone!

(Gulp!)

Raising my third infant, I've earned the title of experienced, professional diaper-changer. I'm inured to the smell. I can tolerate the painful sonic barrage of shrieking that sometimes accompanies baby's efforts. I can operate efficiently around wriggling legs with minimal smearage. But I still encounter the unexpected.

Yesterday I spotted a booger - a tiny dry flake (or so it appeared), right at the edge of her nostril. Ready to dislodge itself with a breath or snort, it would dive into anonymous obscurity on carpet or clothes, to be vacuumed or laundered to eventual oblivion. I spied it when I laid her down, and my eye was drawn repeatedly toward it whilst I wiped, coo'ed, and exchanged smiles with Saadia. Usually, I don't waste my time with these bits of dirt.

Usually I say, yet on this day I took the corner of my burp cloth and attacked the offending particle with zealous relish. I don't know why I did it - a moment of enthusiasm, perhaps infused with a tinge of guilt (having seen Michelle clean the nose of many a baby for less - she has been always the more fastidious in regards to the hygeine of our diminutive charges).

I swiped. I swiped again. The flake remained astonishingly steadfast. Saadia smiled agape at the new game. I gathered myself. I have seen Michelle be quite forceful, so: more gusto ... push up with the corner of the cloth, a bit of wrist action, and then ...

Oh my! I had seen merely the tip of the iceburg. Here was a veritable glob, now on the upper lip! No matter, one more quick dab.

Huh. Where'd it go? It's not on the cloth. Oh ... Saadia is beaming up at her daddy. Adoringly. Open-mouthed.

Please. Don't tell Michelle. She'll kill me.





Look at her, so innocent and trusting.







Updated with photos 12/18/06.

What do Star Wars and Mose Allison have in common?

I regisered with e-snips a few moments ago, and uploaded a couple of mp3's created by Star Wars fans. If you care to give an opinion, please let me know if you enjoyed "Star Wars in 30 Seconds" and "My Name Is Darth Vader." I assure you that they were downloaded for free. I don't recall exactly where I got them from, but I am sure they are not copyrighted.

I learned about e-snips from Stephen, who used it to introduce to me the music of Mose Allison. Mose's voice is like silk, he graduated from LSU in 1952 with a double-major in English and Philosophy, and he is a jazz legend! Stephen, I have to tell you that I have become an instant fan! Thank you so much for thinking of me.

His name is even Jewish - he feels like a soul-mate.

I don't know if any of the readers are Star Wars geeks like me, but if you are let me know what you think of the tracks. Also let me know if you didn't get the invitation, so I can send you one.

Fire in the subdivision

There was a fire in the apartment building across the street. I took these pictures from the bedroom window and the balcony. These are the first trucks to arrive.
Firefighters really are heros. What more can I say? You'd never catch me on the roof of a burning building. Maybe with training and a new back .... Anyway, I'm really thankful to these folks.

Another ladder truck. This one was longer. I wonder from how far away it came? I wasn't watching the clock, but I want to say it's been about 45 minutes since the first trucks arrived on the scene.

More and more trucks arrive. Gawkers gather in scattered groups from a safe distance, although you can't see them in any of these pics.

By the time the fire's out, I count seventeen emergency vehicles, including at least seven fire trucks.

It's good to be alive, and to have a warm, safe place to spend the night.

12/6/06 update:

The blaze was apparently caused by a second-floor tenant who set fire to some newspapers in the hallway. His reasons for so doing are unknown.

There were no injuries and no fire damage to the apartments on that floor, however the firefighters broke a bedroom window and something (?) on the roof to gain access.

Cost of the War

Here's a quote from th National Priorities Project (NPP) website:

The taxpayer cost of the Iraq War is broken down for various towns, cities and counties across the U.S. The breakdown is based on a total cost of $378 billion. That is $3,375 for every American household or $1,275 for every American or $2,848 per taxpayers. The money (already spent or allocated) is being spent at a rate nearly $11 million per hour and $255 million per day.

Just in case you haven't done so recently, I encourage you to click on the "Cost of War" link in the sidebar to learn interesting facts about the cost of the Iraq war.

I shudder to think about what the indirect costs are. Clearly, we will be paying for this over the long haul.

Retrospective, Prospective

I went back through the ol' archives last night. I'm happy with the quality of my writing generally; I just wish I could turn out a bit more of it! The first few months saw a fair amount of output. The past year has been sporadic, with a few good posts out there nonetheless.

Can't believe the blog has been around two years!

I don't know if I've written of it in this space previously, but my dad used to tell me: "Son, if you don't ever want to worry about making a lot of money, just major in English or Philosophy." Incidentally, his bachelor's degree is in English.

Interestingly, I predicted my current career situation during my very first month of blogging ("Amateur," January 28, 2005). Lately I've come to realize there's an element of self-fulfillment involved in that prophecy. I'll just say, I've learned a lot about myself the last year. There's been plenty of genuine hardship to boot, so I can't take upon myself all the blame. There was just no way of predicting some of the things that happened.

When I learned about the features available in the new blogger beta, I chose to convert to a private blog. When it all started, I freely and cheerfully distributed the address among my friends and family. I was secretly disappointed in the lack of response. Now I believe it quite probably that my in-laws have read it and will continue to read it. They have proven to be quite vindictive and I have no desire to have contact with them. I don't think they deserve to know anything about my family; and yet I find I do not wish to deprive myself of an outlet.

I toyed with the idea of changing the URL of the blog, but an internet search for my daughters' unusual names would undoubtedly unearth it. The only other option would be deletion, and I'm unwilling.

Here's to my new and lucrative career (whatever it might turn out to be), and to a time when I can once again publish in public, and to good blogging in the coming year!

More Star Wars Nerds

See the applications for membership at the Jedi training academy! There are several really good ones ... I really liked "There is no try." Which one is your favorite?

Snaarsissism goes private

If you are reading this, then you are part of an exclusive club. Aren't you honored? Enjoy!

(Sorry there's no new material. More to come soon. I've not given up.)

Using blog as a release or escape

Hello. My name is Snaars, and I am a blogger. I use my blog to ease the stress of daily life. I've written a lot of things I'm not proud of, but that's a fact and that's who I am.

I read somewhere that the biggest stressors are lifestyle changes, financial problems, moving, having a baby, going through a divorce, and changing jobs or careers. In the past year and a half I've openly "come out" as an atheist, graduated from college, moved twice, and changed jobs three times. Oh, and had a baby!

Probably the icing on the cake was that five-month debacle with my in-laws while we lived with them. We're still not talking to one another, and we moved out six months ago. We've done everything we can to mend relationships, to no avail. I think they are the poster children of familial dysfunction. We should have heeded the warning signs before we agreed to move in, but we just didn't know how bad they were. It really hurts that they choose to push us away - but then again, who needs people like that, anyway? I just wish we hadn't made ourselves so vulnerable, because we're sure paying for it now.

I've always had a tight budget, but this is the first time in my life that my monthly expenses have exceeded my monthly income.

The worst part is not having clear goals, other than finding a way to survive.

I'm willing to work and do whatever "it" takes - but I don't know what "it" is! My only real desire other than to provide for my family and raise my children well, is to go on to graduate school. But, I don't know how to accomplish that while we are still floundering.

Simcha turns five!

Tomorrow is Simcha’s fifth birthday! We celebrated this evening with a special birthday dinner, presents, and ice cream cake. It all started this afternoon. We spent the morning cleaning and vacuuming, then I fired up the internet radio with some kind of techno lounge music with a good beat. Then I called Simcha into the living room and did a silly dance. Then I sang. I improvised. It went something like this: “Go Sim-cha! It’s your birth-day! Go Sim-cha! It’s your birthday! We love you! We adore you! It’s your birth-day! Be hap-py!” She was delighted and we all laughed out loud for a long time while we acted silly.

Among her presents were several rubber bath duckies. It may seem strange, but she has always had a fascination for them. Michelle found some that light up with little dancing disco lights when they are touched or placed in the water. Simcha also received a firefighter duckie that changes color with the water temperature. She also got a Sleeping Beauty doll.

Saadia is already two-and-a-half months old. She is extraordinarily happy. She is alert, loves to ‘talk’, and hardly cries at all.


Whereas Havilah and Simcha both slept in a bassinette when they were her age, Saadia sleeps in our bed because we are short on space in this little apartment. I sleep lightly because I help feed her at night and because her favorite pastime is making cooing noises and kicking me in the back all night long.

Havilah is doing great in the 1st grade. I read to her, and Simcha too, every night, and Havilah is making great strides in her reading.

