Headspace-On my stereo: The Eagles, 1971-1975 by The Eagles; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: Bess by Linda Pastan; On my screen: Statement (*) directed by Norman Jewison, written by Ronald Harwood and Brian Moore.

The other day George Nemeth at Brewed Fresh Daily and I began a conversation involving the blogger community and rituals. What we were trying to talk about was how to put out the welcome mat. What could we do to recognize, welcome and celebrate the milestones of others in the blogging community?

One of my first ideas was to create an inexpensive screen or top sticker (a bumper sticker for laptops) that would say something like: I’m A NEO Blogger. Where we left the discussion was to present it as a possible topic at the next blogger meet-up.

The whole thing has gotten me thinking about about community organizations, rituals, joiners and loners, and a dozen other issues. We all owe George a great debt of gratitude for the continued good work he does cataloging, connecting and chronicling us all. But we’re not doing a good enough job of supporting what George does by making our own connections.

One of the things I like about our local blogging community is its lack of categories. But in the greater World there is a growing stratification in the blogging community that my friend Terry over at I See Invisible People is beginning to ponder. What she is noticing is that, while the largest split among bloggers continues to be political (wrong/left), there is a growing gender split occurring that I think may be a facet of what Alvin Toffler called a Third Wave.

What she has noticed is, that just as the second wave of the Feminist Movement occurred in the late ’60s and early ’70s when politically savvy women decided that the progressive left was not really interested in Women’s Issues; so too are female bloggers going off in their own directions and paying less and less attention to the agendas set by the blogging white guys. And us white guys are not doing a good job of linking to and reading these blogs.

I’ve only attended two blogger meet-ups so far. Both were great meetings, but the demographic was white and male. It’s easy to say that well, everyone is invited. And that is true. But what can we as a blogger community do to make to open our tent flaps; to encourage others to show up and join the conversation?

Jay Rosen over at Press Speak wrote on this topic a few days ago in Fourteen New Voices: A Reply To Halley’s Comment. The challenge he accepted was to find 1o new bloggers that met the following criteria:

1. They can’t be male if they are white;
2. You must have five women and five men;
3. You must have at least three non-Americans.

I’ve made an effort to find women to add to my blog rolls, but I have only one feminine voice on my Top 10 National Roll, and only sixwomen on my NEO Blogs list. And, to the best of my knowledge, I don’t have any non-whites on my rolls, although I could be wrong about that since race/ethnic heritage is not always evident on a blog.

So, here’s my challenge to my fellow NEO Bloggers. During the month of April can we answer our own version of the Halley’s Comment Challenge? Can you come up with a gender balanced (five men, five women) list of ten bloggers who are not presently on your blog roll and who:

1. Are, if they are male, non-white/European males; and
2. Are representative of multiple generations (say: under 30, 30-60 and over 60?).

An additional consideration might also be finding local bloggers that have some kind of international connection. They might be recent immigrants who are blogging about events in their former home, or they might be citizens blogging about the land of the ancestors.

This is more difficult to quantify, so I’m more than open to comments on how that might be modified or clarified. (The openness to comments applies to all the categories as well.)

It’s not going to be an easy task. For me it’s going to mean replacing some blogs I currently enjoy reading. I don’t know yet what criteria I’ll use, but it’s a worthy challenge.

Enjoy.

Headspace-On my stereo: The Doors by The Doors; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: April 3 by David Lehmans; On my screen: Statement (*) directed by Norman Jewison, written by Ronald Harwood and Brian Moore.

I don’t generally subscribe to email newsletters because I find them akin to those horrible holiday letters that people send out with pink type on green stationary. But one of the ones that I do get each month is from the folks at I Need Coffee. This month the top story is from Northumbria University’s School of Psychology and Sport Sciences (whoever thought of that combination did not have enough coffee that day). The school:

is embarking on an Internet-based study assessing the cognitive, mood and health effects of everyday caffeine consumption.

I took the test this morning, sans espresso. It took me about 15 minutes to complete and involves mostly exercises that test how well your short- and long-term memory are working. The test is completely anonymous and you don’t get to see any results. But it appears to all be in the interest of science.

Headspace-On my stereo: Best Of The Doobies by The Doobie Brothers; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: The Dog Inside Mine by Alberto Rios; On my screen: The Politician’s Wife (***) directed by Graham Theakston, written by Paula Milne.

