I would like to apologize for my friend here . . .

Aside from the sister-in-law who lives in Michigan, it seems that the majority of the people wandering onto this blog are algebra students. At least I think they are algebra students. The reason I am not a retired architect instead of a retired bookseller is that my math abilities are comparable to my ability to fly. That is, largely a matter for my dreams. They could be physics or chemistry students for all I know, but the phrasing of their searches leads me to believe they are struggling with a math problem; and since algebra is the branch of mathematics I understand least, I assume that's the kind of math.

Anyway, these poor souls are doing Google searches for "missing factor" or some similar phrase, and Google obligingly directs them here. I imagine it can be quite frustrating to be desperately searching for the answer to a homework problem or help preparing for a test and suddenly find yourself looking at the ramblings of some old geezer.

For this I sincerely apologize. I hope the exam goes well, and that you do find an answer to your missing factor problem

If it is any help, the missing factor in my life has always been 9.

Tan shoes and pink shoelaces . . .

When a person reaches my age it is not too unusual for them to start talking about how great things were in some semi-mythical period in the past. For me it would be the 1950s. There are, however, very few things I want to resurrect. Don't get me wrong, I have lots of great memories of my youth—like the magic of slow-dancing with a girl to "Harlem Nocturne"—it's just that I also remember the not so pleasant things. We may be going to hell in a hand basket now, but we were headed that way then too. The basket is just a different style now.

Having said that, the one thing I do miss from the 50s is the uniforms hospital workers wore. When I go to the hospital now everyone is either wearing scrubs, those bizarrely patterned polyester tunic outfits, or a lab coat. You don't know if the person coming into your room is a nurse, doctor, therapist, HMO spy or from housekeeping. The only thing you have to identify them, besides their word, is their name tag and the females usually wear theirs backwards so you can't see them. I guess to keep the wrong people from learning their name.

It weren't that way in my day.

He sings out a song which is soft but it's clear . . .

The other night (2 August 2008 to be exact) we went to the Dodge Theater for a James Taylor concert. I will be honest and admit that I was almost more excited about seeing Steve Gadd play live than I was about seeing Mr Taylor. Far back in the pre-dawn mists of my youth I was a fairly mediocre drummer, and forty-five years later I still fall into an almost Zen like state when listening to a master play the drums. Men like Joe Morello, Carl Palmer, Mitch Mitchel, Art Blakey were my gods. Later on I discovered Kodo and Babatunde Olatunji and the wonderfully joyful, mysterious, playful sexy Latin rhythyms of men like Kevin Ricard and Tony Shogren of Sambaguru. I may not have the talent to perform at those levels, but I know the craft well enough to be able to be truly awed by those who do. And Steve Gadd is, to me, perhaps the finest drummer working today, and I really wanted to see him work.

How sweet thou art . . .

Over at the Neglected Books Page there is a very good article about The Right to Heresy by Stephan Zweig. From what I see in the article, life under Protestant zealots was very similar to life in our more reactionary Islamic countries today, or Catholic countries during the Inquisition, or even the United States if guys like Jerry Falwell had their way. It just goes to show that, as my father often warned, all ideologies, political or religious, taken to their extreme are alike. I am definitely going to have to track down a copy.

You know it's gonna be . . .

In today's Arizona Republic's Viewpoint section there was an interesting article by Richard Nilsen titled Reaction to world is fulcrum of politics. His analysis of the fundamental difference between conservatives and liberals, while perhaps over simplified, is very astute, but I think it missed one vital aspect. While I agree that the actions and reactions of conservatives and liberals are governed to a greater or lesser extent by their fear or acceptance of change, I think an even more fundamental catalyst is the differing concepts of family.


I would argue that most people have an instinctual drive to protect and provide for themselves, and then their family. The concepts of tribe or nation are, to me, just extensions of family. The other members of the tribe or nation are third or fourth cousins kind of thing. Whether or not a person's concept of family is derived through nurture or nature is for other, much brighter people to decide, but I would not be surprised if it was a combination of the two.

Anyway, it has been my experience that conservatives have very restrictive concepts of family. Things like universal health care and education are an anathema to them because they are busy providing for their family, and don't have time to worry about outsiders. The more conservative the person is the smaller, more strictly defined their family, and by extension tribe. To me this is why Hitler was unable to form deep, lasting relationships. As perhaps the most conservative person to ever live his family was limited to him, and his tribe to a mythical race of supermen he would create. He would be a god, and gods are always conservative. It is interesting to note that Hitler was trying to recreate. He was not trying to change but to strip away the thousands of years of corruptive changes that had debased the perfect beings of the past.

Conversely, liberals seem to have a rather more inclusive concept of family, which is why they are usually more willing to devote personal or national assets to providing things like health care, or less restricted entry into the country. The liberal must protect and provide for his brothers, his family; and he has a very large family.

You shake your head, and said it's a shame . . .

Looking back over my posts I am struck by the fact that they are sporadic at best. Not that the teeming world of blog readers is waiting breathlessly for my next installment, but when I started this thing I had hoped to post something at least several times a week. The problem is that as soon as I sit down in the desk chair and face the computer my mind goes completely blank. If you were to hook me up to an EEG you would probably decide it was time to donate the organs.

He likes toast and jam . . .

Each semester during the first Japanese language class it is customary for each student to introduce themselves, and briefly tell why he or she is studying Japanese. Sometimes it is because a spouse or partner is Japanese. (As one man put it, "I want to know what my mother-in-law (義理のお母さん—giri no okaasan) is saying about me.") Sometimes it is because they are (二世—nisei) second or (三世—sansei) third generation Japanese-American, and they want to connect to that part of their heritage. And very often, especially with the younger students, it is because they are おたく (otaku—obsessive fans, usually of anime or manga). Whatever the primary reason is they very often finish the 自己紹介 (jikoshoukai—self-introduction) with, "and I love everything about Japan—especially sushi."