We are still not making enough money, although we have done everything we can think of to cut expenses, short of trading in our car for something smaller that would have a lower monthly payment. Michelle has an appointment tomorrow to sign up for WIC and food stamps. That should help a lot. We are a couple of months behind now on some of our bills. We are getting closer though, and I still have confidence that eventually we will be all right. My credit rating may get shot to hell, but at least we are not in immediate danger of being out on the street.

Reflecting on the past few years, I am astounded (appalled?) at everything this family has been through. My sense of self-worth has been nearly non-existent these past few months, but I believe I am rebounding. I am steadily becoming more comfortable with being an atheist in a world that is downright hostile toward atheism. I no longer feel a need to announce it, to explain or justify it. I don’t feel a need to denounce religion. I have learned that it’s unsafe to say much about it to anyone.

I don’t discuss my beliefs unless I am asked. Even my father, who is an educated and compassionate man, can not sit still and discuss it with me in a calm manner. Most of our discussions on the topic have been initiated by his attacks on philosophy, as a discipline. These usually take me by surprise and must admit I resent them. I sympathize with my father and I have no desire to challenge him or deprive him – or anyone else – of something that gives them a sense of meaning and comfort.

The last time, he asked me if I knew that I was a philosophical “throwback”. I don’t have any clear idea in what way he meant by it. He made a definite point that logic doesn’t produce any ideas in and of itself, and that it can be most misleading. He seemed to be questioning the usefulness of reasoning at all. I was, quite frankly, dumbfounded and I couldn’t understand his point at all. I just agreed with him that logic is not creative and that the conclusions of logic depend on the quality of the information, evidence, and assumptions that are being worked with. I thought it was just a really strange conversation to have with my dad, since I have always considered him to be smarter than I am. It’s taken me a long time to get over my competitiveness with him, and now every once in a while he wants to get competitive with me.

I haven’t been very good company for a long time now because of our financial difficulties and the depression that has come along with them. I think my dad has misdiagnosed that depression and thinks that it is related to my atheism. I think that theists imagine how they would feel if they didn’t have a belief in God to give their lives meaning, and then they project those feelings on atheists and assume that atheists are just a miserable lot.

Anyway, that’s all for the moment. This posting has been a long time coming and it may be another long wait for the next. I will read and appreciate all comments, but I may not be able to respond in a timely manner (and I may not have internet access – that was actually turned off for a while and it may be turned off again later this month)!

In the meantime, best wishes to all!

In a Big Country

Great song. Never quite knew the words until I looked them up today.

In a Big Country
by Big Country

I never saw you look like this without a reason
Another promise fallen through, another season passes by you
I never took the smile away from anybody's face
And that's a desperate way to look for someone who is still a child

CHORUS:
In a big country dreams stay with you
Like a lover's voice fires the mountainside
Stay alive

I'm not expecting to grow flowers in the desert
But I can live and breathe and see the sun in wintertime

CHORUS

So take that look out of here, it doesn't fit you
Because it's happened doesn't mean you've been discarded
Pull up your head off the floor, come up screaming
Cry out for everything you ever might have wanted
I thought that pain and truth were things that really mattered
But you can't stay here with every single hope you had shattered

Kids of the Week

I noted that all my three girls were born on Tuesday mornings, and Juggling Mother said, "All mine were born on a Sunday ...." It put me in mind of an old nursery rhyme:

Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go;
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for its living;
But the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.

There you go, Juggling Mother! Your kids are the best of the lot!

I must have been born on a Saturday.

Saadia pictures

This is the most beautiful baby I've ever seen!! Not that I'm biased, or anything ...When presented with a baby photo, it is obligatory to say, "Aaaaw, how cute!" But you can tell the truth this time: she's an angel!

---

Now for some revised/additional information.

In my last post, I said that Saadia was not overdue after all, but I may have judged hastily. Saadia's weight, the condition of her skin, and the constitution of the amniotic fluid indicate that she was healthy and of average gestational age - approximately 40 weeks; however, the original date calculations and ultrasound estimate put her due-date at July 14th and 16th, respectively.

Calcifications in the placenta indicate that it may have been over-aged. A battledore insertion of the umbilical cord could possibly account for Saadia's birth weight, which would be considered lower than expected if she really gestated for 43 weeks and 3 days. (A battledore insertion is when the cord is attached marginally, at the edge of the placenta, rather than in the middle as is normal. It's usually not serious but it can slow the growth of the fetus.)

---

We had a successful home birth, attended by two registered nurse midwives and a midwife-in-training. Those ladies were terrific! They provided medical care and expertise to Michelle and Saadia through pre-natal visits. They offered advise and suggestions while respecting our informed decisions. They provided medical expertise and assistance during the labor and birth. They set up supplies and equipment, and stood by in case of any problems. They worked hard to make our goals a reality! They cleaned up afterward and monitored Michelle and Saadia for several hours after the birth. They also follow up post-natally, checking the health of both mom and baby. I can not say enough about how pleased and assured I felt, knowing that they were working to provide a safe and pleasant birth experience for us. Don't even contemplate having a home birth unassisted! I am grateful for the job they did.

---

Havilah and Simcha were with my parents during the labor and birth. They met their baby sister yesterday, and they adore her! Michelle will be in recovery for an indefinite period of time, so I am trying to train them to help out more. I am taking on more chores around the house.

Today I got home from a full day's work, took the girls grocery shopping, returned home and put the groceries away, cooked dinner, washed the dishes, got the girls ready for bed, read them a story, did two loads of laundry, got caught up with my e-mail, and wrote this blog post! Now it's after midnight, and I'll have to do everything again starting tomorrow at 6:30! Well, except for the grocery shopping - but there's still a lot of laundry to do.

I did a lot - but Michelle is dealing with more than I am. She needs rest after all her hard work. Saadia nurses every two hours - around the clock - sometimes for twenty or thirty minutes at a time. Michelle is getting less sleep than I am, and she needs it more than I do.

Did I forget anything? Oh, yeah - I quit the car business last week. More about my new job later.

Saadia Kathleen ...

... was born today at 1:23 AM. On a Tuesday morning, just as her sisters were.

She is perfect in every way. She only weighs seven pounds, zero ounces - so she is not three weeks overdue, as we thought. Rather, she is a week early. Go figure!

We are wiped out. More details to come. And pictures.

I Too Google Myself

I’ve seen this exercise performed on some other blogs and decided to give it a try. Go to Google, type in your name with the word “wants” or “needs” or anything else creative after it and see what comes back.

Snaars wants …
… you.
… to meet 2 people.
… to kill me.
… Lebanon to pay an onerous price for its ambiguity on Hezbollah.
… the $60 he claims C*****d owes him.
… you to tell your paper what you thought of his movie.
… to kill me. Again. [I did not make this up, it really said “Again.”]
… to break free.
… to move to Ireland to meet leprechauns.
… to share with the world.

Snaars needs …
… photographs of both sides of the animal.
… Mum to be present all the time.
… to go on with his life and let Terri's family take care of her.
… to leave the security of his personal isolation.
… brotherly love.
… to learn about language.
… to be ridiculed.
… a physics 1 book social talk.
… work.
… two operations.

Snaars gets …
… a hearing reprieve.
… the boat and Walt.
… a police caution for possessing Cannabis after being found asleep in his car.
… zoped up.
… to play four roles this time.
… around.
… suspended.
… fired for blogging.
… high marks.
… blown up in Iraq.
… stalked.

All untrue!

False Alarm

Here’s the short version of the story, nerve-wracking as it is: Michelle’s labor stalled out yesterday afternoon.

I was surprised even though I should not have been. We have a history of prodromal labor, long labor, and long terms. Simcha was in the womb for 43 weeks. Although she had complications, none of them were associated with the long pregnancy. She had none of the symptoms that doctors worry about with a long pregnancy.

Saadia is still moving a lot, which means she is not too big and that the placenta is still healthy. Her heart rate is good. She seems perfectly fine.

Michelle is also fine, apart from some edema (swelling) around her ankles - but that’s not dangerous, by itself. It means she has to keep her feet up as much as possible when she is not walking. We have to watch to make sure the swelling does not rise or spread up her legs. If it does, it could be a signal that something is wrong.

After my parents came to get the kids yesterday, I thought it would speed things up, but it didn’t. Ah well, the real thing will happen soon. If it doesn’t happen over the next few days we will review our options, in terms of induction.

Havilah and Simcha will have to stay with my parents for a few days because of everyone’s schedules. Michelle and I will be able to spend some quality time together.

I’ll post again when something happens.

Happy birthday and happy birthday, maybe?