Andrew Sullivan links to an article in Monday’s Weekly Standard titled How Liberalism Failed Terri Schiavo. The core of the story is this: individuals don’t know what is best for them and it is the responsibility of government-because it does know best-to step in and see that we get what is best for us. Barry Goldwater and Ronald Reagan are spinning in their graves.

Here’s what writer Eric Cohen said:

For some, it is an article of faith that individuals should decide for themselves how to be cared for in such cases. And no doubt one response to the Schiavo case will be a renewed call for living wills and advance directives-as if the tragedy here were that Michael Schiavo did not have written proof of Terri’s desires.

The real lesson is that we are not mere creatures of the will: We still possess dignity and rights even when our capacity to make free choices is gone; and we do not possess the right to demand that others treat us as less worthy of care than we really are. [Emphasis mine, JH]

Here’s where Cohen really gets it wrong:

Treating autonomy as an absolute makes a person’s dignity turn entirely on his or her capacity to act autonomously. It leads to the view that only those with the ability to express their will possess any dignity at all-everyone else is “life unworthy of life.”

No. It doesn’t. We have a reasonable system in our society that says that when a person is incapable of expressing their will, the mantle of responsibility for determining that will is placed on that person’s legal guardian, not the government.

There is also a dangerous equivalency (and one not mentioned) that Cohen, and others attempt to make and it is this:

…what ideological liberalism now seems to believe-whether in regard to early human embryos, or late-stage dementia patients, or fetuses with Down syndrome.

While I do understand that for individuals like Cohen, all-life, from conception to death is sacred, they must not be allowed to make a legal connection between a fetus and people who have, through some tragedy, lost their ability to express their will.

The unmentioned equivalency, of course, is suicide, assisted or otherwise. Imagine this scenario.

What if Hunter S. Thompson had not done a good job of taking his own life? What if paramedics had transported him to a hospital? Would the hospital be obligated to hook him up to life support? And once on that life support, would Cohen have had government step in and keep his body alive indefinitely in the hope that a miracle would restore his bullet-ravished brain?

The challenge is not so simple that we can say that between birth (or conception) and death we are alive and that we (and government) must do everything that can be done to maintain that state.

I’ve been careful to leave the question of economics until the end. I won’t say the question of who pays? is not an important one, but I don’t think it should be the first concern. No. The first concern must be what I, or anyone, wants to do with their life.

Cohen rails against what he calls the Autonomy Regime. (Note his careful choice of words: regimes are bad. We should want to change regimes.) I prefer to use an older, and much more American word: Liberty. I oppose those who, like Cohen, seek to restrict and, when they think they can get away with, to eliminate our Liberties.

Don’t let them do it.

Headspace-On my stereo: Rhythm And Drumming Workshop by Jim Donovan; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: Message by Wendy Cope; On my screen: The Politician’s Wife (***) directed by Graham Theakston, written by Paula Milne.

Mark Fiore used to post a new animation every week on salon.com, but, for whatever reason, he’s been absent from that site for a few months. But you can subscribe (it’s free) to his brilliantly animate political cartoons. This newest work is “to explain another part of the war on terror…

Make sure you back up and watch the rest of his creations.

Headspace-On my stereo: Pulse by Jim Donovan; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: Message by Wendy Cope; On my screen: The Politician’s Wife (***) directed by Graham Theakston, written by Paula Milne.

One of my Far-East readers sent me these links to poets who are traveling and teaching in Southeast Asia. I was completely blown away to discover that both are from Ohio and that one, Michael Salinger, lives just a few miles away from me. Here are the opening lines to his poem Neon:

A poem is a 1957 Greyhound bus
Front tires balloon push wedged against the curb
Diesel idle vibrating the rear view mirror
So that the images blur
Pneumatically opening the door to individual interpretation
A poem can be a pair of wingtips
Exhausted leather shoes,
Or an angel’s feathers
Either image will do (a transit token coin flip)

The other poet is Sara Holbrook, who keeps a blog and is currently writing about her trip in Southeast Asia. These lines are from the middle of her poem I Never Said I Wasn’t Difficult:

I wish I had more privacy
and never had to be alone.
I want to run away,
I’m scared to leave my home.
I’m too tired to be responsible.
I wish that I were boss.
I want to blaze new trails.
I’m terrified
that I’ll get lost.

I just hope that I can keep from going crazy today with It’s A Small World… rumbling in my head. Make it stop!

