Won't get Fooled Again

Here, on my desk is a picture of the new boss--there was never a photo of the old boss in the office, that I keep forgetting to find a suitable frame for (it's of course printed on a shiny A-4 European-sized page, and government-issue frames are 8 1/2" by 11" and I can't bear to trim him to size), which has been there since the day after the inaugeration. I feel guardedly optimistic about the future of the economy and my own job security--I think maybe that ought to be the one constant but timorous bulwark of America, a reliably strong influence on trade and the markets, that and a beacon of freedom and liberty. Speaking of my own job security--without going into the details of keeping a standing army and other relics of the Cold War, day by day, I come to realize that the entity known as USAREUR (pronounced "use-a-rawr," the Army likes for its acronyms to be flubbed out loud) exists exclusively as a make-work program for those individuals in the witness protection program. Daily, as we reinvent the catch-22, I feel certain that that is the one rational explanation for the rampant illogic.

Rewinder

H was very surprised to hear that the pageantry associated with Groundhog Day is believed to be steeped in traditional German rites of Spring. Americans apparently excuse their silly behaviour by offering that the Pennsylvania Dutch came from the old world for the freedom to celebrate Imbolc in the way that Thor intended, without fear of persecution. I suspect that the whole notion is another example of patrician ridicule for those who dragged their feet when converting from the Julian to the Gregorian calendar, like April Fools' day. Today certainly felt like Spring, however, and I hope the vermin didn't spy its shadow. I bet H was as surprised to hear of the German influence as I was to find out that Germans believe there is a mandate for an ornament, some representation of a pickle on every American Christmas tree. "A Gurken?," I said. Yes, hidden somewhere apparently, like the word "Mini" on the picture-puzzles of the Mini-Page or like the allegory in Leonardo's paintings in the Da Vinci Code. I'll find the Holy Grail yet.

Ox Tail Soup

Distinctly I can remember the day in Kindergarten that I learned that wool products did not equivocally mean the torturous slaughter of sheep and lambs. The rest of my class regarded me strangely during this barn-yard lesson. I suppose, without the aid of ever growing up on a farm, urged not to name the livestock, or a fishing-trip with Granddad, I concluded that all works of man would requite some sort of bloody sacrifice. I can also recall being about to recite numbers no more than thirty-nine, though I knew that counts went higher. I was quite realized to learn that in fact sheep like to be sheared, cows like (need, due to the hormone injections) to be milked, and that the predator populations like to be kept under control. Maybe the belief was grounded in a few provactive, infantile snap-shots, bare, on a sheepskin rug, on which I would later see my sister posed... Incidentally, it's just as strange to me to recall a photograph that one cannot summon up electronically as it is to know a favorite image that one cannot hold in his hands.

stereo-isotopes

The view from my office window (o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave--Play Ball!) also affords me a glimpse in the hinterground of the steam generated from the cooling-towers of the nuclear power plant. In the forefront is shaggy shadow of a dissected Holiday Tree. The place where I work is a bit like Springfield, the biggest little town in Germany. The exhaust really shows in in the sunsets, and some co-workers express periodic angst over inchoate radiation or the potential targetting of terrorists. I, on the other hand, call it our "Cloud-Maker."

Demi-tasse--that's my answer to half full or half empty

Cognitive dissonance is what they call the discomfort experienced when one tries to simultaneously hold two contradictory ideas in his head. Double-think. The most common examples of this phenomenon I go through aside from the occasional buyers' remorse comes with smoking. H and I both talk of quitting, once we're equally ready, and in the meantime, go through the motions by rote and nasty-habit. We both fancy ourselves and each other as smart, capable people (possibly add enabler to that litany) but still make the time for it, and quite often. H told me about a theory that held that out of all cigarettes smoked daily, only five or six are really enjoyed. I think that's a pretty accurate assessment, and really try to savour those rare, tasty gasps of relieve.

prospecting

Casually, H and I are hunting for a home together. There is no pressure to move, we've reached a comfortable schedule and compromise for tearing down the Autobahn to one another's place for over-nights, and the search is quite a bit of fun. There is, of course, an array of practical reasons for living together: primarily, the chance to come home to each other everyday, the chance to no longer be satisfied with our present living-arrangements, and the chance for a dishbot. I also like the fact that we might be living under the aegis of a new city coat-of-arms. Right now, there's just an uninspired bear with bad posture for my village and a shield with crossed, flaming swords for H. I want to live in a land that is represented by what I call "National Chicken." National Chicken is a bit like Famous Grouse or Rolex's Oyster Perpetual, I think. We'll have a very, very, very fine house.

Maybe the gas came from Uranus

I should suppose that any article that offers theories about extraterrestrial life bears attention. So I wonder why only the UK Sun is running with this story. Seemingly persistent plumes of methane gas could possibly only come from a biological source for replenishment, given the absense of active volcanoes on the planet. There's a lot in the news that doesn't suffer ridicule well these days: calls for ending black history month (despite the superficial annual parade of obligation it usually is handled with) since a black US president makes it redundant, the US army poised for a damage-control mission in Mexico since the state is, in American estimation, teetering on collapse, bin Laden's apparent attribution of Israeli strikes on the Palestinians to America's slipping importance as a world-player, art or anti-art. After the headlines have faded a little, spent their cause-celeb, being able to have questioned the reporting, approaching it with a skeptical-grin, is something that we ought not to take for granted.