Michelle started her labor last night. If this labor is like the previous ones, she may still have a loooong way to go.

I learned a new term: prodromal labor. Sometimes referred to as "false" labor, there is nothing false about the way prodromal labor feels to the mother! It differs from active labor only in the respect that it does not progress continuously and without a break to the birth of the baby.

In all of her pregnancies, Michelle has experienced cramping and other labor symptoms months early, with increasing frequency and duration toward the end of each pregnancy.

Michelle had contractions most of the day yesterday. Last night they were frequent: between 1.5 and 2.5 minutes apart, lasting 30 to 60 seconds, over a period of several hours. Some were intense, requiring all her attention, while most of them were "mild," in the sense that she could get through them fairly easily by pausing and breathing carefully for a few seconds at the high point.

Michelle slept fitfully and woke up tired. I stayed at home today and took care of her and the girls. Havilah and Simcha understand that all this means the baby is coming soon. They got excited when our midwife came to visit.

All the girls' excitement was not good in terms of labor progression. They kept demanding attention from Michelle and from me. Although we don't mind giving them attention, it takes Michelle's focus away, adds tension, and inhibits labor progression. I called my parents, they came and got the girls and will keep them for a couple of days.

I didn't feel at all emotional, until I put them in the car and kissed them goodbye.

Michelle is more rested now, and seems ready, but her labor has slacked off again. I believe Saadia will be born tomorrow morning, but I hope she will be born tonight. That way, she and Michelle will share the same birthday!

Snaars Collegiate Philosophy Dictionary, part 1

Culled from various non-copyrighted sources on the internet, with some modifications here and there by yours truly ...

• Abnormal: <Ambrose Bierce> not conforming to standard. In matters of thought and conduct, to be independent is to be abnormal, therefore detested.


• Abstract logic: 1 see definition two 2 see definition one. See also Recursive


• Accountability: the mother of caution


• Anarchy: such a good idea, it should be the law


• Annoying: two people who go right on talking after you’ve interrupted


• A Priori: we’ll just assume I am right


• A Posteriori: having seen who won, I can assure you I was on that side the whole time


• Analytic: occurring once yearly


• Bachelor: a man who Mrs. nothing


• Education - 1 <Ambrose Bierce> that which discloses to the wise and disguises from the foolish their lack of understanding 2 [Politics] proof positive that government can do some things more economically than private enterprise 3 <B. F. Skinner> what survives when what has been learned has been forgotten


• Fallacy: why even you don’t know why you’re wrong


• False consciousness: deep down, you know I’m right


• Income: you try to make it first, then you try to make it last


• Recursive: Referring back to itself. See recursive. See also Abstract Logic


• Syntax: money collected at church


• Synthetic: I am so not-right that I can’t be wrong


• Time: 1 an illusion perpetrated by the makers of space 2 a way of preventing everything from happening simultaneously


• Truth: the actual state of things, insofar as they conform to what seems self-evident to me


• University: a modern post-secondary school where football is taught

To Thine Own Self Be True

This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
- William Shakespeare

I dont want to be

I don't want to be (song title)
Artist(Band):Gavin DeGraw

I don't need to be anything other than a prison guard's son
I don't need to be anything other than a specialist's son
I don't have to be anyone other than a birth of two souls in one
Part of where I'm going is knowing where I'm coming from
I don't want to be anything other than what I've been tryin to be lately
All I have to do is think of me and I've peace of mind
I'm tired of looking 'round rooms wondering what I gotta do
Or who I'm supposed to be
I don't want to be anything other than me
I'm surrounded by liars everywhere I turn
I'm surrounded by imposters everywhere I turn
I'm surrounded by identity crisis everywhere I turn
Am I the only one to notice
I can't be the only one who's learned
I don't want to be anything other than what I've been trying to be lately
All I have to do is think of me and I've peace of mind
I'm tired of looking 'round rooms wondering what I gotta do
Or who I'm supposed to be
I don't want to be anything other than me
Can I have everyone's attention please
If you're not like this and that
You're gonna have to leave
I came from the mountains
The crust of creation
My whole situation made from clay dust stone
And now I'm telling everybody
I don't want to be anything other than what I've been trying to be lately
All I have to do is think of me and I've peace of mind
I'm tired of looking 'round rooms wondering what I gotta to do
Or who I'm supposed to be
I don't want to be anything other than me
I don't want to be anything other than what I've been trying to be lately
All I have to do is think of me and I've peace of mind
I'm tired of looking 'round rooms wondering what I gotta to do
Or who I'm supposed to be
I don't want to be anything other than me
I DONT WANNA BE...
I DONT WANNA BE...
I DONT WANNA BE....
I DONT WANNA BE....

Are you on your way to your first million?

Q asked: Are you on your way to your first million?

I was on the way to earning my first million around twenty years ago when I got my first paper route. At this rate, I'll be a millionare by the year 2186.

I sold my first car Friday night. I sold my second today (Tuesday).

I am working an average of eleven hours a day, six days a week. I am starting to hit my stride. In another month my training salary will be gone and I have to rely 100% on commissions. If all goes well, I will stop working my second job at that time.

I don't know how much money I made on today's sale. I wouldn't have made the sale without the finance manager's help. I'm not sure the finance manager likes me. He let the car go at $500 over invoice, and I don't think he had to do that. I probably won't make much on the sale. On the other hand, I don't know how much we made on the back end (on the financing).

I'm not complaining. I'm not very good yet, and I may have to live with small commissions, until I am good enough to close the sales entirely on my own.

This job is forcing me to be more firm and assertive. I'm amazed at what goes on. I am learning that the management I work for is (95%) honest and open in the way they conduct their business. Surprisingly, the customers are the ones who are dishonest. They feel they need to hide things in order to protect themselves.

I don't blame them. At the recent tent sale there were salespeople from five or six other dealerships there, and some of them were shady characters. The thing is, customers can protect themselves and still be honest, if they are a little bit creative, and it would save us all some time. Then again, most people are at a disadvantage because they don't buy cars very often, whereas the salespeople sell them on a daily basis.

I've become less tolerant of nonsense, both when I'm at work and in my private dealings. My time is becoming more precious to me. That said, I have to go now - no more time for blogging!

Batman! Batman!

I am too cool. Yeah, soooo cool.

You scored as Batman, the Dark Knight. As the Dark Knight of Gotham, Batman is a vigilante who deals out his own brand of justice to the criminals and corrupt of the city. He follows his own code and is often misunderstood. He has few friends or allies, but finds comfort in his cause. Batman, the Dark Knight 71% Neo, the "One" 71% Indiana Jones 63% James Bond, Agent 007 63% Lara Croft 58% The Amazing Spider-Man 58% Maximus 58% Captain Jack Sparrow 54% The Terminator 54% William Wallace 46% El Zorro 21% Which Action Hero Would You Be? v. 2.0 created with QuizFarm.com

100 years to live as a car salesman

I heard this song on the radio and quite liked it, so much so that I looked up the lyrics, provided below. It's by a group called Five for Fighting.

I'm 15 for a moment
Caught in between 10 and 20
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are

I'm 22 for a moment
She feels better than ever
And we're on fire
Making our way back from Mars

15 there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to lose
15, there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live

I'm 33 for a moment
Still the man, but you see I'm a they
A kid on the way
A family on my mind

I'm 45 for a moment
The sea is high
And I'm heading into a crisis
Chasing the years of my life

15 there's still time for you
Time to buy, Time to lose yourself
Within a morning star

15 I'm all right with you
15, there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live

Half time goes by
Suddenly you're wise
Another blink of an eye
67 is gone
The sun is getting high
We're moving on...

I'm 99 for a moment
Dying for just another moment
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are

15 there's still time for you
22 I feel her too
33 you're on your way
Every day's a new day...

15 there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to choose
Hey 15, there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live

My apologies for not responding to some of the comments to the previous post. I've been working 50 to 60 hours per week and every time I started to type, something drew my attention away before I could finish and finally I said to heck with it. I have been working at the University on my days off, for two reasons. First, we could use the money because I haven't sold any cars yet. Secondly, I felt awful for not giving them advance notice when I quit. I've never done that before. Everyone in the office understands, though, and a few of them said they will be shopping for cars soon and they're going to come see me.

This weekend is a big tent sale at the dealership, so I will be working extra hours on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Part of the reason I haven't sold any cars is because there's been very little traffic coming in to the dealership. With any luck, there will be plenty of "victims" coming in for the "sale". (BTW, don't ever buy a pre-owned vehicle at a tent sale unless you know what the price was before the sale. My manager marks all the vehicles up about a hundred bucks. In fact, anyone thinking of buying a car should e-mail me. I've already learned a few things about markups and negotiation.)