Terri Schiavo is dead and not yet buried, but her martyrdom has begun. Donald Wildmon, chairman of the American Family Association has kicked off his version with bumper stickers (25 for $15, 50 for $27 or 100 for $45). It might have been nice if people could have waited a week or so to allow the family to mourn. But agendas are bigger than people, specially when there’s money to be made; and spent.

According to a story from the Agape Press posted on Wildmon’s website:

Eric Whittington of the American Life League believes Michael Schiavo had an accomplice in his wife’s death: judges who have no value for human life. He says Terri’s death by starvation would not have happened if more honorable men and women were on the bench.

It is that exact issue-the rights of incapacitated individuals-that Congressman Mike Pence of Indiana says will be Terri Schiavo’s legacy. “Congress must right this wrong by ensuring that incapacitated Americans may not be deprived of their inalienable right to life without the assurance of the due process of law that our federal courts were established to protect,” the lawmaker says-adding this ominous note: “With [Terri’s] death, America lost not only a precious citizen, America lost its innocence.”

I think the neo-cons who were hoping the theo-cons would go away are about to get a big, and well deserved surprise. None of which, I don’t believe, will do anything to relieve the sadness felt by those who loved Terri Schiavo.

I’ve held off on this story for two reasons. First, I wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t endanger the other party in the story. And second, I wanted to see if the initial problem could be resolved. I got an email this evening that makes me confident that both criteria are met.

Last month I posted a story about discovering, via my log files, that I had a reader in a country in Southeast Asia. Shortly after posting that piece, I got an email, with the above screen shot attached, that informed me that:

This morning I tried to access your site, and the all-too-familiar screen came up that reads: “Access have been denied for the following reason: banned combination phrase.” (see attachment). All places that I visit on the net are monitored, and each site can be blocked for “objectionable material.”

I made some changes to that original post on Saturday, 12 March, and apparently the country involved has decided that I’m no longer a threat to its safety and security. [Note: This page is from HCWW’s pre-WordPress days. If you follow the link you’ll get a whole month’s worth of post and you’ll need to do a search for the headline HELLO MYANMAR…! to find the original post. Also, I’ve noticed that images are a bit scrambled in my blog’s early days and I don’t want to spend the time reformatting all of them, but the text (and links) are fine. JH 201020.]

Yesterday I sent an email to the reader and asked if I could tell the story. Here is the reply I received this evening:

For some, magical reason, your site was unblocked. There is no rhyme or reason why this happened, other than I took your blog off of my “frequent flyer” list for a while.

It’s your call!

The snipped material is what might identify the reader and/or get my blog banned again.

I feel confident that I’ve taken reasonable security precautions to protect the reader and yet get this story out. When we post things on the Internet we too easily assume that we’re posting for the World to see. We forget that there are governments out there that are willing to use a kind of governmental nanny program to keep its citizens from being exposed to messages that might be harmful to their continued power.

This is something I’d like to explore with other bloggers. Are there things we can do to foster more access? Should there be some kind of International Coalition of Bloggers that would work to open up or beat down the walls in the Internet?

Let me know.

Headspace-On my stereo: The Capitol/Blue Note Years by Miles Davis; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: The Months by Linda Pastan; On my screen: The Politician’s Wife (***) directed by Graham Theakston, written by Paula Milne.

Headspace-On my stereo: Darvish by Darvish; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: The Months by Linda Pastan; On my screen: The Politician’s Wife (***) directed by Graham Theakston, written by Paula Milne.

Since my return from the Novels In Progress workshop and Louisville: The Coffee House Tour, I’ve been drinking more espresso at home. When I make espresso I usually make four shots at a time. The problem has been that I prefer to drink my espresso from an espresso cup and if I make more than two shots at a time, the extra two shots gets cold.

I looked around for a mini-thermos, but didn’t find anything I liked. I could have nuked the coffee to rewarm it, but I didn’t care for that either. Then I remembered how the Old Louisville Coffee House serves its espresso: in a shot glass.

While writing about coffee I found an essay by Zen cook Edward Espe Brown that made me think about the ritual of coffee, and that connection reminded me of my sake set, a very narrow necked black bottle and shot-glass like cups. Sake bottles are designed to keep sake warm and, I’ve discovered, it works perfectly for espresso too.

Before I begin to make espresso now I set the sake bottle under a running stream of hot tap water to prewarm the bottle. By the time the espresso is finished, the bottle is nicely warmed and I can pour the hot water out and the espresso in. Then I can sip my hot espresso in a shot at a time.

