These numbers bother us common people: Fourteen TRILLION, twenty TRILLION.
Those are round numbers centered on the debt ceiling brouhaha; more on that later. This little idea is about the numbers.
For some reason, us teetering on the brink of losing some 20 trillion doesn’t seem to affect the bond markets, or other commodity exchanges for that matter. Not significantly. Maybe if the actual default or downgrade happens it’s a different story, but It’s pretty much business as usual (Thursday, July 28, 2011 1500 PST) today.
This makes me think we common folk who get upset about 20 trillion aren’t really thinking big enough. I’d get upset if I was 20 trillion in the hole. I know my bank would. I was only 100K down and look what happened to me!
Yet here we are and there’s no collapse started, no blinking of financial eyes yet.
Over a 20 year period, let’s say, we find a way to repay our debts. Countries aren’t like people. If we can repay even 10 percent of what we owe we can save ourselves dozens, if not hundreds of billions each year. Plus, countries tend to outlive people, so 300 in country years is what, 25 or so in people years?
I think a longer-term, larger-scale view of the economy is needed, and a different method than we presently use for the country to apply that economy.
And it seems like major powers must share at least a longer-term outlook, too, because they aren’t that all upset with us yet. Since sentiment has nothing to do with it, I can only conclude they think 20 trillion from us is a small blurb.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Quantum Solace It's Not
So, WAY back to an earlier theme from the Laurelhurst Park days… physics.
The quantum world, if I understand it correctly, has comparable distances between particles/waves as we find in cosmology. While it’s not light years from the neutron to the electron, if you or I could be reduced to a size such that we’d stand on the “surface” of the particle as we stand on earth, it would seem like light years to our atomic selves.
That’s boggling, at least to me.
Further, if I understand it even halfway correctly, movement isn’t really something that’s detectable within the quantum world. We can see particles whizz by at near light speeds in particle accelerators, but from the particles’ points of view nothing is happening. They are stone cold stopped, for all their practical purposes.
This particular dichotomy to me raises a very interesting question about consciousness. The quantum world is never-changing to the quantum world residents.
Reality there is a rigid, fixed, constant grid of unchanging structure. Whether the particle is free-floating, inside a large piece of granite or small grain of sand, or part of our neural net that allows thought, its existence remains unchanging, unless the particle is obliterated entirely.
As we are composed of these particles, and by we I mean you and I and anyone or anything that can think or is otherwise alive, what does this really say about what kind of beings we are? Truly, there is no fundamental difference between us and any other form of matter, especially at the most basic level, the subatomic.
Whatever it is that happens to cause life somehow blends the quantum and relative paradox with astonishing ease, it seems. By ease I don’t mean like an intelligent designer, I mean that this blending takes place without serious amounts of energy being required. I’d reckon offhand that we ought to be nothing but gigantic atomic bombs, every living cell, when you get down to how quantum and relative are pounded together in us.
**
Speaking of consciousness, Amy Winehouse passed, found her on the flo, flo, flo (play on words from her “Rehab” song). 27, the infamous rock and roll rebel spirit dies now age, she joins a long list of famous addicts who passed at the same age. I dunno, but it seems to me that an addictive personality might do better without fame, glory, superficial attention, and unlimited funds. Then again, I’m an addictive personality and I’ve had none of that and look at me… so scratch that thought.
I guess it doesn’t matter. We play the cards we’re dealt, and sometimes we misplay a hand or two without realizing we just made critical errors of judgment.
**
Grandson is spending the week, camping on the computer and in front of the television and his video game box. I can probably get him a job tending to mowing and stuff for the next month. It’s kinda like having a roommate. I told him that yes I’m grandfather and still in charge but because he’s older and I’m no longer married it seems more like being back in college to me than anything else.
And then I made him clean the kitchen.
But it does feel awkward and comfortable and familiar. A month is about all I could handle, though.
