Blog number 264 **** 22 December 2008
When I was in the Air Force stationed at Mather AFB in Sacramento you know where, we were one day called in to an assembly where this guy had a golden opportunity for us Air Force personnel. He would manage a credit union for us, and all he would ask for as payment was the small sum of 2 percent of the deposits, and out of that he would rent the building, pay for all machines and pay all salaries. Good deal, right? Two percent couldn't add up to much. Obviously a philanthropic person.
Anyhow, it got going and into it about a year came another "good deal" only for Air Force personnel. We could borrow a thousand dollars at one and a half percent interest and we would then deposit the thousand we borrowed into the credit union where it would earn us three percent. Wow! How could you lose, right?
They advertised this boon diligently - calling it, "Estate Planning." Posters extolling the virtues of Estate Planning promulgated ubiquitously. Our estate would grow effortlessly once we invested the seed of a borrowed thousand dollars. We were so lucky to have caring civilians looking out for us military. Just like they still do, from what I read in the papers.
I talked to someone on the credit union board once, telling him that it was a fraud, the borrowed amount was one and a half percentage a MONTH, the 3 percent return was for a YEAR. I could tell he thought I was in error somehow, and the fraud went on.
One night I was talking to a friend and he told me what a good deal this "Estate Planning" thing was, and I told him it was a hoax. A scheme.
He says, "No, no. I'm making money on borrowed money."
So I ask, "How much money are you getting for your deposit and how much are you paying for your loan?"
He looked. And he looked sick. He had swallowed hook line and sinker the fiction told by the cheats, never thinking to look at the actual money exchanging hands.
How many were cheated in this way? About half the depositors, maybe. Maybe even more. It was a very popular deal. How many could resist making money on someone else's money? Unfortunately, the average person isn't all that swift.
This phenomena also accounts for the proliferation of "Check Into Cash" stores who cheat the young, the poor, the ignorant and the unwary.
What kind of a person could take advantage of a person that would believe such a crazy story as that someone would loan you money and then pay you to give it back?
Or that stores that charge 300 percent interest are there for YOUR benefit?
People will sell their souls awfully cheap.
Bah! I say.
Humbug! I say also.
Monday, December 22, 2008
MY OWN PRIVATE I OWE
Blog number 263 **** 22 December 2008
I walked to the corner a few minutes ago to the mail box. On the way back I noticed a piece of paper lying on the sidewalk. Picking it up, I noticed it was a used Lottery ticket. There were four scratch-off bingo cards.
All across on card one, you get $2. All across on card two, $3. Card three, $10. Card four, $25.
Card one had three lines full except for one square. Missed by "that much."
Card two had three lines full except for one square. Missed by "that much."
Card three had two lines full except for one square. Missed by "that much."
Card four had three lines full. except for one square. Missed by "that much."
Each card came SO close to being a winner. Jest one leetle square. Two at the most.
Now, you could also win $25, $50, $150, $250 IF you get all four corners on each card. And again, we missed by one on each card except for two on bad luck card number three. Almost won again!
I could picture the buyer of this scratcher thinking, "Oh, oh, I'm winning! "I'm still winning! I'm still winning! Oh, damn!" four times in four minutes probably, and all it cost him was $2 for the privilege of being taken for a fool by the very people elected by him and his neighbors to make his life better than it is. His government.
If none of the scratch-offs on this card won and the numbers that came up were none of the numbers that could be used for winning, the end result would be the same, would it not? But wouldn't the result be more truthful? You ain't gonna win, why not just come out and show that right off instead of building up false hope? Because people would stop buying lottery tickets, that's why!
All lotteries used to be illegal. To protect the poor and the ignorant. Even church Bingos were illegal, but usually tolerated. Hard to believe, isn't it?
I remember when California first came out with a lottery, in one high school the seniors bought five hundred dollars worth of lottery tickets in order to raise money for their senior prom. They didn't win anything. Not a dime. I think those kids got a lot more than five hundred dollars worth of education the day they checked those losing numbers.
What kind of a moral, caring culture encourages things like lotteries to exist, advertise them with subtle lies and innuendoes as a way to make money? "You can't win if you don't play."
No, and you can't lose either.
Bah.