I'm feeling good about myself and I believe I'm capable of being a good salesman, however - I'm really not sure I want to be in the car business anymore. I'm already learning things I never wanted to know.

Why blog, when I'm gonna be a flashy car salesman, anyway?

Yeah. So I walk into the dealership, right? And they get the general manager right away. We go back to his office, he looks at my resume and says, "So, what made you think of selling cars for a living, Snaars?"

I say, "Well Steve," (His name is Steve,) "Steve," I say, "I've been doing accounting at UD for months now, while searching for a job that will actually pay my bills. I'm not an experienced accountant, Steve. They hired me for my good looks alone. Unfortunately I'm not runway material so they're only paying me a pittance."

That gets a laugh. I continue: "I need money Steve. My savings has run out. My wife is a stay-at-home mom. We have two daughters and a third on the way. I've been following leads on CareerBuilder.com and Monster.com and such, and it's gotten me nowhere. What I've learned is that, for someone of my background and situation - since graduate school is not an option for me at this time - I need to make a career in sales if I am to support my family."

"I see." Steve looks down at my resume thoughtfully. "Now, it says here that you're some sort of god?"

I chuckle modestly and explain that I'm a demigod, if anything. Of all my followers only a smattering could be said to be devout in any sense.

"This could be a problem," Steve says. "We only worship cars and money here."

"I'm just kidding," I say. "I'm really an atheist."

"So you don't believe in anything at all," Steve asks, incredulously.

"I believe in Snaars. Look into my eye." I proceed to mesmerize him.

Steve shakes my hand. "You'll fit right in," he says serenely.

True story. Believe it. Just like everything else you see on this blog.

why I was so popular

You Passed 8th Grade Science

Congratulations, you got 8/8 correct!

Could You Pass 8th Grade Science?

And, I only had to take the quiz twice!

5% dixie?

Your Linguistic Profile::

60% General American English

30% Yankee

5% Dixie

0% Midwestern

0% Upper Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

Where did that come from?

famous last words quiz

Your Famous Last Words Will Be:

"Nice doggy."

What Will Your Famous Last Words Be?

ultrasound

Long story short - I'm enthusiastic, but tired because of a long day. Lots and lots of driving. We had an ultrasound and saw the baby for the first time today. I'm proud to report no problems - as far as we can tell, baby and mommy are healthy.


In the picture below, baby is seen flexing a bicep. Strong baby!


The cross-hairs are between baby's fingers in the picture below. Victory! Peace out, hippie home-birth baby!


What do you call a wish-granting magic spirit from a country shaped like a boot? It's a jinn Italia! And that sounds like what is pictured below.



It's a girl! Hi there, Saadia! We love you!

Towel Day: A Tribute to Douglas Adams

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy* has a few things to say on the subject of towels.

A towel, it says, is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have. Partly it has a great practical value. You can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across the cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the brilliant marble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady sea vapors; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so redly on the desert world of Kakrafoon; use it to sail a miniraft down the slow heavy River Moth; wet it for use in hand-to-hand combat; wrap it round your head to ward off noxious fumes or avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (a mind-bogglingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can't see it, it can't see you-- daft as a brush, but very very ravenous); you can wave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and of course dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be clean enough.

More importantly, a towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag (strag: nonhichhiker) discovers that a hitchhiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, washcloth, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet-weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitchhiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitchhiker might accidentally have "lost." What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the Galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through and still know where his towel is, is clearly a man to be reckoned with.

Hence a phrase that has passed into hichhiking slang, as in

"hey, you sass that hoopy Ford Prefect? There's a frood who really knows where his towel is." (Sass: know, be aware of, meet, have sex with; hoopy: really together guy; frood: really amazingly together guy.)

Classic.

I am very fond of the Hichhiker's books, and I miss Douglas Adams. I plan to celebrate Towel Day on the Thursday. Maybe I'll post pics on my photoblog.

Any other fans out there?

*copyright © 1979 by Douglas Adams

I will remember you

After Michelle and I broke up - and before we got back together - this song reminded me of her. After we were married, I told her about it. She said that it had always reminded her of me. So, it is one of 'our' songs.

I Will Remember You*

I will be walking one day
Down a street far away
And see a face in the crowd and smile
Knowing how you made me laugh
Hearing sweet echoes of you from the past
I will remember you.

Look in my eyes while you’re near
Tell me what’s happening here
See that I don’t want to say good-bye
Our love is frozen in time
I’ll be your champion and you’ll be mine
I will remember
I will remember you.

Later on
When this fire is an ember
Later on
When the night’s not so tender
Given time
Though it’s hard to remember darlin’
I will be holding
I’ll still be holding to you
I will remember you.

So many years come and gone
And yet the memory is strong
One word we never could learn
Good-bye
True love is frozen in time
I’ll be your champion and you’ll be mine
I will remember you
So please remember
I will remember you
I will remember you
I will remember you
I will remember you.

---

*Amy Grant/Gary Chapman/Keith Thomas
Copyright © 1991 age to age music, inc./riverstone music, inc./edward grant, inc./yellow elephant music, inc. (ascap), adm. by reunion music group, inc.

The mind/body connection and the soul - do they exist?

I am enjoying the interchange begun in my previous post, but the conversation is going far afield of the original topic and the thread is getting long, so I am offering everyone the opportunity to continue the discussion here.

Cyberkitten said:

I am gradually coming to the conclusion that the 'mind' as a separate entity doesn't actually exist - hence there is no "mind-brain" connection.

I didn't mean to imply that the mind has any sort of existence apart from the brain. But, the mind is not just the brain. At the very least, it is the activity that occurs in the brain.

The brain produces the 'mind' as part of the way it functions. Yes, this is more like what I mean. The mind is a product, and like any product it can be distinguished from that which produces it. When the computer is off, the software can't run.

I can think of three reasons to think that the mind is not synonymous with the brain:

First, there is something about the nature of experience which leads me to the conclusion that the mind is distinguishable from the brain.

The best way for me to explain is to use an illustration.

Think of an elephant. Imagine the big ears, the greyish, leathery skin, the prehensile trunk, etc. - imagine the most detailed elephant you can. Now, you are having what might be called an elephant-like experience in your mind.

Presumably, there is some activity occuring in your brain that corresponds to the elephant-like experience. But the activity in your brain is not experienced by you. Your experience is something HUGE, smelly, rough, hairy in some places, capable of making a trumpet-like sound. There is nothing in your physical brain that has those qualities. There's just tissue, swimming in hormones and electrolytic fluids, sparkling with electrical activity.

Secondly, I can consider in my mind things that cannot exist physically - the elements of Euclidean geometry, for instance. Points, lines, and planes cannot exist in physical space, hence they cannot exist in the brain - but I can contemplate them in my mind.

Thirdly, a brain can exist without a mind, such as when it is unconscious or dead. If the mind were just the brain alone, that wouldn't be possible.

The evidence that brain activity corresponds to our experience is so strong as to be nearly absolutely certain. Eventually, we will learn to stimulate or program the brain directly, to produce an experience in the mind. But brain activity, on the one hand, and the experience itself, on the other hand, are qualitatively different.

---

I think a few more words about the soul are in order, considering what was said in the last post. The term "soul", in my opinon, is a loose, general way of talking about things that we feel are essential to who we are. Perhaps it is true that there is no single, unchangeable thing that defines a person - but it doesn't follow that we have no essential qualities or characteristics.

There are activities, personality traits, values, interests, plans, and relationships I have, that make me unique and that help to define me. Any of those elements may change with experiences I have, or decisions I make. Over time, if enough of those changes occur, then I may look back at my history and say to myself, "I'm really not the same person I was." And that's okay - I don't believe any contradiction is involved - because the sense of "same" we are talking about involves NOT a mere physical continuity, but that set of characteristics that we feel makes us who we are. So, I think that even our souls are subject to change.

love, pizza, grief, and personal identity

Love is not one single emotion. When I say "I love pizza," I'm not saying the same thing as when I say "I love my Michelle."

How does one begin to describe a thing that means so much?

I once had a conversation with a fellow philosophy student - David, in fact. A recurring theme of our philosophic discussions has been the problem of personal identity. The issue is a complex one. In some sense, everyone who reads this today is "the same" person as when they were born. And yet, adults are not the same as children - there are many differences - so we're not the same as when we were born. How can we be - today - the same as when we were born, yet not the same as when we were born? For that matter, how can we be the same and yet not the same person as we were yesterday?