He loves the studio and has run through most of the canvas I bought for him. Must be fun, I try to imagine as impartially as possible, to get away from three much younger siblings and pretty much do what he wants within reason. Especially exploring a creative side without pressure but with full support and guidance on request.
We had a raccoon on the porch last night while he was up playing one of the shooter games, Bioshock 2 or 3 I think. It was standing by the glass doors staring in, for all intents and purposes watching him play the damn game. I think the coon was mesmerized because the kid was doing something with his hands -- the controls. Racoons use their hands and it wouldn't surprise me to find they equate that with food, so my guess is Rocky was trying to figure out what the kid was eating.
He said he’d seen another coon and three cubs the first morning at dawn. We also encountered a doe and two fawns on our walk to the lake.
Need to get the older other kids here, too, just for the wildlife encounters and viewing. But not for a week at a time…
**
Went down to Radio Shack with D and we looked at the firearms. It’s not your usual RadShak. “All Glocks On Sale” say the signs outside.
And a nice little selection of handguns they have, small but a thorough walk through calibers tiny to tall. Several .22 and .32 semiauto handguns prompted a discussion between the kid and me about their overall defensive and offensive values. He showed me he knows more than I thought when we were comparing a .45 1911-type Remington Arms roscoe with the Glock 17 9mm. Not an expert, but he’s studied at least a little bit, as he knew the .45 had been the major US Army handgun for almost ever but the Glock had a never-run-out-of-bullets clip.
Then on the walk home we came across two fawns on their own, right in someone’s front yard. Mom HAD to be around somewhere, but we were about 10 feet from them. Those EYES! We both felt guilty even thinking about guns around the fawns. Run Bambi! LOL!
The quantum world, if I understand it correctly, has comparable distances between particles/waves as we find in cosmology. While it’s not light years from the neutron to the electron, if you or I could be reduced to a size such that we’d stand on the “surface” of the particle as we stand on earth, it would seem like light years to our atomic selves.
That’s boggling, at least to me.
Further, if I understand it even halfway correctly, movement isn’t really something that’s detectable within the quantum world. We can see particles whizz by at near light speeds in particle accelerators, but from the particles’ points of view nothing is happening. They are stone cold stopped, for all their practical purposes.
This particular dichotomy to me raises a very interesting question about consciousness. The quantum world is never-changing to the quantum world residents.
Reality there is a rigid, fixed, constant grid of unchanging structure. Whether the particle is free-floating, inside a large piece of granite or small grain of sand, or part of our neural net that allows thought, its existence remains unchanging, unless the particle is obliterated entirely.
As we are composed of these particles, and by we I mean you and I and anyone or anything that can think or is otherwise alive, what does this really say about what kind of beings we are? Truly, there is no fundamental difference between us and any other form of matter, especially at the most basic level, the subatomic.
Whatever it is that happens to cause life somehow blends the quantum and relative paradox with astonishing ease, it seems. By ease I don’t mean like an intelligent designer, I mean that this blending takes place without serious amounts of energy being required. I’d reckon offhand that we ought to be nothing but gigantic atomic bombs, every living cell, when you get down to how quantum and relative are pounded together in us.
**
Speaking of consciousness, Amy Winehouse passed, found her on the flo, flo, flo (play on words from her “Rehab” song). 27, the infamous rock and roll rebel spirit dies now age, she joins a long list of famous addicts who passed at the same age. I dunno, but it seems to me that an addictive personality might do better without fame, glory, superficial attention, and unlimited funds. Then again, I’m an addictive personality and I’ve had none of that and look at me… so scratch that thought.
I guess it doesn’t matter. We play the cards we’re dealt, and sometimes we misplay a hand or two without realizing we just made critical errors of judgment.
**
Grandson is spending the week, camping on the computer and in front of the television and his video game box. I can probably get him a job tending to mowing and stuff for the next month. It’s kinda like having a roommate. I told him that yes I’m grandfather and still in charge but because he’s older and I’m no longer married it seems more like being back in college to me than anything else.