Mmmmmmmm…. espressooooo…

Headspace-On my stereo: Darvish by Darvish; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: The Months by Linda Pastan; On my screen: The Politician’s Wife (***) directed by Graham Theakston, written by Paula Milne.

Richard Reinoehl offers a broader take on how our practical neighbors to the north count their ballots. The system seems eminently useful and not fraught with the potentials for errors present in our own system of counting ballots. Sure, it may take a little longer, but after the recounts of 2000 and 2004, it’s got to be faster than what we’re doing now.

Headspace-On my stereo: Photographs & Memories by Jim Croce; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: Disobedience by A.A. Milne; On my screen: The Politician’s Wife (***) directed by Graham Theakston, written by Paula Milne.

Artist Bridget Ginely over at Erie.Effusion is giving her original art away to readers. She’s posting two pictures a day of her art on her website and actually offering to deliver the claimed art to your door (if you live in Cleveland). If you’re shy about having an artist on your front porch you can pick the picture up at Buzz Gallery or she’ll actually ship it to you. Now that’s customer service. No catches that I can discern, just a prolific artist with a need to do some spring cleaning. Writes Ginely:

i honestly have piles and boxes filled with stuff and what better way to say thanks to all the support, comments and love SOME of my readers offer…so if ya see something you like on this week’s rants, pop me a drop in the e-mailbox….tell your friends….ebay my art…..collect all 7 ! last time i threw out my art, someone snatched it from my garbage and sold it next week at open air market square….why wait til it’s in the garbage ? piddle free art !

I’m going to be watching for something I like.

Headspace-On my stereo: Chronicle by Creedence Clearwater Revival; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: Disobedience by A.A. Milne; On my screen: The Politician’s Wife (***) directed by Graham Theakston, written by Paula Milne.

Hurry up Mayor Campbell. Canadians are out to steal a march on Ohio and the result will be that once again we’ll be a day late and a dollar short. On the excellent Canadian Broadcasting Corporation program As It Happens tonight, Mary Lou Finlay’s and Barbara Budd’s lead story (click on Part 1 of As It Happens) is:

Representing the bawdy politic? A parliamentary committee hustles through Europe gathering information about brothels.

One interesting note is that New Zealand decriminalized prostitution at the first of the year. (Not the same as legalization, of course, but a step in the right direction for those who think social ills should be weighed against social benefits.)

Headspace-On my stereo: The Very Best Of Cream by Cream; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: Disobedience by A.A. Milne; On my screen: The Politician’s Wife (***) directed by Graham Theakston, written by Paula Milne.

I still remember where I was when I heard it. I was in my car driving north on Noble when a talk-radio show host complaining about all the news coverage of Princess Diana’s death said, “It’s not like Mother Teresa has died.” Then he went silent. About 10 seconds later he was back and in a small voice he said:

I’ve just been handed the news that Mother Teresa has died. I’ll be back shortly.

And the station went to music. It was a surreal movement.

Now my friend John Pike over at Pike Speak has handed me another surreal moment in this new item from the Associate Press: Report: Pope May Require Feeding Tube.

It is specially surreal because I had a long conversation yesterday with a friend who is a former seminary student. What we talked about what it was that kept Pope John Paul II from doing what any leader should do in his present condition: step down and allow viable leadership to take over.

What really horrifies me is the possibility that the Pope could literally outlive his assistants and the whole leadership of the Roman Catholic church could fall to a succession of unappointed secretaries overseeing a pope connected to machines.

I’m not a Catholic, so I can only imagine the horror that image my create for those who are, but I can’t see anything good in that.

Headspace-On my stereo: The Very Best Of Cream by Cream; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: Disobedience by A.A. Milne; On my screen: The Politician’s Wife (***) directed by Graham Theakston, written by Paula Milne.

This more-than-four-years-old Associated Press story from David Crary in Canada is all over the Internet, but I wanted to create one more link to it because it illustrates a vital point: the debate over which machines should count votes is a smoke screen. Because machines and software can be manipulated from a central location, any count that does not involve human eyes and hands, observed by a multiplicity of interested parties, can no longer be trusted.

That Canada has 1/10th the population of the United States is irrelevant. Doing the same thing here in the U.S. is not only just a matter of degree, but I’m seeing it more and more as a necessity to restore confidence in the greatest nation that has ever existed.