Humbug,
I walked to the corner a few minutes ago to the mail box. On the way back I noticed a piece of paper lying on the sidewalk. Picking it up, I noticed it was a used Lottery ticket. There were four scratch-off bingo cards.
All across on card one, you get $2. All across on card two, $3. Card three, $10. Card four, $25.
Card one had three lines full except for one square. Missed by "that much."
Card two had three lines full except for one square. Missed by "that much."
Card three had two lines full except for one square. Missed by "that much."
Card four had three lines full. except for one square. Missed by "that much."
Each card came SO close to being a winner. Jest one leetle square. Two at the most.
Now, you could also win $25, $50, $150, $250 IF you get all four corners on each card. And again, we missed by one on each card except for two on bad luck card number three. Almost won again!
I could picture the buyer of this scratcher thinking, "Oh, oh, I'm winning! "I'm still winning! I'm still winning! Oh, damn!" four times in four minutes probably, and all it cost him was $2 for the privilege of being taken for a fool by the very people elected by him and his neighbors to make his life better than it is. His government.
If none of the scratch-offs on this card won and the numbers that came up were none of the numbers that could be used for winning, the end result would be the same, would it not? But wouldn't the result be more truthful? You ain't gonna win, why not just come out and show that right off instead of building up false hope? Because people would stop buying lottery tickets, that's why!
All lotteries used to be illegal. To protect the poor and the ignorant. Even church Bingos were illegal, but usually tolerated. Hard to believe, isn't it?
I remember when California first came out with a lottery, in one high school the seniors bought five hundred dollars worth of lottery tickets in order to raise money for their senior prom. They didn't win anything. Not a dime. I think those kids got a lot more than five hundred dollars worth of education the day they checked those losing numbers.
What kind of a moral, caring culture encourages things like lotteries to exist, advertise them with subtle lies and innuendoes as a way to make money? "You can't win if you don't play."
No, and you can't lose either.
Bah.
Humbug,
Saturday, December 20, 2008
A GOOD NEIGHBOR
Blog number 262 **** 20 December 2008
My new little friend, Anna that I told you about that I met while pruning a tree in my back yard, I saw her once more. I look over the fence every day now, but it might be too cold and wet for her to be out playing. Her yard is not all that enticing anyhow. Full of tumbleweeds and junk. No grass or plants at all. Just wet sand. Wet sand and tumbleweeds and broken toys and a rototiller, a fertilizer machine and a soaker hose that is laid out along the fence where nothing is growing.
We carry small toys in a sack in the car in case we meet some cute babies and I went and got a small car from there, put it in a small plastic bag and threw it over the fence. I waited three days until finally one day Anna was there. I told her that there was a plastic bag "over there." She went to it and found the car. She started walking toward the house saying, "It's a car. It's not mine." I told her it was, that I had thrown it there.
An honest baby! How rare is that?
My new little friend, Anna that I told you about that I met while pruning a tree in my back yard, I saw her once more. I look over the fence every day now, but it might be too cold and wet for her to be out playing. Her yard is not all that enticing anyhow. Full of tumbleweeds and junk. No grass or plants at all. Just wet sand. Wet sand and tumbleweeds and broken toys and a rototiller, a fertilizer machine and a soaker hose that is laid out along the fence where nothing is growing.
We carry small toys in a sack in the car in case we meet some cute babies and I went and got a small car from there, put it in a small plastic bag and threw it over the fence. I waited three days until finally one day Anna was there. I told her that there was a plastic bag "over there." She went to it and found the car. She started walking toward the house saying, "It's a car. It's not mine." I told her it was, that I had thrown it there.
An honest baby! How rare is that?
ALWAYS ERR IN THE DIRECTION OF SEX
Blog number 261 **** 20 December 2008
In a perfect world, I would be an Executive Movie Director, answerable to no one. As the Executive Movie Director, one of my duties would be to pick a movie director to direct my movies. That way, since I know next to nothing about directing movies, I would be free to let Martin Scorsese et al, direct the movies.
But I would never let them;
(1), have any sex scenes that did not advance the plot. None, nit, nil.
(2) have any sex scene that lasted longer than necessary to advance said plot.
(3) There would be no kissing that began and ended with mouths opened as if to swallow an ostrich egg. That's it for the sex stuff. This is not a porno film, folks.
