Biker Buddies and Motorcycle Zen

Not long ago, Dan (biker buddy) introduced me to a little hole-in-the-wall diner named Shirley Mae's (I hope I have that spelling right). Stunningly good food, exceedingly generous helpings (Ms. Skald and I share a plate), and just the right ambience for a couple of bikers. It seems Dan's got a nose for eats, but more, he's got a poet's soul and he liked this blog's notion of Motorcycle Zen – so he couldn't help but send out a bit of a prose poem – here it is for your pleasure and edification:

About 2 years ago, I purchased a Royal Enfield Bullet 500 ES Classic - pure 1950's technology, built in India on 1950's machinery and tooling from Redditch, England. Of course this means that I need to spend time about every 100 miles checking all the bolts, wires, carb settings, etc. But I learned a lot about motorcycling with the wee bike. The only thing that did not thrill me was the max top speed of 67+-. Trucks kept making me nervous.

Then, a year ago I bought a Harley-Davidson motorcycle. A 2004 Fatboy: a Twin Cam 88B, fuel injected, internally balanced (less vibration), 88 cubic inch engine. Lava Red and only 8000 miles on her! Oh, the power when I got her out on the highway and opened up the throttle. She became my main commuter, carrying me the 34 miles one way to work, relegating the faithful little 4 cycle one-lunger to the occasional short ride around town.

But today, I got home and parked the Harley-Davidson and looked over at the Royal Enfield. That black paint and gold pinstripe called to me. I walked over, put the key in, turned on the fuel and kicked him over (yes, it's a him). Brruumm, poppapoppapoppapoppa. I got on and went for a spin. What a difference between the two. One, a big, heavy, fuel injected modern beast versus the other, a light, carbureted, single cylinder running on 1950's technology. No computer to deal with, no idiot lights if things go wrong. Just a 500 cc (32 cubic inch) thumper moving me down the road on a saddle between two tyres (they are Avons, so that is the correct spelling). Simplicity on a sunny, first-of-summer afternoon. Sorry Mr. Harley and you Davidson brothers, but Redditch tech wins today. I will be taking off for work about 30 minutes earlier tomorrow – the back roads are safer for the Enfield than trusting to rushing commuters on I-5.

Flatheads, knuckleheads, panheads and more – oldies worth riding… like Dan said, it's summer, and it's time to pick the June bugs, Mayflies, and love bugs out of our teeth and hair. Well friends, I'll meet you at the pub after the ride.

Stay free, ride hard.

A Tree Falls in the Woods…

There is an old saw in philosophy that cuts this way, "If a tree falls in the woods, and there is no one there to perceive it, then does it make a sound?" Philosophical skeptics such as David Hume and Bishop Berkeley are largely responsible for the notion. They were so consumed with the mechanics of human perception they doubted the existence of a world that existed outside the human mind.

Gravebinder and I were knocking around an idea for a story and this notion of perception came up in regards to freedom. If there is a secret cabal (you know, like the vast neocon conspiracy to wrest control of our government) influencing/manipulating society without their knowledge, is that society free? Is their freedom contingent on their own perception? Is ignorance really bliss?

Seriously, in terms of perception, if a deal is made between two parties, and both parties are satisfied by the deal, haven't they both come out ahead because of their perceived value of the exchange in question? I pay a buck fifty for the Sunday paper because I believe the value of the contents are worth more than my buck fifty, and the newspaper company is convinced the buck fifty is worth more than the paper (the paper is at least suitable to wrap fish). Too capitalist a perspective? Or is freedom not a commodity that can be valued/traded in a market?

For Gravebinder and me, the notion was relative to the observer. If I am unaware of the manipulation moving me in a specific direction, then I would consider myself free to act. If and when I become aware of the manipulation, then I also become aware of the constraints on my freedom. The question becomes whether or not there is a locus of perception greater than myself that defines an objective reality that everyone shares.

Is there an objective reality? Does it make sense for us to hash things out for the best course of action? For Bishop Berkley it makes sense, and Ronald Knox wrote a limerick that comments on why:

There was a young man who said "God
Must think it exceedingly odd
If he finds that this tree
Continues to be
When there's no one about in the Quad."

"Dear Sir, your astonishment's odd;
I am always about in the Quad
And that's why this tree
Will continue to be
Since observed by Yours faithfully, God."

I like these limericks, Gravebinder likes these limericks, and I figured you might like them. A last question to everyone then: Does the tree continue to be?