Headspace-On my stereo: Hey Stoopid by Alice Cooper; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: Grace by Linda Pastan; On my screen: The Politician’s Wife (***) directed by Graham Theakston, written by Paula Milne.

OK, according to the Tom Breckenridge, a reporter for the Plain Dealer, Mayor Jane Campbell thinks we should weigh the social costs of casino gambling against the social benefits. Breckenridge’s In letter to Voinovich, Campbell touts economics of casino gamble quotes Mayor Campbell as saying that:

Now, swarms of people flee this region every day for this [casino gambling, JH] entertainment.

George Nemeth rightly takes the mayor to task in The Logic Escapes Me, for her lack of originality. But George doesn’t go far enough. (Or perhaps he just has more good sense than I.) So, I’ve decided to take a full-flung header down the well-greased slope and damn the consequences.

Forget casino gambling. That’s pocket change to the really low-hanging apple: prostitution.

Only one state (Nevada, with the exception of Las Vegas) presently has legalized prostitution. I’m not aware of any serious problems arising from this legalization and it’s just one more revenue stream flowing into the state’s coffers.

Imagine the benefits to Ohio.

Instant wads of cash from licenses and taxes.

Mandatory health checks for all workers in the sex industry would put the screaming brakes on one facet of the spread of sexually transmitted diseases.

Organized crime would lose a source of income.

Sex-industry workers would be protected from abuse, beatings and worse.

No longer would college students have to slave away for minimum wage; in Ohio’s legalized brothels they can make thousands of dollars a shift and still have plenty of time to cram for finals.

And, here’s the biggie. Imagine the caravans of customers flowing across the borders from Indiana, Kentucky, Michigan, New York, Pennsylvania and West Virginia. I can see bus loads of customers signing up for tours with special incentives like free add-on services for those who buy the multi-hour package.

To get a feel for the business potential, scan the back pages of The Scene or The Free Times, take a look under escorts in the yellow pages or surf over to Escort Service (parental warning: this IS an adult website).

If Mayor Campbell truly believes that social benefits (jobs) must be weighed against social costs (the destruction of basic human dignity), then this is the way to go. If not, maybe she should consider original ideas. Somebody on her staff must be capable of one or two.

Headspace-On my stereo: Going Driftless with various; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: This Morning by Jane Kenyon; On my screen: The Politician’s Wife (***) directed by Graham Theakston, written by Paula Milne.

A few years back while I was making espresso for a friend and myself she remarked that I was treating the coffee the way people used to treat marijuana. And I had to agree as I carefully measured and ground the coffee, being careful to brush out the grinder and not lose a fleck.

I think that that is part of why coffee has caught on with boomers. It’s not just the caffeine. You can get as much, or more caffeine from a cup of Folgers, but I, and I think others, like the Zen quality of the ritual of making an espresso.

That’s why I want to try making Turkish coffee. I’ve had Turkish coffee at the one Arabic coffee house I know of in Cleveland: Algebra, down in Little Italy; but I’ve never tried to make the triple-foamed (not boiled) concoction myself. Trouble is, I need an Ibrik.

The Ibrik is a special, long-handled pot with a narrow neck that is used to brew Turkish coffee. I’ve looked all over Cleveland, but I haven’t found one yet. I know, I know, I can get one from the Internet, and I may end up going that route, but sometimes I do like to hold something in my hands before I buy it.

I’ve gotten burned a few times with Internet purchases and had to ship them back. The cost is minor, but it’s still a pain. And as Susan Vega writes in Postcards From The Edge:

Instant gratification is not fast enough.

Headspace-On my stereo: Beyond The Pale with Roger Weist on WRUW, 91.1; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: This Morning by Jane Kenyon; On my screen: The Politician’s Wife (***) directed by Graham Theakston, written by Paula Milne.

I picked up a copy of Rolling Stone this afternoon-for the first time in more years than I can count-because Hunter S. Thompson’s picture is on the cover (for the only time that I know of). I’ve written my own tribute to Thompson in The Place Of Definitions… (Monday, 21 February). While I was in Louisville a week ago I had occasion to write more on the Gonzo Journalist. On Thursday evening we had the reading of entries in a fiction writing challenge that involved the just-for-fun crafting of a single-sentence story of not more than 500 words.

For the record, Gail won the contest with this gem: Dog… postman… ouch… lawyer… acquittal… gun… poor dog… the end.

Below is my own feeble entry. Be forewarned. This is a groaner, but hey, deal with it.