There are several very good explanations of this, and of other problems of personal identity - but I haven't read one that was entirely satisfactory.

At any rate, I expressed the opinion to David that any theory of personal identity ought to account for feelings of grief. At the time, he thought it quite odd that I should say this. "But," I said, "how can you explain that a person feels like a part of themselves has been taken away when a loved one dies? Isn't it likely that a feeling of drastic change within one's self - subjective though that feeling might be - doesn't it give us some insight into what personal identity is?"

Anyone who has personally felt, or heard vividly described, the sense of personal loss and emptiness that accompanies the death of a loved one, will appreciate what I mean. It seems reasonable that a theory of personal identity should be able to "handle" such feelings - someone's sense that they have become different, in general; and the sense of having become different as a result of losing a loved one, specifically.

We know that certain functions and capabilities of the brain - preprocessing, perception, memory, the ability to reason, motor control - are somewhat independant, being centered in distinct areas. Perhaps what we experience as consciousness is, in part, the communication that takes place between these structures within the brain.

It could be analogous to a conversation that takes place between semi-distinct yet interdependant parts. In a mentally healthy individual, it may be more like a ballet, wherein all the parts have learned to perform in coordination and with alacrity. In contrast, one who experiences cognitive dissonance may be depressed or unusually tired mentally.

So, what causes this feeling of personal change when we lose a loved one?

When we love someone deeply, we feel a kind of familiarity. We depend on that other person to provide input much like we depend on the various cognitive structures that make up our own selves. When we lose that, realizing that we won't be getting it back, we get a sense of emptiness. All the dancers can carry out their moves in concert - but the presentation is lacking, and some aspects are impossible, because a dancer is missing.

Michelle is capable of seeing things I cannot see. She understands things that I don't understand - until she explains them to me. Things that need to be done, she does when I don't have time, or the necessary inclination or imagination. She is capable of interacting with some people on a level I cannot reach.

Michelle can hold me - I can't hold myself! She can laugh at my jokes - I can't laugh at them myself! (Well, I can sometimes, but it's not nearly the same.) We made a family together - certainly couldn't have done that by myself!

Here's to you, my Michelle. You are actually my better half.

Poetry Circle

I've always been fond of poetry. I don't often seek it out, but I do enjoy it when I chance upon it. I've even been known to write a few lines now and then. (Anyone remember "On My Island: A Poem of Philosophy Written Before the Exam"?)

Nature Poetry has caught my interest of late. Nature poetry is simply - poems about nature! - as the name implies. The poems don't have to be "about" nature, exactly. They must have thematic elements or imagery related to nature though, in order to be considered part of the genre.

Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, William Wordsworth, and S. T. Coleridge are some great names in poetry that have added significantly to the body of nature poetry. I'm not aware of any poets that write nature poetry exclusively, but I'm sure there are some.

The following poem charmed me with its humorous sentiments and wisdom, and its references to mythology and ancient philosophy.

THE GRASSHOPPER
by: Anacreon (c.572-488 BC)
HAPPY insect! what can be
In happiness compar'd to thee?
Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy morning's gentle wine!
Nature waits upon thee still,
And thy verdant cup does fill;
'Tis filled wherever thou dost tread,
Nature self's thy Ganymede.
Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing;
Happier than the happiest king!
All the fields which thou dost see,
All the plants belong to thee;
All that summer hours produce;
Fertile made with early juice.
Man for thee does sow and plow;
Farmer he, and landlord thou!
Thou dost innocently joy;
Nor does thy luxury destroy;
The shepherd gladly heareth thee,
More harmonious than he.
Thee country-hinds with gladness hear,
Prophet of the ripen'd year!
Thee Phoebus loves, and does inspire;
Phoebus is himself thy sire.
To thee, of all things upon earth,
Life's no longer than thy mirth.
Happy insect, happy, thou
Dost neither age nor winter know;
But, when thou'st drunk, and danc'd and sung
Thy fill, the flowery leaves among,
(Voluptuous and wise withal,
Epicurean animal!)--
Sated with thy summer feast,
Thou retir'st to endless rest.

TRANSLATED BY ABRAHAM COWLEY (1618-1667)

The next one is unpretentious, yet poignant and somewhat bitter. It is written by a Native American.

On earth as it is in heaven
by: Laura Martin-Bühler, (winter 1995)
Love is giving
Mother Earth gives all
Every sparrow’s song
Every waterfall.
No payment owing
On pink sunrise lights
No government loans
On desert moon nights.
Love is feeling –
Gratitude for all
Every mountain height
Every baying call.
No mortgages
On cedar trees and sand
Money is a game
Invented by a man.
Assets are acquired
Toys bought and sold
Useless possessions
Collateral cold.
Bondage of spirit
In gold we trust.
Cemented in servitude
Dreams turn to dust
God’s presence felt
In nature’s pure heart
Every creation
Unspeakable art.
Every white snowflake
Rainbow or rock
Emanates love and
A key to life’s lock.

This last one touches me on a deeper level even than the previous samples:

The Circus in the Trees
by: Andrew Hudgins
I love to watch the gray squirrels leap
from limb to leafy limb,
tumbling like furry acrobats –
and every tree their gym.

The oak limbs are their trampoline,
and their trapeze the pines.
They stroll like tightrope walkers, up
the looping power lines –

and sometimes they gnaw through a line,
exploding as it arcs,
and lighting up the evening sky,
cascading down as sparks.

Copyright © 2004 by Shenandoah:
The Washington and Lee University Review
Volume 54, Number 1 Spring/Summer 2004

Oh! That one gets me right. here. I have to stop writing now. I’m getting emotional.

pride and the game of kings

Shortly after Michelle and I got married, I tried to teach her to play chess. It was a frustrating and short-lived endeavor. We were both highly competetive. Being an intermediate player, I had a strong advantage, and it was tough for Michelle to remain enthusiastic about a game she couldn't win. Moreover, there always seemed to be some activity or other that would take precedence. (We were newlyweds - need I say more?)

I bought Michelle an electronic chess set, thinking that she might be more likely to overcome that beginner's learning curve if she didn't have to endure the humiliation of losing to a human foe. The gift was well-meant - but alas! - it remained in the box untouched, until I wanted a real chess challenge one day and played a few games on it myself.

That was eight or nine years ago. Since then, we have spent our time on ... other hobbies. Like having three kids. (In case anyone gets the wrong impression of Michelle, I will tell you this: we are quite well-matched when it comes to other games, like Scrabble and Trivial Pursuit.)

Now my oldest child is playing chess. She was four when she first spied my book-sized folding set - a gift from my dad when I was thirteen or fourteen. She was thoroughly fascinated when I introduced her to the different pieces and some of the basic rules. The two of us lacked the patience for any in-depth learning to take place - our games consisted mostly of make-pretend, and using the pieces as little dolls. The seeds had been planted, though.

A few months ago, while we were living with my in-laws, Havilah's cousin Kathleen taught Havilah some more, and Havilah was receptive. She learned much about how the pieces move.

Since then, we have been playing, more and more. Havilah now knows how all the pieces move, how they capture other pieces, and some rudimentary defense strategy. She knows what "check" means, and she will sit and contemplate different ways of getting out of check. She enjoys it so much she asks me to play every night now.

Now, here's the climax of the story, the real funny part - have you guessed it? That's right, Havilah has been pressing Mommy to play chess with her. Recently, she has begun teaching Michelle how the pieces move. This evening, my heart warmed to see an historic battle take place on the floor of my living room. Did I mention that Havilah is six years old?

And - significantly - Simcha set up the pieces.

no career for you today. back to the end of the line!

Just in case you all were wondering, The Teach for America thing didn't work out for me.

Had I gone to the interview, I have no doubt whatsoever that they would have found a teaching position for me. The more I learned about what the commitment entailed, I felt it wasn't the right decision for me or my family.

I'm having a real problem choosing a direction. One thing I will not do is settle for something that is just "okay".

I just hope I can find the right opportunity soon.

P. S. For the philosophically inclined and/or curious out there, take a look at an exploration of numerical and personal identity issues, Arglor-style. (In patented Streem-O-Conscious!)

computers suck

This new template is fun, but I'm having difficulties customizing it. The other night, it took me about two hours to figure out the code to get my clock displaying properly.

Now I want to create extra sidebar boxes for links to other sites, and for any other stuff I might want to put there. I want them to be different colors. Problem is, all the code I know is self-taught, and there's something about the structure of this new template that I'm not getting. I think it's the style sheets. There must be something about the way they work that's going over my head.

Ah well, I'll figure it out. Eventually. [sigh] The old template was so much easier.

