More Fireworks

What a Fourth of July bash!
NASA sent a probe to crash
Into a comet.

While part of the probe dive-bombed it
The mother ship filmed away
Recording celestial fireworks
For Independence Day.

Story and photo here.

Fireworks

We went to the downtown lakefront tonight to see the fireworks. It was a fairly short display, maybe 20 minutes, but super spectacular. It was sort-of-synchronized with music playing on the classical station. What a mob scene. At least it seemed less jammed than the '76 bi-centennial fireworks in New York.

It's the first time I've been home for the 4th since 1997. TOC somehow got in the habit of booking their summer seminars to include Independence Day. It's a good Objectivist holiday, but a couple of times the seminar was in Canada, which really took the air out of the holiday.

Our neighbors to the north
Don't do much for the 4th!

Bye Jake

The triathlon in Wisconsin went fine.

On my way home, my wife buzzed my cell, and she gave me the bad news that my older dog, Jake, had died during the night.

Jake came from the pound.
Half Huskie, Half Rottweiler.
No one pushed him around.
You could try to push him,
But he was like a tree, rooted to the ground.

Yeah, I miss him.

Real Life vs Blog Life

madbard made some interesting observations the other day about what it's like to meet someone in real life that you've only known from blog life. That got me to thinking how different I might seem to someone who had only met me here in the blogosphere.

I don't really make a rhyme
Every time I have a thought,
But maybe I ought to do that!

Or would I come to rue that?

Johnny Gault

We watched The Outsider last night and tonight. It's a cowboy movie, reminiscent of Shane and/or High Noon, but not at the same quality level. It first showed up a few years ago on Showtime.

Here's the funny thing. The gunfighter hero, played by Tim Daly, is named Johnny Gault.

Maybe it's just a coincidence. After all, there was a nineteenth century novelist named John Galt, and I don't recall any evidence that Ayn Rand had him in mind when she named her hero.

But in the case of Ragnar's last name, she was caught red-handed. As my wife tells the story:

'Once I mentioned to her that I had noticed where she got the name Danneskjold from Victor Hugo’s first novel, Hans of Iceland, in which the hero becomes the first of the Counts of Danneskjold! I thought this was a great tribute to him, but she worriedly said to me "Oh yes, but it wasn’t plagiarism because there really were counts of Danneskjold!"'

I don't say the writer's at fault
For calling this guy Johnny Gault,
But he sure would have been a big dork
If the villian were named Howie Rourke!

Poetic Justice

I was testing my invisible dog fence tonight. I meant to test it with a little light bulb you wrap around the collar prongs. But I accidentally tested it with my hand. Yow.

That's what the Bard
Called hoist by your own petard.

And speaking of poetic Justice, my friend Logan Darrow Clements has hit a home run with his idea of seizing Justice Souter's home to build the Lost Liberty Hotel. He has made the Washington Post, and Hannity and Colmes.

I know it's your house, Justice Souter,
But you gave the gun to the looter.

Madison, WI

kraorh recently proposed that NIF meetings be held in Madison, so on my trip back from my triathlon this Saturday I should probably drop by and see how Lake Mendota is doing. I haven't been to Madison since ten years ago when TOC held its summer seminar there. (I'm in the 3rd from last row, 3rd person from the viewer's right.)

1995 was the year of a literal killer heat wave in Chicago; Madison was a few degrees hotter and deadly as well.

Up until that year, each TOC summer seminar had included a traditional softball game. That year a game was started one afternoon, but ended after a couple of innings as everyone turned red and got dizzy. That was the last of that tradition!

On the day
Assigned for play
We rented a boat
And went for a float
On beautiful Lake Mendota.

History Repeats Itself... sort of

Famous woman novelist falls in love with a younger man, and sets him up in a business. Years later he falls out of love and she accuses him of defrauding her. Sound familiar?

That's right, it's Terry McMillan, author of Waiting To Exhale and How Stella Got Her Groove Back.

If you saw or read the story of Stella, you know how Stella went to Jamaica and fell for a charming younger man. Apparently that story is partly based on McMillan's own life. But recently her young man from Jamaica - whom she wed - announced he is gay. So she threw him out of her house and an expensive divorce is in the works.

This is bad for McMillan, considering this week's news that divorce can be hazardous to your health.

McMillan isn't chillin'.
She's breathing fast and seething.

Taking a Trip to Tri

Yipes. I impulsively signed up for a triathlon this coming Saturday in Wisconsin. Now I have to go do it. After all, I just paid money for it. Well, at least it's a nice short one. How bad can it be?

I just realized this is a good opportunity for some literary research. I'm working on a story that involves a woman who lives in a small town in Wisconsin. Just the sort of town this tri is near.

So my plan to visit Badgerland
Is doubly grand.

After the tri, I'll try to pay attention
To details I can mention.

Not Her Type?

My wife is reading the Valliant book the old-fashioned way, from the beginning. Today she quoted him as saying that apparently Rand had never explicitly denied having an affair with Branden.

But I remember her being asked about this during a Q&A session, which must have been at Ford Hall Forum. As I recall, she did deny it, and went on to add that besides, Branden was "not my type." This got a big laugh.

I believed her. I was wrong. In retrospect, I can see where she could truthfully add that "not my type" remark. But I THINK the denial was explicit. I don't have it on tape, so I'm admittedly relying on memory here.

In OPAR, Peikoff wrote that "lying is necessary and proper in certain cases to protect one's privacy from snoopers". I'm guessing she would have agreed with this.

The truth can hurt
When it's turned into dirt
And flung at your face
In a public place.

Feeling Sorry for Ayn Rand

"Mr. Enright reads every newspaper in town. They are all brought to his office - with the editorial pages cut out." (The Fountainhead, speaking of the fictional Roger Enright.)