And then I made him clean the kitchen.
But it does feel awkward and comfortable and familiar. A month is about all I could handle, though.
He loves the studio and has run through most of the canvas I bought for him. Must be fun, I try to imagine as impartially as possible, to get away from three much younger siblings and pretty much do what he wants within reason. Especially exploring a creative side without pressure but with full support and guidance on request.
We had a raccoon on the porch last night while he was up playing one of the shooter games, Bioshock 2 or 3 I think. It was standing by the glass doors staring in, for all intents and purposes watching him play the damn game. I think the coon was mesmerized because the kid was doing something with his hands -- the controls. Racoons use their hands and it wouldn't surprise me to find they equate that with food, so my guess is Rocky was trying to figure out what the kid was eating.
He said he’d seen another coon and three cubs the first morning at dawn. We also encountered a doe and two fawns on our walk to the lake.
Need to get the older other kids here, too, just for the wildlife encounters and viewing. But not for a week at a time…
**
Went down to Radio Shack with D and we looked at the firearms. It’s not your usual RadShak. “All Glocks On Sale” say the signs outside.
And a nice little selection of handguns they have, small but a thorough walk through calibers tiny to tall. Several .22 and .32 semiauto handguns prompted a discussion between the kid and me about their overall defensive and offensive values. He showed me he knows more than I thought when we were comparing a .45 1911-type Remington Arms roscoe with the Glock 17 9mm. Not an expert, but he’s studied at least a little bit, as he knew the .45 had been the major US Army handgun for almost ever but the Glock had a never-run-out-of-bullets clip.
Then on the walk home we came across two fawns on their own, right in someone’s front yard. Mom HAD to be around somewhere, but we were about 10 feet from them. Those EYES! We both felt guilty even thinking about guns around the fawns. Run Bambi! LOL!
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Yes, I've Been Busy Doing Nothing
D came to visit for a few days and had a blast, I think. We even did a two-mile walk and beachcomb in the light cold rain. He had to be either bored to tears or having fun for that. Oh, and I paid him five bucks per mile. It worked, he had fun and almost forgot about the money. Almost.
Speaking of money, my dear friend in early sobriety Ingrid introduced me to this concept, one of "AA money" as she used to call it. If we're trying our best to do good by ourselves and others we can make it through periods of financial instability she said, often without realising it. Occasionally, just as we need it most and least expect it, a check from a refund or some other form of capital will appear, usually a modest amount but sufficient for the need at hand.
Since she pointed it out to me those years ago I've noted many times in my life the appearance of "AA money," an otherwise out-of-the-blue bit of fortune. I got some recently myself and was able to stock up on the needed art supplies to make it through winter. So, I got to have my party cake and eat it too after all, regarding the whole move and new career here in Devil's Lake.
I will have to come up with the funds to get canvases stretched, though. I've figured out how to use the raw material properly but it's kinda of inconvenient; I'll explain it at Picasso Lowbrow later.
The mating pair of ospreys sure are magnificent and beautiful when they perch in the dead white tree outside. Larger than falcons, not quite as big as the occasional bald eagles that come by, the ospreys are by far more bold and bright in color and style. Mom and Bambi walked by the back door last week, a very healthy doe and fawn. Mom was FAT. I'm not kidding, a fat deer. I snuck up on a doe down by the canal yesterday, got my face within 5 feet of her face by sneaking around a bush. I snuck up on a deer and got five feet away. I was walking on asphalt. These deer are NOT wild.
I've met a few of my human neighbors, too. The best way to describe this town seems to be that of retired white blue collar folk. There's a younger and local set of demographics, sure, and not everyone is retired or blue collar. But that would be the safe generalization, I think, ignoring political feelings or beliefs and just looking at the numbers.