Cheers all.

Friday the Thirteenth Calf Blogging

Ok, ok – I'll be getting off my duff here shortly, but before the research starts in earnest, I've an obligation to share this baby cow thing I found. Why? Well, first there's the Friday Calf Blogging that Coffee neglected *most evil grin*. Second, I was looking around for something that might be suitable for today's calf blogging and came across a sleeping baby cow… my daughters saw the darn thing – it seems I'm buying three: one each for daughters number three and four, and one for their friend's wedding. I guess she's a cow person. Curses! J

Was it the participation? Friday the thirteenth? That I'm enjoying myself now that I've graduated again? *^%$&@# Click the picture and -- Go buy a cow…

The Vacation’s Over

Hello blogosphere! I'm back from vacation, and as vacations go, parts of it were wonderful! The medical crap, not so fun, but gaming with Gravebinder, and hitting the coast for the Fourth of July were both great fun. We had some crabs, chips, and pickles on the beach with my father and his wife, and all the girls did the beachcomber thing while the two old men sat on their duffs. Now we're planning a campout with my brother up in the Jefferson wilderness somewhere… probably out by Three Fingered Jack – looking forward to fun!

My apologies for not mentioning the week of vacation, but I'll soon be back to more regular entries. I am looking forward to a few new projects – for the blog, for a few friends, and most important, for my family.

Cheers all!

Friday Calf Blogging – A History

Friday calf blogging – and the faithful are more than keeping up – the originator of this lovely "fad" is "bumping it up a notch!" I'll confess I can't keep up with amazing contests and cool videos, but I can do what failed poets do since, well, forever – share someone else's poem. Oh, and a really beautiful old postcard I found somewhere online.

Like most little boys, when I was a little boy, I dreamt of being a cowboy – they were the closest things America had to knights errant, and my grandfather inspired a love of chivalric virtue. My grandfather was one of those rare examples of Christianity that walked the walk rather than wasting a lot of talk. One of my useless advanced degrees was aimed at being a pastor, so this poem captured my imagination. Hope you all enjoy the picture card and the verse!

The Calf Path

One day thru the primeval wood
A calf walked home, as good calves should;
But made a trail, all bent askew,
A crooked trail, as all calves do.
Since then 300 years have fled,
And I infer the calf is dead.
But still, he left behind his trail
And thereby hangs my mortal tale.

The trail was taken up next day
By a lone dog that passed that way.
And then, a wise bell weathered sheep
Pursued the trail, o'er~vale and steep,
And drew the flocks behind him too
As good bell weathers always do.
And from that day, o'er hill and glade
Thru those old woods, a path was made.

And many men wound in and out,
And dodged, and turned, and bent about,
And uttered words of righteous wrath
Because 'twas such a crooked path,
But still they followed, do not laugh,
The first migrations of that calf.
And thru the winding woods they stalked
Because he wobbled when he walked.

This forest path became a lane
That bent, and turned, and turned again.
This crooked lane became a road
Where many a poor horse with his load
Toiled on beneath the burning sun
And traveled some three miles in one.
And thus a century and a half
They trod the footsteps of that calf.

The years passed on in swiftness fleet,
The road became a village street.
And this, before men were aware,
A city's crowed thoroughfare.
And soon the central street was this
Of a renowned metropolis.
And men, two centuries and a half
Trod the footsteps of that calf.

Each day a 100 thousand route
Followed the zig-zag calf about,
And o'er his crooked journey went
The traffic of a continent.
A 100 thousand men were led
By one calf, near three centuries dead.
They followed still his crooked way
And lost 100 years per day.
For this such reverence is lent
To well establish precedent.

A moral lesson this might teach
Were I ordained , and called to preach.
For men are prone to go it blind
Along the calf paths of the mind,
And work away from sun to sun
To do what other men have done.
They follow in the beaten track,
And out, and in, and forth, and back,
And still their devious course pursue
To keep the paths that others do.

They keep the paths a sacred groove
Along which all their lives they move.
But how the wise old wood gods laugh
Who saw that first primeval calf.
Ah, many things this tale might teach,
But I am not ordained to preach.