My plan for the evening is to pour a large Wild Turkey, put on some Warren Zevon and see what the rest of the world has to say about one of my heroes.

Res Ipsa Loquitur…

Less than a month after the suicide and Tchaikovskian burial of Hunter S. Thompson, I found myself walking the streets of his hometown in search of some lingering essence of the muse who made him the writer he became; and while I might have liked to have fueled my adventure with Wild Turkey and ether, I realized that my constitution lacked the requisite toughening with which Thompson had steeled his own, so I chose, instead, caffeine in the Italian mode – the quad espresso – to fuel my quest (which gave me the manic feel that I envied in The Gonzo journalist) but kept me within the legal boundaries of this horsy-town on the Southern bank of the Ohio River, and brought me to the corner of Muhammad Ali and Fourth, to talk with a lovely barista at the Java Brewing Company while I watched for a ghost of another sort – the Catholic and mystical Thomas Merton who achieved satori on this corner nearly fifty years before – when the subject of feminine undergarments, that the fashion of low-riding trousers delightfully exposed to my attentive gaze, arose and I commented on the multitudinous colors and designs I had seen gracing the hindquarters of young women of the town as I stood sipping my second quad espresso of the day and the barista followed on my comment with one of her own by saying that it was a unique and peculiar French tradition here (and older even, she said, than the legacy of often exquisite creations produced by the city”s milliners who lost sleep and health in their search for that perfect Derby chapeau to guarantee their wealth and continued patronage of the richest of horsewomen) to wear distinctive knickers that, like jockey”s silks, defined with absolutely no ambiguity whatsoever (when it became important) the wearer”s family lineage that pre-dated the Daniel Boone expeditions and that one ignored these clannish signs at one”s peril as evidenced by the tragedy of a favorite son I might have heard of, one Hunter S. Thompson, and hearing that name, my ears pricked up and I asked what possible connection the great writer might have had with such an arcane practice; to which query she roguishly replied, that it was a longish story but that the gist of it was that the forenamed Thompson had once in an inebriated state illicitly attended a cotillion at which he deflowered a virgin of the first water; doing so in haste and with such lust-blinded eyes he failed to heed the warning flagged by the young lady”s panties; but when the deed was done Thompson”s gaze fell on the heraldically patterned silk and realizing the identity of the father of his conquest and understanding even in his drunken state that this man would not hesitate to defend his daughter”s lost honor, Thompson grabbed his chinos and dove out of the window to flee his native city because he had failed to give due deference to rear-end clothing in Louisville.

Headspace-On my stereo: Life And Crimes (disk 2)by Alice Cooper; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: This Morning by Jane Kenyon; On my screen: The Politician’s Wife (***) directed by Graham Theakston, written by Paula Milne.

Jeff Jarvis links to a piece by Neal Boortz that reminds me of a old joke.

A cowboy walks into a prairie church and is swept up in the preacher’s sermon. At the end of the service the cowboy stands up and says: “Everyone here who believes that what this fine preacher has just told us is true, raise your right hand.” Everyone in the church raised their right hand. “Now, everyone who wants to spend eternity sitting at the throne of our lord and savior, raise your left hand.” Everyone in the church raised their left hand.

Now the cowboy unholstered his two Colts and pulled back the hammers with his thumbs and says:

“Everyone who wants to go to heaven right now, stand up.”

And very quickly all the hands dropped and, rather than standing up, everyone in the church dove for cover.

What Boortz comments on is Terri Schiavo. Writes Boortz:

Do you believe that the human soul can make the transition to everlasting life while the human body that carried that soul through life clings to life on this earth? If you do, then you must surely believe that Terri Schiavo has earned and is already enjoying her reward in heaven. That being the case, why is it so important to you that the now-unneeded body of Terri Schiavo is kept alive?

Where do your concerns truly lie, with the eternal soul of Terri Schiavo, or with her earthly body?

Boortz asks a critical question. If you believe that we spend eternity in Heaven, why would you care if anyone spends a relatively infinitesimal number of years in a corporeal body?

I recognize that for Schiavo’s parents this is not about prolonging her existence in her current state. They truly believe that she can recover and come back to them as a thinking person. But, no credible medical authority gives any hope of that happening. Humans, and particularly parents, don’t always think rationally. But society has an obligation to do so.

[Update: This morning Jarvis makes the case that The Religious Wrong has jumped the shark with the Schiavo case. Now, wouldn’t that be poetic justice?]