I would not allow the action to take place in the dark just to be "arty." I want to see the action, the horror, whatever. This idea that things are more scary in the dark is nonsense and the perfect example of that is the bright and scary movie, "The Shining."
There would be no more of this silly running down the middle of a street trying to escape an automobile.
No one would show their anger by sweeping things off a table or otherwise destroying inanimate objects. If I wanted to show anger, I would have the character hit somebody for little of no reason. They probably deserved it anyhow.
And wise up, movie people. No animal hisses or growls at their prey. Predators are silent when hunting. That knowledge should come from common sense. There is nothing more scary about predators than when they are coming at you with obvious intent and confidence, knowing full well that you will be there when it comes time to bite your leg off.
In my movies you will no longer see those "falling in love" scenes. You know the ones I am talking about - gleefully running along the beach hand in hand, laughing sillily at ducks or gooses or anything that happens to be handy.
I like realism in my movies. In that great movie, "American Beauty," tell me please, why were the only two cheerleaders that were not smiling during their performances, the two actors? Because they were actors, NOT cheerleaders. The forth wall was broken.
If I were the Executive Director of American Beauty and Sam Mendes was merely my assistant, I would say to him, "Sam! Come here! See those two? What in hell's the matter with you? Are you an idiot? Now fix that or I'll fix you!"
Why am I saddled with incompetence?
I twice saw on classy television programs, automobile batteries accused of being the cause of cars not being able to start EVEN THOUGH THE ENGINES COULD BE HEARD TO AGGRESSIVELY TURN OVER! There was and still is absolutely no excuse for an error like that.
In "The Shawshank Redemption," Tim Robbin's character busts through a drain pipe and is greeted with a violent gush of sewage. NO! NO! NO! Drains have pressure ONLY if they are blocked up. There has to be pressure IN the drain pipe in order for water to gush when the pressure is released. If a drain has pressure, it is not longer a drain. It is malfunctioning and it would have been noticed inside the prison when all the toilets started overflowing.
If the pipe gushed, it would mean that Tim's character would have to crawl through a hole tinier than what a turd could go through.
Sorry about the language. Nothing I can do about it. Computer malfunction.
And finally, if there has been made a classic movie, leave off the remakes. Please?
In a perfect world, I would be an Executive Movie Director, answerable to no one. As the Executive Movie Director, one of my duties would be to pick a movie director to direct my movies. That way, since I know next to nothing about directing movies, I would be free to let Martin Scorsese et al, direct the movies.
But I would never let them;
(1), have any sex scenes that did not advance the plot. None, nit, nil.
(2) have any sex scene that lasted longer than necessary to advance said plot.
(3) There would be no kissing that began and ended with mouths opened as if to swallow an ostrich egg. That's it for the sex stuff. This is not a porno film, folks.
I would not allow the action to take place in the dark just to be "arty." I want to see the action, the horror, whatever. This idea that things are more scary in the dark is nonsense and the perfect example of that is the bright and scary movie, "The Shining."
There would be no more of this silly running down the middle of a street trying to escape an automobile.
No one would show their anger by sweeping things off a table or otherwise destroying inanimate objects. If I wanted to show anger, I would have the character hit somebody for little of no reason. They probably deserved it anyhow.
And wise up, movie people. No animal hisses or growls at their prey. Predators are silent when hunting. That knowledge should come from common sense. There is nothing more scary about predators than when they are coming at you with obvious intent and confidence, knowing full well that you will be there when it comes time to bite your leg off.
In my movies you will no longer see those "falling in love" scenes. You know the ones I am talking about - gleefully running along the beach hand in hand, laughing sillily at ducks or gooses or anything that happens to be handy.
I like realism in my movies. In that great movie, "American Beauty," tell me please, why were the only two cheerleaders that were not smiling during their performances, the two actors? Because they were actors, NOT cheerleaders. The forth wall was broken.
If I were the Executive Director of American Beauty and Sam Mendes was merely my assistant, I would say to him, "Sam! Come here! See those two? What in hell's the matter with you? Are you an idiot? Now fix that or I'll fix you!"
Why am I saddled with incompetence?
I twice saw on classy television programs, automobile batteries accused of being the cause of cars not being able to start EVEN THOUGH THE ENGINES COULD BE HEARD TO AGGRESSIVELY TURN OVER! There was and still is absolutely no excuse for an error like that.