By Sam Walter Foss

Hitchens and Rage Boy

I just read an item by Christopher Hitchens at Slate, and I hope everybody reads/passes on his article – so as many people as possible actually read it. The article has a compelling start:

If you follow the link, you will be treated to some scenes from the strenuous life of a professional Muslim protester in the Kashmiri city of Srinagar. Over the last few years, there have been innumerable opportunities for him to demonstrate his piety and his pissed-offness. And the cameras have been there for him every time. Is it a fatwah? Is it a copy of the Quran allegedly down the gurgler at Guantanamo? Is it some cartoon in Denmark? Time for Rage Boy to step in and for his visage to impress the rest of the world with the depth and strength of Islamist emotion.

Ridiculously short post here, but the other man at Slate has the goods… please take a look!

Remembering Occam’s Razor

Economy, parsimony, and simplicity… I guess today is nostalgia day. This is a "not so current events" day, and the events are the Civil Rights Act of 1964, United Steel Workers of America v. Brian F. Weber (1979), and Cheryl J. Hopwood, et al. vs. The State of Texas (1994). The motivation for this post is actually Thomas Sowell's The Vision of the Anointed: Self Congratulation as a Basis for Social Policy. "Judicial Activism" was the section I was reading, but more important, it was the subsection concerning definitions and distortions that caught my eye.

I would heartily recommend Thomas Sowell on virtually any topic, but especially on subjects in the area of political philosophy, race and ethnicity/culture, and judicial activism. I know, he's an economist, and not so surprisingly, I purchased his Basic Economics: A Citizen's Guide to the Economy and am enjoying it immensely. My youngest daughter thinks I'm a dweeb, but since she was with me, I provided an incentive for her to read it… I buy her books and let her put the price of both our purchases on her Borders Rewards card instead of mine if she'll agree to read the book. I love incentives! She agreed as long as I read it first because she'll "read it slower and have questions" so I had better learn it first. I also love my daughter ;-)

Now that everyone knows I love my daughters and Thomas Sowell, we'll get back to business. First, the Civil Rights Act is legislation that forbids racial discrimination in "apprenticeship training programs, such as that which excluded a white worker, Brian F. Weber, in order to include black workers with lower qualifications" (Sowell, The Anointed, 1995, p. 233). Where the Civil Rights Act forbids just such discrimination:

Justice Brennan who claimed elsewhere that discerning the original intent of lawmakers was virtually impossible, in this case saw lawmakers' intent so clearly – Congress' "primary concern" for "the plight of the Negro in our economy" – that he disregarded the plain words of the Civil Rights Act (as cited in Sowell, 1995, p. 233).

Instead of focusing on Sowell's primary point in this conversation, I'm going to highlight a secondary point that brings a murky distortion into sharp relief. It was once a goal in this country to make certain things as "color blind" as possible – such as admissions to colleges, apprenticeship training programs, etc. In order to bring this distortion into relief I need another quotation from yet another judge, in this case, a federal judge in Texas:

The plaintiffs have contended that any preferential treatment to a group based on race violates the Fourteenth Amendment and, therefore, is unconstitutional. However, such a simplistic application of the Fourteenth Amendment would ignore the long history of pervasive racial discrimination in our society that the Fourteenth Amendment was adopted to remedy and the complexities of achieving the societal goal of overcoming the past effects of that discrimination (as cited in Sowell, 1995, p. 233-234). Emphasis added.

Thomas Sowell provides a number of excellent responses to such errant nonsense. He pays only passing attention to the word "simplistic" because he already addressed the problem earlier in the book. It's a lesson worth learning. Verbal gymnastics are not the same as an argument or a proof, and judges should know that. It pays to watch for words that prove nothing about the premises of an argument, and more important, contribute nothing to the truth or falsehood of the conclusion. Although the significance of the word simplistic is easy to miss in this context, Sowell makes the point firmly:

As in so many other contexts, the word "simplistic" was not part of an argument but a substitute for an argument. To interpret the Fourteenth Amendment as meaning what it says – equal treatment for all – does not ignore the history which led to the passage of that Amendment (Sowell, 1995, p. 234). Emphasis added.

Personally, I like the rule of law. Moreover, I like the notion that I can count on the rules to remain the same until such time as a legislator changes it – because he represents me by virtue of having won an election. I find the notion that an unelected judge can pass law by fiat from the bench reprehensible. Clearly, the Constitution put the responsibility for law-making outside the bounds of the bench, and unfortunately we, as a free people, have allowed our system of law to become frenchified by blatherskites on the bench. Is there something we can do now? Something like Michigan?

Ok, I'll admit the two linked-words frenchified and blatherskite were a little over the top, but I just learned 'em an' I had to use 'em! They SOUND like insults

J

Happy Sunday!