I'm emulating Roger so far in my reading of James Valliant's new book. I went straight to the 2nd half of the book, the half which is built around Ayn Rand's personal journals. I proceeded to read only the journal excerpts - skipping everything Valliant has to say.

Naturally, my eyes still slip and read some of Valliant's prose. But as soon as I realize this is happening, I fast-forward to Rand's next anguished but insightful thought.

I'll go back and read Valliant later.

Meanwhile, my heart goes out to her. I wish I could shout to her:

You're being deceived,
And you're caught in a trap,
Please stop believing
His "celibate" crap.

Of course, it's pointless to yell. She's deep on a trip into personal hell.

A Drug That's Not For Me

The FDA has approved a new heart medicine that, statistically speaking, works for black people but not for white folks.

Strangely, at least one bioethicist seems to see a problem with this.

'"There are many, many who claim these use of [racial] categories may not have any biological meaning, only social meaning, and basing medical decisions on them may be problematic,'' said David Magnus, director of the Stanford Medical Center for Biomedical Ethics."'

Well. Imagine that. "Many, many." Just how many is that? And just because a lot of people make such a claim, does that give the claim some kind of standing? Is scientific truth something we vote on?

And if scientific testing reveals the drug somehow works differently for black people, isn't that excellent evidence that biology is somehow involved in the whole black/white distinction?

Sometimes I wonder where they get these guys -
"Ethical experts" who specialize
In frowning and looking askance
At each medical advance.

The Supremes Strike Again

Can anyone tell me what the deal with the Supreme Court is?
I mean, I'm not even sure what a "tort" is.
But how can it be "public use" at all
For a town to rip down my house to put up a mall?

And how can "interstate commerce" refer to weed
That people grew and smoked themselves?
I'm tempted to say these judges need to read
The dictionaries sitting on their shelves!

Dinner with a Marine

A good friend of my son's came over for dinner tonight. He's in the Marine Reserve and just got back from a tour of duty in Iraq. My wife stuffed him with food, including plenty of red meat, and we let him tell stories about what it was like in Iraq.

He's a smart, brave, and very impressive young man.

Periodically, he would mention some bit of dark twisted humor that appealed to the Marines in Iraq. He would start to explain, "well, yeah, this is really sick, but..." I suppose it's the feeling that no one over here can understand what it feels like to be over there.

But I have a fair imagination. I know war is heck. And somehow it's not the place for politically correct humor.

When all is well,
People don't like the way sick jokes sound.
But in hell,
They abound.

Bad Boys Online

I just finished reading Bad Boys Online by Erin McCarthy.

Yes, it's from the Romance section, but it was very funny and quite erotic, which is not the easiest combination to achieve. It's really a collection of three novelettes: Hard Drive, Press Any Key, User Friendly. Each story quickly spins into wild sex, and each story ends up with declarations of mutual love. It's that last part, the declarations of mutual love - including a marriage proposal or two - that distinguishes Romance Erotica.

I really enjoyed some of the writing:

"...her inhibitions melting like marshmallows over a campfire."

"Jealous was good. As long as it was the mild, healthy kind, not the intense, bunny-boiling kind of jealous."

"Two years worth of hormones flooded up and out as if the Hoover Dam had been attacked by a sledge hammer."

The horizontal dance
Begins this sort of romance.
But then, sure enough, it proceeds
To discussing emotional needs.

Of course, the story can't quit
Till the couples finally commit,
Since, in the end, it's all about how
Lovers get to a vow.

5 Things Meme

tyalangan tagged me for this...

Post five things you enjoy, even when no one around you wants to go out and play. What lowers your stress/blood pressure/anxiety level? Post it to your journal, and then tag 5 friends and ask them to post it to theirs.

1) Wandering the stacks of a library
2) Playing with dogs
3) Running twenty miles
4) Listening to Saint-Saens' 5th Piano Concerto (the "Egyptian")
5) Meditating on my pulse

Now, if you feel a sudden need
To make up your very own list -
Then do it. You have been secretly tagged.
Do it! I insist.

Our Friend, The Atom

This message is brought to you by nuclear power. Well, 70% of it, anyway.

That's the percentage of Chicago electricity that comes from nukes, and they're talking about building a new one! I'm rather relieved see that nuclear energy is somehow becoming politically acceptable again. No new ones have been built in the U.S. for 27 years.

Right now you need too much government permission
To engage in consenting acts of fission.

Father's Day for Sperm Donors

Here's an interesting article about an increasing trend - grown children tracking down sperm donor dads. I know, the donor may have had an ironclad contract, and even special laws, to protect his anonymity and shield him from responsibility. But the kids weren't party to those agreements, and tend to feel they have a right to know.

About the time they're teens,
They start thinking:
Where did I get these stinking genes?

Father's Day Rhyme - Overheard

When I was out on my bicycle, I saw a man holding a boy upside down by his feet. He swung him side to side, chanting this rhyme:

Tick tock, tick tock,
Goes the Patrick cuckoo clock.

Personal Best, I Think

I ran a small local 5k today in Alsip, IL. They took a long time figure out who got what medal, which is always a worrisome sign. Then they screwed up someone else's medal and time. Uh oh.

I'm pretty sure I ran the race in 22:04. I believe that's what I heard them call out when I crossed the finish line. I remember as I ran toward the finish I was trying to come in under 22 minutes. But I forgot to hit the button on my stop watch as I finished, so I am relying on memory.

They gave me a silver medal in my age group, but in the awards ceremony they said my time was 23 something. Nooooo! I want 22:04, because that's my fastest 5k ever. Hopefully they will straighten out their records and send me a corrected time on a post-card.

If you don't remember to hit the button,
A stop watch ain't worth nuttin'.