In "The Shawshank Redemption," Tim Robbin's character busts through a drain pipe and is greeted with a violent gush of sewage. NO! NO! NO! Drains have pressure ONLY if they are blocked up. There has to be pressure IN the drain pipe in order for water to gush when the pressure is released. If a drain has pressure, it is not longer a drain. It is malfunctioning and it would have been noticed inside the prison when all the toilets started overflowing.
If the pipe gushed, it would mean that Tim's character would have to crawl through a hole tinier than what a turd could go through.
Sorry about the language. Nothing I can do about it. Computer malfunction.
And finally, if there has been made a classic movie, leave off the remakes. Please?
Thursday, December 18, 2008
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Blog number 260 **** 18 December 2008
The title of the book, "Between Silk and Cyanide" comes from a conversation the author had with two of his bosses. He was trying to get them to OK the use of one time codes printed on silk so they couldn't be detected by periodic random searches by the Gestapo on city streets.
Each time a code was used, the agent would clip it off the piece of silk and destroy it.
The author's bosses...why don't I just start using the author's name? It's Leo Marks. Now, Leo's bosses asked him if he could put the importance of using the silk as opposed to not, in one paragraph. He said he could do it in one sentence. "It's between silk or cyanide." Use the silk or use the cyanide that each agent was issued.
The title of the book, "Between Silk and Cyanide" comes from a conversation the author had with two of his bosses. He was trying to get them to OK the use of one time codes printed on silk so they couldn't be detected by periodic random searches by the Gestapo on city streets.
Each time a code was used, the agent would clip it off the piece of silk and destroy it.
The author's bosses...why don't I just start using the author's name? It's Leo Marks. Now, Leo's bosses asked him if he could put the importance of using the silk as opposed to not, in one paragraph. He said he could do it in one sentence. "It's between silk or cyanide." Use the silk or use the cyanide that each agent was issued.
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE PART ONE
Blog number 258 **** 18 December 2008
When I find a book I really love, I always wish it could be longer. I almost feel lost when I finish a really good book. Fortunately I recently found two excellent books in a row, and both of them were and are, very long. Goody goody, I say.
One of them I just finished - "The Steel Castles," 800 pages, and the other one, "Between Silk and Cyanide," 600 pages, I am half way through. This last book I first noticed on the book shelves at Barnes and Nobles a couple of weeks ago. I passed it up because it was about code-makers in WW Two and who wants to read about something as boring as that? Huh?
Last week it was brought to my attention again, only this time it reminded me of when I first saw "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" in a book store in Sacramento. I had also passed on that one at first, because who wants to read nonsense? Again, huh? But the second time I noticed "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," it seemed to jump out at me and I bought it and read it. Changed my life. Definitely.
So I thought, since I had the exact same feeling about the Code book, maybe it would be worth a read. And it was. Not life changing this time, but very, very interesting. Very, very entertaining.
Now a nonsequitur. NOW a nonsequitur?!
This entry is to be in two parts because I have been told that my entries are sometimes too long and therefore not likely to be read all the way through. I myself have discovered this phenomena when reading someone else's Blog that is too long.
See you in the next entry down.
When I find a book I really love, I always wish it could be longer. I almost feel lost when I finish a really good book. Fortunately I recently found two excellent books in a row, and both of them were and are, very long. Goody goody, I say.
One of them I just finished - "The Steel Castles," 800 pages, and the other one, "Between Silk and Cyanide," 600 pages, I am half way through. This last book I first noticed on the book shelves at Barnes and Nobles a couple of weeks ago. I passed it up because it was about code-makers in WW Two and who wants to read about something as boring as that? Huh?
Last week it was brought to my attention again, only this time it reminded me of when I first saw "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" in a book store in Sacramento. I had also passed on that one at first, because who wants to read nonsense? Again, huh? But the second time I noticed "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," it seemed to jump out at me and I bought it and read it. Changed my life. Definitely.
So I thought, since I had the exact same feeling about the Code book, maybe it would be worth a read. And it was. Not life changing this time, but very, very interesting. Very, very entertaining.
Now a nonsequitur. NOW a nonsequitur?!