On a positive note - I think I finally got my laptop computer running smoothly. For the first time ever! The thing's about - oh, I don't know, nine or ten months old. It crashed every time I turned around, had slow bootups and shutdowns, and several times it would not boot into Windows and I had to use Dell's PC restore feature, losing all my personal files and settings in the process. I tried all sorts of tune-ups, nothing worked. I even wiped the hard drive and did a clean install. Didn't work.

I went to Dell's tech support forums and found that a lot of Dell customers are really pissed that their computers don't work.

Dell kept telling me it was a software or malware problem. I didn't buy into that because I've never had problems on my desktop, on which I run all the same software and visit the same - reputable and safe - internet sites.

I visited tech forums, I researched Microsoft and Dell knowledge base articles, I googled the error messages I received. KB articles suggested that it might be a hard drive problem or some kind of hardware conflict. I ran all sorts of diagnostics, and was frustrated because all the hardware ran perfectly. I updated drivers. I downloaded updates. I disabled hardware deviced one by one and in groups. Nothing worked.

I even upgraded my memory to 1 gig.

Turns out it was the OS. Windows XP Media Center Edition 2005. When you install .net framework before certain other critical OS updates, some components of the registry get corrupted and everything goes haywire.

It's taken me literally months of research, and I finally happen upon this information by chance. That made me mad, because from what I've read there are LOTS of people with this problem.

On top of that, Microsoft's recommended solution did not work, and THAT is not unusal, either.

I googled again and found a blog site run by a software developer who had the same problem. He he took matters into his own hands and wrote a little program that un-registers all the MCE components and then re-registers them. I figured it was worth the risk, so I downloaded his program and ran it.

I used to avoid running all mce features because of the increased chance of a crash. Now my computer is all-around faster, and I have not seen one of the error messages that I used to see. I'm keeping my fingers crossed!

scientism

"Scientism" is an irrational belief that only that which can be observed and measured through the technique of "Scientific Method" is real, and everything else is unreal. It has become a popular epithet among creationists, who have latched on to the term and use it as a prejorative, designed to cast doubt indiscriminately on conclusions drawn by the scientific method - and "scientistic" is a term designating those who have confidence in said conclusions.

I performed a google search on the words "scientistic evolution" and found this web site, self-proclaimed as the "only site on the web devoted exclusively to intellectual conservatism". (Apparently it's "intellectually conservative" to attack a distorted and over-simplified view of science and rationality, and to dismiss hundreds of years of valid, rational, scientific progress as mere "scientism". I offer the link merely as an example of anti-science rhetoric that is readily available and gaining widespread acceptance today.)

Can no one see the difference between science and scientism? Scientism is an irrational belief in the conclusions of science. Those who study the methods of science, understand that science is based on rationality, and therefore (provisionally) accept the conclusions of science as being the best possible ones are not scientistic, because we are being completely and utterly rational. People who do not understand the rules of good reasoning, including the rational basis for science, and who accept scientific conclusions on the basis of faith, these are the scientistic ones.

Creationists want to portray scientists, philosophers, and all others who understand and accept good principles of scientific reasoning as being scientistic materialists. They do this in order to present science and religion as being on equal footing, both matters of "blind faith". Nothing could be further from the truth.

It is completely rational to believe and understand that there are limits to what science can tell us, while accepting the perfectly valid and reasonable conclusions that science has to offer.

That's my opinion, briefly stated. What's yours?

never watch a 4-year-old eat

Today is Havilah's sixth birthday!

I wrote several paragraphs last night that would have been especially loved by all true snaars fans, but blogger was having some problems and I lost it. Ah well.

The whole family has been terribly sick. Michelle and the girls succumbed before I did. Last Friday night I was practically delirious with fever and nausea. I hardly slept or ate all weekend. I am well enough to work today, but still weak.

---

We had a birthday party tonight for Havilah. Michelle baked two modest cakes. Havilah decorated one and Simcha decorated the other. After dinner we lit candles on them (on Simcha's too, so she wouldn't feel left out).

After they blew the candles out, we enjoyed cake. At one point Simcha's jaw was working, lips pulled back in a sort of mirthless grin, distant gaze in her eyes, thinking about something. Michelle hates it when they eat with their mouths open, but this was obviously not the standard careless chewing. "Simcha," Michelle asked, "is something wrong honey?"

Simcha's face lit up. "My teef is rainbow!" She showed us. And she was right. The sticky sweet cake icing was all over her teeth.

---

A little while later, and we started hyping up the birthday presents. Anyone have an idea what we got Havilah for her birthday?

Simcha pipes: "A pony! A pony! Oh. mommy a pony a pony a pony - mooooooommy, a-a-a-a-a pony, pony ..."

---

The presents have been opened and Havilah has some new clothes, and plastic jewelry from the dollar store.

Simcha leans over and points to the jewelry. "What is up with these rings," she asks, incredulously.

Oh, Simcha, do tell. Those rings are totally pretentious, aren't they?

Come, fellow believers.

Brother, sister, enter in. Self-consciousness is but a stumbling block. Snaarsconsciousness is the key. Do but this: devote yourself to the snaars, and all else will be revealed as dreamstuffs.

The party you are trying to reach ...

... is unavailable. Please check the URL you have entered, and try again later.

I shall be off the grid for a few days (at least!) so don't worry if you don't see me posting or commenting on the other blogs I frequent. We are moving in to the new apartment and then I will be looking for a second job to tide us over indefinitely.

I remember when life was boring. (No we don't!) I can't stand all this drama, and I want to put it all behind me and just get on with life. (What, are you kidding? What is life without drama? We want life to be an adventure, don't we? Are you tellings us we wants the same old routine, day after day after day? We chose to have a family, we chose to go to college, we chose to move cross-country, all because we don't wants to be like everyone elsesses!)

Ummm ... okay ... who is that? (It's us, it's us! Gollum!)

Ah. I see. Well, I'm not Smeagol, you know, I'm Snaars. Smeagol has his own blog. (We knows, we knows. We were trying to help out and, you know, gollum, gollum, be encouraging. We had the day off and didn't know what else to do.)

Thanks. You know, what you said is true. I just have to roll with it and take the bad with the good.

Jeez, I' can be such a nerd sometimes.

The interconnectedness of all things

So I was driving home from another day of work this evening, and I started thinking. A bad habit, I know, but I just can't seem to stop myself.

I was thinking about the fact that every individual has a variety of roles or functions that they play in the world. For instance, I am a father, a husband, a son, an accountant, a consumer, a teacher, a student, etc. We members of this human beehive are fairly versatile, no?

Would that this blasted thinking stuff had stopped there.

We serve vital functions within these various systems. The words "vital" and "function" lead me to compare people with the organs of a living body. I serve a vital function within my family. My liver serves a vital function within my body. Without a properly functioning liver, or some suitable replacement, I will die. I am dependant on the proper functioning of my liver. It follows, then, that my liver serves a vital function within my family. Huh? Could you read that last part again? My liver serves a vital function within my family?

This is not really profound; I think most of us have thought something like this. Why, then, does it come as such a surprise? My liver is part of me, I am part of my family, so my liver is part of my family.

Oh, thinking, stop, please!

Since we are all so connected through the various roles we play, what connections are we missing or misunderstanding that might be analogous to the connection between my liver and my family, which seemed so strange to me at first, and which now seems so natural and obvious?

We may never know, and that's the point! You can't know what you don't know, unless you think of it first. If you think of it, then it's not unknown, so you still can't know what you don't know. Damn frustrating, that.

This is what happens when our thoughts are not directed toward constructive tasks - they go in circles.

Oh, by the way: We have secured an apartment and we will be moving in a week or two. Happy day! Originally that was all I was going to write, but then I thought why not ramble on meaninglessly?

recent goings-on

For those who are interested:

I regret not posting anything lately. I regret the very negative tone of the last post.

I take that back. I don't regret the last post. I regret not posting anything positive since then.

Okay, this post is going to ramble a little bit because I don't have time enough to make it really nice and orderly. There's really no reason for anyone to read this unless they are particularly concerned about my life. I know there are a few friends - snaars fans, if you will - who wait with bated breath, yearning for more pearls of wisdom. They will be pleased to know that yours truly, and the entire snaars clan, are alive and well, and that I may actually deign to make a real entry (!) now and again.

Nothing much has changed. The in-laws have been much nicer lately. We are paranoid that the situation could turn right around again any day. We don't have much stability in that regard.

We have gone apartment-hunting this past week, and we turned in an application today. I don't have much hope that our application will be accepted because rents are so high here. It's bad when you are spending 55% of your take-home pay in rent.