This entry is to be in two parts because I have been told that my entries are sometimes too long and therefore not likely to be read all the way through. I myself have discovered this phenomena when reading someone else's Blog that is too long.
See you in the next entry down.
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE PART TWO
Blog number 259 **** 18 December 2008
The main plot in this book is that the author, "Leo Marks," is convinced that the agents in Holland have all been caught and therefore the messages being sent to London have all been written by the Nazi Gestapo, but he cannot get his superiors to listen to him.
The reason that Leo thinks that the Dutch agents have been compromised is that the Dutch are the only group that never sends indecipherables.
Indecipherables are coded messages that the agent has miscoded by misaligning the number columns, misspelling a word, or some other similar cause. If the London office cannot read them they must either be decoded or the agent asked to resend.
Since the Gestapo runs radio detection vans looking for illegal wireless operators, resending a message increases the chances that the wireless operator will be caught. Since the agent is naturally under stress when sending, it is not all that unlikly that an indecipherable will be sent. The fact that the Dutch never mess up a code suggests that they are under no stress, as would be the case if the Gestapo were the senders.
Leo notices that most of the Free French's indecipherables are never deciphered owing to the fact that there is an agreement between General De Gaulle and London that Free French messages are to be "hands off." He decided to secretly decipher them in order to make the Free French agents safer.
Called in to an interview with two of his top bosses one day, one of them springs on him the question, "What do you know about the secret French code?"
He replied, "I'm not allowed to know anything about it, sir."
The boss snapped, "That's not what I asked you."
The main plot in this book is that the author, "Leo Marks," is convinced that the agents in Holland have all been caught and therefore the messages being sent to London have all been written by the Nazi Gestapo, but he cannot get his superiors to listen to him.
The reason that Leo thinks that the Dutch agents have been compromised is that the Dutch are the only group that never sends indecipherables.
Indecipherables are coded messages that the agent has miscoded by misaligning the number columns, misspelling a word, or some other similar cause. If the London office cannot read them they must either be decoded or the agent asked to resend.
Since the Gestapo runs radio detection vans looking for illegal wireless operators, resending a message increases the chances that the wireless operator will be caught. Since the agent is naturally under stress when sending, it is not all that unlikly that an indecipherable will be sent. The fact that the Dutch never mess up a code suggests that they are under no stress, as would be the case if the Gestapo were the senders.
Leo notices that most of the Free French's indecipherables are never deciphered owing to the fact that there is an agreement between General De Gaulle and London that Free French messages are to be "hands off." He decided to secretly decipher them in order to make the Free French agents safer.
Called in to an interview with two of his top bosses one day, one of them springs on him the question, "What do you know about the secret French code?"
He replied, "I'm not allowed to know anything about it, sir."
The boss snapped, "That's not what I asked you."
Monday, December 15, 2008
DAMN THE TORPEDOES. DAMN THEM, I SAY!
Blog number 257 **** 15 December 2008
During most of WW 2, Germany was very reticent about using her submarines indiscriminately because of fear of pissing off the neutral countries, especially the United States. Late in the war, however, things were going so bad for her that she decided to begin unrestricted submarine warfare. It was a huge success. Besides sinking merchant ships, it also caused other merchant ships not to sail under fear of being sunk. Britain was beginning to starve. Britain was beginning to lose the war.
The subs were very vulnerable on the surface, but once they submerged they could not be found. They could travel 80 miles underwater and no one knew where she was likely to surface. Destroyers were about the only weapon available to the Allies for sub sinking, but there weren't enough of them and they had to be taken from other duties, leaving those areas in danger from subs.
One of the typical methods the Germans used was to surface by a merchant ship, wait until the crew got off, then place demolition charges in the holds, thus saving their expensive torpedoes for more valuable targets. This method however gave the English a counter method, which was to send "Q-ships".
Q-ships were reconstructed disguised merchant ships which had hidden guns that were brought out when the submarine surfaced. One ingenious Q-ship had a telephone line and a tow cable tied to a submerged sub. When the ship, flying a British flag enticed a German sub to surface, the British sub would be alert via the telephone line whereupon it would torpedo the German sub.
When the German sub, U-40 was sunk in this manner, the rescued captain complained bitterly that his sub had been sunk by a "dirty trick."
The crews of the Q-ships were all volunteer naval officers and seamen disguised as civilians who learned to mimic the appearance and crisis behavior of a freighter's crew. They would hurriedly tumble into lifeboats and row away, leaving the gun crews hidden until the sub surfaced and came within ranger of the four inch guns.
While awaiting a submarine captain finding them through his periscope, the very disciplined crew grew their hair long, grew beards, slouched about with their hands in their pockets and generally acted like ordinary merchant seamen. One man wore a blond wig posing as a Scandinavian seaman. Garbage was dumped carelessly over the sides - anathema in a man-of-war.
More on this later. Mine energy esta kaput.
During most of WW 2, Germany was very reticent about using her submarines indiscriminately because of fear of pissing off the neutral countries, especially the United States. Late in the war, however, things were going so bad for her that she decided to begin unrestricted submarine warfare. It was a huge success. Besides sinking merchant ships, it also caused other merchant ships not to sail under fear of being sunk. Britain was beginning to starve. Britain was beginning to lose the war.
The subs were very vulnerable on the surface, but once they submerged they could not be found. They could travel 80 miles underwater and no one knew where she was likely to surface. Destroyers were about the only weapon available to the Allies for sub sinking, but there weren't enough of them and they had to be taken from other duties, leaving those areas in danger from subs.
One of the typical methods the Germans used was to surface by a merchant ship, wait until the crew got off, then place demolition charges in the holds, thus saving their expensive torpedoes for more valuable targets. This method however gave the English a counter method, which was to send "Q-ships".
Q-ships were reconstructed disguised merchant ships which had hidden guns that were brought out when the submarine surfaced. One ingenious Q-ship had a telephone line and a tow cable tied to a submerged sub. When the ship, flying a British flag enticed a German sub to surface, the British sub would be alert via the telephone line whereupon it would torpedo the German sub.
When the German sub, U-40 was sunk in this manner, the rescued captain complained bitterly that his sub had been sunk by a "dirty trick."
The crews of the Q-ships were all volunteer naval officers and seamen disguised as civilians who learned to mimic the appearance and crisis behavior of a freighter's crew. They would hurriedly tumble into lifeboats and row away, leaving the gun crews hidden until the sub surfaced and came within ranger of the four inch guns.
While awaiting a submarine captain finding them through his periscope, the very disciplined crew grew their hair long, grew beards, slouched about with their hands in their pockets and generally acted like ordinary merchant seamen. One man wore a blond wig posing as a Scandinavian seaman. Garbage was dumped carelessly over the sides - anathema in a man-of-war.
More on this later. Mine energy esta kaput.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
FEELS GOOD TO HAVE HER BACK
Blog number 255 **** 11 December 2008
My youngest son told me the other day that his wife, Kiki, passed him in the kitchen while he was busy doing something or other and he said to her, "How's it going, Kiki?" or words to that effect. I forget what, exactly he told me that he had said, but it's not important. Is it?
He then turned around and Kiki wasn't there, she was in the other room and he heard her say, "Who you talking to, Honey?" Again, paraphrased. My memory ain't all that good.
He asked me what I thought had happened. I told him about tulpas.
Tulpas are, according to Eastern Philosophy, Mind creations. Supposedly, a person can concentrate his or her mind on an imagined person to such an extent that eventually that imagined person becomes real enough that the creator can see and talk to "it". Eventually, again supposedly, if the mind is kept on it, other people will also be able to see and talk to the tulpa.
I told the story in an earlier Blog entry about a little girl I met on my walk to the Post Office who, after asking me where I was going and I told her I was going home, she said, "I go too." She told me her name was Brittany, but I found out later from her grandmother that Brittany wasn't her name at all - that she just called herself that because Brittany Spears was her idol.
"Brittany" moved away before I could see her again, but I never forgot her over the course of I think, four years. Occasionally I would say to my good wife that I sure missed Brittany. I thought of her often.
A couple of days ago I was out pruning a large tree full of branches. Occasionally I heard this sweet voice, but at first I thought it was children playing and then it seemed to me I was being spoken to. I looked through the branches into the neighbor's yard and there was this sweet, sweet, child. She said, "Can you see me?"
I talked to her for a while and I came away with the definite impression that she was exactly like my Brittany. Maybe a year older, maybe not.