I applied to Teach for America. They don't accept just anyone, so I am counting on getting in. (Insert pause for effect here.)

I'm pretty sure they will accept me, it's just that I'm also sure I'm the only applicant who is desperate for a job. Most people who do it, do it because it's a noble cause. Me, I agree that it's for a noble cause. It's a cause I agree with and I will be very glad to be doing it. But, I would feel a lot more noble if I were choosing from a wide array of options available to me.

Michelle has decided on a home birth for our third baby. We saw the midwife a little over a week ago and we are feeling very secure and happy about it. We are assured that if we still do not have a home when the baby comes, then we can use the midwife's. We also made an appointment with a doctor for a consultation. We are all really excited and pleased.

Simcha asks questions all the time about the baby. We splurged and ate lunch at a Chinese food restaurant today. We decided to use chopsticks, and it was the first time for Simcha and Havilah. Simcha held hers up and asked Michelle, "Does the baby does use sticks, Mommy?"

Michelle told her that no, the baby does not use chopsticks.

"Oh. Cause the baby could use little sticks," Simcha asserted.

But Simcha, how would the baby get the sticks?

Oh, right. Emphtically: "No, the baby doesn't use sticks!" Takes a bit to convince her sometimes.

Well, that's all for now.

we are officially going out of our minds

WARNING: THIS IS A RANT. I don't often do this. This is written in anger and should not be taken as the whole truth.

Over the past three-and-a-half months since we've moved here, we have been through hell.

If we are to believe everything that my in-laws (Mom, Dad, Sister, and Neice) have communicated to us, and to each other within our hearing, then we are terrible parents. Our children are loud, unruly, and disrespectful. They break things. We make poor decisions regarding discipline and our childrens' welfare.

We are stupid because we didn't know what we were getting into when we moved here. We don't understand how much groceries cost. We are beggars, freeloaders, and thieves. We couldn't survive in Louisiana so we wormed our way into the house. We are too lazy to go out and earn enough money to support ourselves. We are stupid, disrespectful, and arrogant because we don't share the opinions of everyone else in the house.

In the beginning, we relied heavily on the them for food. The last few weeks, we have been eating only our own groceries, with the exception of some fruit and juice. Plenty of groceries that we have bought, others in the house have shared. We have spent hundreds of dollars per month on groceries. Nevertheless, MIL insisted - in front of their guests - that they buy the groceries for everone. When Michelle gave examples of things we had bought, she was ignored.

Before we moved into the house, we made our situation clear. We had to move thirteen hundred miles, get good jobs, find a suitable place to live. We told them it might take us a long time to get settled. Michelle's business had just begun to take off in Louisiana. She would have to start all over again. I would have to get a job that paid better than what I had before, because I would have to pay for a mortgage and student loans, expenses that we did not have before. We told them we would need help, and that if they were not prepared, then we would wait until we could do it on our own. They told us they would gladly give us all the help we needed, for as long as was necessary.

Things were great for the first two weeks. We talked a lot. They drove around with us and helped us learn the lay of the land. They have helped us by sharing food. And, of course, by giving us a bedroom to sleep in, and access to bathroom and kitchen facilities, and paying the increased utilities. They have given us a lot. But they have also treated us like dirt.

They have refused to babysit, even if they weren't doing anything and it was only for an hour or two. They have refused to help us with directions or driving to places. They sit in the family room, which is the only room other than our bedroom that the children can play in, and they watch r-rated movies with the volume so loud, you can hear it throughout the entire house. Even worse, you can see the screen from the kitchen. So, we can't have the kids in the kitchen or family room a lot of the time.

When Michelle announced that she was pregnant, she was told that it was their worst nightmare. Admittedly, I was a bit scared myself (just read my previous entry about it). But I got over that quickly, and now I'm thrilled, but they won't talk about it. They get uncomfortable when Michelle mentions the pregnancy and they change the subject.

Before we moved in, we tried to learn all the "ground rules" of the house. We were always told not to worry about it, that it wasn't necessary to talk about it. Then, whenever we tried to do anything, we were told were doing it wrong. We're not allowed to use the kitchen garbage disposer. We're not allowed to run the dishwasher. We are not allowed to do any cleaning, except in our room.

Michelle was told to fill the laundry machine full, to conserve water. Then, she was told that she overfills it. The closet door has to be closed just right. I've watched them - none of them takes care to shut it the way we were told to shut it. Every single thing in the house, there's a certain way to do it, and the wrong way to do it (which is whatever way we happen to do it.)

We begged and pleaded for a laundry and bathroom schedule, but we are the only ones who keep it. When we break the schedule, which we have to do sometimes because other people use our time slot, people get furious and we never hear the end of it.

Michelle has been accused of stealing little things - things we brought with us into the house! Like a hair clip, and a pair of scissors.

We have been lied to. When Michelle and I had a conversation with Michelle's other sister, who does not live in the house, we were promised - emphatically, and several times - that nothing we said would be repeated to other family members. We vented some of our frustrations, hoping for some advice or support. Instead, she told them everything we said, and since then she will not speak to us! She did send an angry e-mail to Michelle. Michelle sent a carefully-worded but firm response. Now, that sister's family won't have anything to do with us. As far as I can tell, they're lunatics.

Everything that has gone wrong in the house has been blamed on us. We have broken the television, two towel racks, a curtain rod, a toilet paper holder, the automatic garage door opener, the toaster, the drawer in the side of the kitchen table, and various toys that did not belong to us. There are probably other things we've been blamed for that we haven't heard about.

Whenever someone gets sick, it's our fault for spreading germs around. We are told that we must use paper towels when using the bathroom. Meanwhile, they're still getting sick. At least twice, it has been SIL who has gotten sick first. Anyway, germs make people sick, so even if we do get sick first, why are we blamed? It's tantamount to telling us we lack good hygeine!

When we first moved in, MIL apologized for the smell in our room. The previous owners kept animals in here. Somehow, since we moved in, the smell has become our fault. I'm sure they will blame us for the smell forever now.

People have entered our room and taken things when we weren't there, and several times we have come home after staying with other relatives and found the door to our room locked. They are the kind of doors that use no keys, but can be opened with a small screwdriver. The screwdriver was not in its proper place in the bathroom medicine cabinet.

When we first moved in, we were told not to use too much toilet paper. If we had to wipe more than once, we should flush in-between wipings. The toilets get clogged easily.

The upstairs toilet got clogged this past week. SIL flipped out. I came out into the hall to see what was going on. FIL explained that he didn't know who it was (meaning he didn't know which member of my family was responsible) but someone either used too much tp or put something in the toilet that didn't belong there.

Apparently, they cannot use a plunger because the bottom of the toilet is an odd shape. They think they cannot use a chemical drain opener because they have a septic system.

SIL had put some chemical from a jug into the toilet. At first I thought it was a drain clog remover. She was furious. She complained that with the fumes, she was taking her life into her hands using this stuff. Later on I looked at the bottle, and it was a once-a-month treatment to prevent buildup in the pipes. Those kinds of treatments don't remove clogs once they have occured!

I could be wrong, but I'm almost positive I've seen drain openers that are formulated specifically for septic systems, but of course I can't tell them that because I'm a moron and they won't listen to a word Michelle or I say to them. Whether or not such a product exists, I don't understand why a toilet clog has to be such a huge issue. Toilets get clogged, it's just a sad fact of life.

Every time some little thing happens, they act like it's the end of the world. I have never heard so much complaining about a toilet in my life.

FIL got some kind of routing tool, and scraping sounds reverberated through the house for hours. Now there are scratch marks all over the bottom of the toilet.

But that's just the beginning. A couple of days later, the toilet in the downstairs half-bath got clogged.

We've been keeping to ourselves a lot the last few weeks, so the first inkling we had of anything wrong was raised voices from downstairs. I hear MIL say, among other things: "The last time this happened was when (some friend's kids) were over, and at least then they admitted it!"

Although she did not intend it to be so, MIL's comment was very ironic. You see, although they will blame us for everything and get angry with us, they will not actually talk to us about anything.

No one seems to remember that the same day the downstairs toilet got clogged, NIL was babysitting a neighbor's kid and he was the last one to use the bathroom. They just assume that whatever goes wrong, we did it. We can't defend ourselves because they don't give us the opportunity. I think it's ridiculous that we should even feel that we have to defend ourselves in the first place. So anyway, now the downstairs toilet has scratches in it, too.