I guess I could say that my constant thinking of Brittany produced her as my tulpa if I wanted to live in a magical world instead of in this boring mundane ordinary commonplace undistinguished world, couldn't I?
Sure I could.
My youngest son told me the other day that his wife, Kiki, passed him in the kitchen while he was busy doing something or other and he said to her, "How's it going, Kiki?" or words to that effect. I forget what, exactly he told me that he had said, but it's not important. Is it?
He then turned around and Kiki wasn't there, she was in the other room and he heard her say, "Who you talking to, Honey?" Again, paraphrased. My memory ain't all that good.
He asked me what I thought had happened. I told him about tulpas.
Tulpas are, according to Eastern Philosophy, Mind creations. Supposedly, a person can concentrate his or her mind on an imagined person to such an extent that eventually that imagined person becomes real enough that the creator can see and talk to "it". Eventually, again supposedly, if the mind is kept on it, other people will also be able to see and talk to the tulpa.
I told the story in an earlier Blog entry about a little girl I met on my walk to the Post Office who, after asking me where I was going and I told her I was going home, she said, "I go too." She told me her name was Brittany, but I found out later from her grandmother that Brittany wasn't her name at all - that she just called herself that because Brittany Spears was her idol.
"Brittany" moved away before I could see her again, but I never forgot her over the course of I think, four years. Occasionally I would say to my good wife that I sure missed Brittany. I thought of her often.
A couple of days ago I was out pruning a large tree full of branches. Occasionally I heard this sweet voice, but at first I thought it was children playing and then it seemed to me I was being spoken to. I looked through the branches into the neighbor's yard and there was this sweet, sweet, child. She said, "Can you see me?"
I talked to her for a while and I came away with the definite impression that she was exactly like my Brittany. Maybe a year older, maybe not.
I guess I could say that my constant thinking of Brittany produced her as my tulpa if I wanted to live in a magical world instead of in this boring mundane ordinary commonplace undistinguished world, couldn't I?
Sure I could.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
ASK THE EXPERTS
Blog number 254 **** 10 December 2008
Before WW 1, submarines were not very well thought of as weapons - they were more like toys, so no thought was given as to how to fight them.
When they started sinking British merchant ships, the British Admiralty decided to use coastal yachts and motorboats to patrol outside British harbors. Only one in ten of these boats carried any weapon larger than a rifle. A few motor launches carried two swimmers, one armed with a black bag, the other with a hammer. If a periscope was sighted, the black bag was to be placed over the periscope and if that didn't work, the hammer was to be used to smash the glass on the periscope.
Before WW 1, submarines were not very well thought of as weapons - they were more like toys, so no thought was given as to how to fight them.
When they started sinking British merchant ships, the British Admiralty decided to use coastal yachts and motorboats to patrol outside British harbors. Only one in ten of these boats carried any weapon larger than a rifle. A few motor launches carried two swimmers, one armed with a black bag, the other with a hammer. If a periscope was sighted, the black bag was to be placed over the periscope and if that didn't work, the hammer was to be used to smash the glass on the periscope.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
YEAH, THAT REALLY WAS STRANGE
Blog number 253 **** 04 December 2008
My daughter-in-law, Kiki, gave my dear wife a delicate ceramic wind chime and this morning Teresa (my dear wife) broke it. She said, "I don't know how it happened, it was really strange."
I said, "Did you drop it?"
She replied resignedly, "Yeah, I dropped it."
My daughter-in-law, Kiki, gave my dear wife a delicate ceramic wind chime and this morning Teresa (my dear wife) broke it. She said, "I don't know how it happened, it was really strange."
I said, "Did you drop it?"
She replied resignedly, "Yeah, I dropped it."
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
SUCCINCTNESS AND CLARITY IS THE KEY
Blog number 252 **** 02 December 2008
In Blog entry number 251 of this same date, as may be seen below this entry, I talked some of an Admiral Beatty. Now I want to talk a bit about his wife.
Beatty (and a few others evidently) was seeing in the Biblical sense, a married woman named Mrs. Ethel Tree. Ethel eventually wanted a divorce from her husband so she could marry Admiral Beatty, so she sent him this wonderful letter;
Dear Arthur,
I have thought over your suggestion that we should live together again and I can never consent to it. There is no use discussing our differences. I shall never live with you again.