I can't begin to tell you all the background on this family. That is, I could write some but it wouldn't be fair to tell family secrets on a public blog, even if I don't use their names. Someone, someday, might learn who we are. Besides, I've given the web address to family and friends before, even if there are very few who have ever visited or commented. They could still be reading.

Let me just say that if there is anything good about these people (and I know it's there somewhere), I just can't see it right now.

The "Joe's Special Shrapnel" Example

Joe is innocently walking down the street minding his own business when a gas main in the basement of a nearby apartment complex explodes. Joe gets a cut on his head. Joe believes his injuries are minor and doesn't realize that he has a small piece of shrapnel lodged in his brain. At first, Joe has only mild physical symptoms and he does not connect them to the head injury.

Over the next year Joe's symptoms worsen. He experiences sudden mood swings, dizziness, nausea, insomnia, paranoia, and hallucinations. Joe sees a doctor but the doctor fails to diagnose the problem, which is a piece of shrapnel lodged in Joe's brain.

Joe begins to see the world differently. Eventually he flies into an unprovoked rage and beats his wife Jane, whom he loves and to whom he has been married for years, to death.

In the process of struggling with his wife Joe sustains another head injury. Joe is arrested and taken to a hospital where x-rays reveal the shrapnel embedded in Joe's skull. This type of injury is known to cause the symptoms that Joe experienced. Joe’s doctors believe that the shrapnel may be life-threatening. The shrapnel is removed and Joe recovers from his brain injuries. His symptoms subside, and his personality returns to "normal" (at least, as normal as could be expected given recent traumatic events).

Joe and his wife were happy before Joe's initial head injury, and investigators can uncover no other motive for the murder, because in fact no motive exists. Based on the evidence and the testimony of Joe’s doctors, Joe is acquitted of all charges. Joe goes on to have a long life and never hurts another human being. He is active, productive at work, and has a lot of close friends. He mourns the loss of his wife always.

Are you, the reader of the story, justified in hating Joe? Is anyone justified in hating Joe? Is Joe really responsible for the death of his wife Jane? If so, why? If not, then what killed Jane – a piece of shrapnel? An exploding gas main?

Where is “free will” in all of this? Could Joe have done otherwise than what he did? Should he have gone to see more doctors before he killed Jane? Should Jane have insisted on it?

What about personal identity? Who is the “real” Joe – Shrapnel Joe, who killed his wife, or Normal Joe, who regretted the loss of his wife?

If Shrapnel Joe had a full understanding of his situation, and refused the personality-altering surgery, would the doctors have been morally justified in compelling him to undergo the procedure? Why or why not?

In Joe’s case, the cause of his errant behavior was identifiable. Certainly, not all murder cases are like Joe’s. But what if they were? What if all murders could be understood as well, and all people could be treated as easily as Joe was treated?

Suppose human behavior was so well-understood that you could walk into a clinic, have a few simple tests and a harmless brain scan, and therapists could analyze the information and share with you profound insights into your life and personality. They could help you stay mentally alert and emotionally balanced. If there was a dangerous personality disorder, they could offer prescriptions and referrals to specialists who could help.

Your personality could be adjusted through the use of counseling, exercise, diet, sensory stimuli (such as viewing images), drugs, and surgery. In criminal cases, people might even be legally obligated to undergo such personality adjustments. Would you still be "you" after undergoing many of these adjustments?

Is the above scenario really possible? Why or why not?

sufficient reason for conversation

All right snaars fans, I've let you dangle far too long. After all, I am not a sadistic monster. Your ardor for me may be undeserved but it is not anappreciated, I assure you.

One of the few regular commentators recently sent me an e-mail to express his nostalgia for the good ol' days when we used to discuss philosophy and religion on this blog. I would like to begin breaking the extensive silence by indulging my Humean hobby, my Socratic skill, my Platonic profession, my cosmological craft, my Voltarian vocation.

No, it's not alliteration - it's Aristotelian argumentation! It's philosophy. Of religion. You know - Maimonic meditation!

No tricks, and nothing hidden up my sleeve. I'm working without notes, without a textbook (all my books are still in storage), and without a safety net. Er, I did use the internet as a resource, but that's it. This is completely raw philosophy of the most amateurish variety.

I offer up for your consideration the Principle of Sufficient Reason - henceforth referred to as PSR.

PSR has been expressed and implied countless times throughout history, particularly in philosophical writings. Perhaps the earliest and most-quoted is that of Parmenides, who said: 'Ex nihilo nihil fit,' which means 'From nothing, nothing comes.'

'Nothing happens in vain, but everything for a reason and under necessitation,” claimed Leucippus (Who, incidentally, posited the existence of atoms approximately eleven hundred years before the invention of the microscope, and thirteen hundred years before John Dalton discovered the Law of Multiple Proportions.)

“Everything, then, which is such that its act of existing is other than its nature must needs have its act of existing from something else,” wrote St. Thomas in the De Ente et Essentia.

Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, (who invented calculus), wrote:

Our reasonings are founded on two great principles, that of Contradiction …. And that of Sufficient Reason, in virtue of which we consider that no fact can be real or actual, and no proposition true, without there being a sufficient reason for its being so and not otherwise, although most often these reasons cannot at all be known by us.

Rogers and Hammerstein wrote "Nothing comes from nothing/Nothing ever could/So somewhere in my youth or childhood/I must have done something good."

Er, Rogers and Hammerstein weren't philosophers in any sort of formal sense.

But I love The Sound of Music. So there.

PSR is integral to various versions of the Cosmological Argument for the existence of God. Essentially, most of them go something like this:

1. Everything has a cause.
2. Nothing can cause itself.
3. Everything is caused by another thing.
4. A causal chain cannot be of infinite length.
5. There must be a first cause.
6. God was the first cause.

Okay, I got the above argument from wikipedia, and it seems to me that this formulation is inherently contradictory. If everything must have a cause, then how can there be a first cause? Why can't a causal chain be infinite - is there a reason? To fix the argument, 2 should probably read, 'Nothing except God can cause itself', or something like that - but then the argument would commit the fallacy of begging the question.

I'm sure I've seen better versions. Despite it's problems, the argument above illustrates the importance of PSR in philosophy. Other arguments attempted to use PSR to refute God's existence, btw.

PSR has intuitive appeal. I believe that the philosophers cited above accepted PSR as a given. They didn't spend a lot of time deliberating over it or defending it. It just seemed true to them. Is it really true?

Our day-to-day experience seems to support PSR. Whatever happens, we believe there's a reason, don't we? If my car starts making a knocking sound, and I bring it to a mechanic, and the mechanic tells me that there's no reason for the knocking sound, then guess what? I'm going to another mechanic! I can easily believe that a mechanic could not know what causes a knocking sound, but I can't easily believe that the sound has no cause whatsoever.

Why, PSR seems almost fundamental to our sense of curiosity and the scientific and philosophical enterprise! Why should we go around looking for the causes of things, if we're not sure that things necessarily have causes?

Then again, why should we think that "no fact can be real or actual, and no proposition true, without there being a sufficient reason for its being so and not otherwise"? That's a strong statement! How can anyone possibly know that? There's a lot more to this universe than our own hum-drum day-to-day activities, isn't there? What about the ultimate origins of the universe? Did the universe even have an ultimate origin? Is an origin necessary?

Whether we can know the answer or not, surely there is a truth to the matter of whether the universe had a beginning.

If there was an origin, does it require "sufficient reason?" But that would mean that there was something before the universe ... Does that which came before the universe require "sufficient reason," or would that thing carry its "reason" within itself, somehow? Many theologians believe that God is such a being. The fact that PSR is considered in connection with God is a testament to the power of philosophy.

Is there any reason to think that there could be a case in which PSR does not hold? I can think of one, which is our seeming free-will. PSR smacks of determinism, doesn't it? If everything necessarily has a sufficient cause, then all of my actions have a sufficient cause, and so do yours! How do we reconcile PSR with our notions that we could have done something other than we did?

I don't have an opinion one way or another regarding the validity of PSR right now. The purpose of this post is not to take a stand one way or the other, but to introduce the concept to a general audience.

Philosophy is not any particular doctrine. It is a method of inquiry. There are philosophers who believe in a god, and there are philosophers who do not. Both perform mental gymnastics in pusuit of the truth. The evolution of human understanding is slow. Some changes take generations. Some individuals may grow weary of the pursuit and call it pointless. And yet, without that evolution, what we call "hard" science might never have been born out of "natural philosophy."

Who but a philosopher would even take the time to put into words a notion so fundamental to the very structure of our thinking as PSR, let alone reason productively about whether or not it is true!

It is the willingness of people to examine and question such concepts that is the cornerstone of human progress.