Yours truly,
Ethel F. Tree
In Blog entry number 251 of this same date, as may be seen below this entry, I talked some of an Admiral Beatty. Now I want to talk a bit about his wife.
Beatty (and a few others evidently) was seeing in the Biblical sense, a married woman named Mrs. Ethel Tree. Ethel eventually wanted a divorce from her husband so she could marry Admiral Beatty, so she sent him this wonderful letter;
Dear Arthur,
I have thought over your suggestion that we should live together again and I can never consent to it. There is no use discussing our differences. I shall never live with you again.
Yours truly,
Ethel F. Tree
REMEMBER THE MAINE!!
Blog number 251 **** 02 December 2008
Today we will engage in an exercise in palliation. Look it up. I did.
I am at the present time - time being expressed as in the general area of "now", reading. "The Steel Castles" - a book about the world's large warships since their inception.
Before and during the First World War, there were two great British Admirals. There was Admiral Beatty, a fast burner, not too keen on military life, but a very brave and resourceful and lucky and politically social go-getter.
Then there was Admiral Jellicoe - an extremely brilliant military man, well versed in all aspects of ships of the line, a critical observer of the shortcomings of the British navy as opposed to the more well-built German navy.
"He [Beatty] lacked Jellicoe's knowledge of the vulnerability of British ships to enemy weapons; indeed, this information burst on Beatty suddenly at Jutland when two of his six giant battle cruisers blew up under German shellfire, each explosion killing a thousand men. Beatty's response was, 'There seems to be something wrong with our bloody ships today.' "
Today we will engage in an exercise in palliation. Look it up. I did.
I am at the present time - time being expressed as in the general area of "now", reading. "The Steel Castles" - a book about the world's large warships since their inception.
Before and during the First World War, there were two great British Admirals. There was Admiral Beatty, a fast burner, not too keen on military life, but a very brave and resourceful and lucky and politically social go-getter.
Then there was Admiral Jellicoe - an extremely brilliant military man, well versed in all aspects of ships of the line, a critical observer of the shortcomings of the British navy as opposed to the more well-built German navy.
"He [Beatty] lacked Jellicoe's knowledge of the vulnerability of British ships to enemy weapons; indeed, this information burst on Beatty suddenly at Jutland when two of his six giant battle cruisers blew up under German shellfire, each explosion killing a thousand men. Beatty's response was, 'There seems to be something wrong with our bloody ships today.' "
Monday, December 1, 2008
WELL THAT WAS A WASTE OF TIME
Blog number 250 **** 01 December 2008
Went to the doctor's today to discuss my November 30th experience. Had a cat scan, blood work, and electrocardiogram. All tests show that I had an aberration of physical machinations. Nothing serious, evidently.
I figured it was nothing. If a person doesn't know his own body, whose body does he know, yeah?
Worst part of the Emergency room experience was lying there for an hour or two waiting to get discharged. Second worst of course was the needle shoved into my unwilling arm and then left there to pain away.
Saw a few babies from a distance, nothing up close and personal. Although last Thursday we went to a Mexican food store - Food City. Walked in, a baby boy was trying to climb out of the cart. I said, "Where you going?" Nothing.
I asked again, "Where you going?" Blank stare.
I then asked, "?A donde vas?" and he started jabbering away until I finally had to say, "No comprende." I wish Teresa had been there to tell me what the baby was trying to tell me. He seemed pretty excited about it.
Went to the doctor's today to discuss my November 30th experience. Had a cat scan, blood work, and electrocardiogram. All tests show that I had an aberration of physical machinations. Nothing serious, evidently.
I figured it was nothing. If a person doesn't know his own body, whose body does he know, yeah?
Worst part of the Emergency room experience was lying there for an hour or two waiting to get discharged. Second worst of course was the needle shoved into my unwilling arm and then left there to pain away.
Saw a few babies from a distance, nothing up close and personal. Although last Thursday we went to a Mexican food store - Food City. Walked in, a baby boy was trying to climb out of the cart. I said, "Where you going?" Nothing.
I asked again, "Where you going?" Blank stare.
I then asked, "?A donde vas?" and he started jabbering away until I finally had to say, "No comprende." I wish Teresa had been there to tell me what the baby was trying to tell me. He seemed pretty excited about it.
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