The beach, north and south of D River, is becoming familiar though it changes constantly. There was an incredible low tide with a southern wind and rain this week, pushing the surf line out an extra 100 yards from a regular low tide. Truly, the water had dropped six solid feet in depth but it was still shallow out to the edge of the continental shelf, it seems. A lot of sand, I bet it's all from the Columbia over eons.
**
About the sex history... before starting, let's remember the context is what should I be telling, if anything, to my grandkids about sex. Going through one's life history of sex seems to me to be a proper step any adult should take before deciding how to answer questions about the birds and bees the younger ones -- or even our peers -- might ask.
I was in the Navy, about to marry Melissa. I'll bring it up there next time.
**
Speaking of that time and these folks, the name of the groupie I mentioned was Laura. Kip knows better than most we weren't a band, we didn't really have groupies, and I hope I didn't seem like I alluding to some stardom or power, for I can assure you I had neither. But, Laura did hang out with us because of the music and the other stuff, like fill in the blanks: Sex, _____, and Rock and Roll. But people DID throw popcorn at me when I played bass, didn't they Kip? LOL!!!
Last I heard Jack of the famous Texas Knights was making and selling silver cowboy jewelry and hardware somewhere around Kerrville, I believe.
**
The painting is fun, I'm learning a lot. I just ordered the new camera battery charger, along with a gallon of my favorite oils, all from Amazon. So, maybe by Aug. 1 I'll have a gallery to show here online.
Speaking of money, my dear friend in early sobriety Ingrid introduced me to this concept, one of "AA money" as she used to call it. If we're trying our best to do good by ourselves and others we can make it through periods of financial instability she said, often without realising it. Occasionally, just as we need it most and least expect it, a check from a refund or some other form of capital will appear, usually a modest amount but sufficient for the need at hand.
Since she pointed it out to me those years ago I've noted many times in my life the appearance of "AA money," an otherwise out-of-the-blue bit of fortune. I got some recently myself and was able to stock up on the needed art supplies to make it through winter. So, I got to have my party cake and eat it too after all, regarding the whole move and new career here in Devil's Lake.
I will have to come up with the funds to get canvases stretched, though. I've figured out how to use the raw material properly but it's kinda of inconvenient; I'll explain it at Picasso Lowbrow later.
The mating pair of ospreys sure are magnificent and beautiful when they perch in the dead white tree outside. Larger than falcons, not quite as big as the occasional bald eagles that come by, the ospreys are by far more bold and bright in color and style. Mom and Bambi walked by the back door last week, a very healthy doe and fawn. Mom was FAT. I'm not kidding, a fat deer. I snuck up on a doe down by the canal yesterday, got my face within 5 feet of her face by sneaking around a bush. I snuck up on a deer and got five feet away. I was walking on asphalt. These deer are NOT wild.
I've met a few of my human neighbors, too. The best way to describe this town seems to be that of retired white blue collar folk. There's a younger and local set of demographics, sure, and not everyone is retired or blue collar. But that would be the safe generalization, I think, ignoring political feelings or beliefs and just looking at the numbers.
The beach, north and south of D River, is becoming familiar though it changes constantly. There was an incredible low tide with a southern wind and rain this week, pushing the surf line out an extra 100 yards from a regular low tide. Truly, the water had dropped six solid feet in depth but it was still shallow out to the edge of the continental shelf, it seems. A lot of sand, I bet it's all from the Columbia over eons.
**
About the sex history... before starting, let's remember the context is what should I be telling, if anything, to my grandkids about sex. Going through one's life history of sex seems to me to be a proper step any adult should take before deciding how to answer questions about the birds and bees the younger ones -- or even our peers -- might ask.
I was in the Navy, about to marry Melissa. I'll bring it up there next time.
**
Speaking of that time and these folks, the name of the groupie I mentioned was Laura. Kip knows better than most we weren't a band, we didn't really have groupies, and I hope I didn't seem like I alluding to some stardom or power, for I can assure you I had neither. But, Laura did hang out with us because of the music and the other stuff, like fill in the blanks: Sex, _____, and Rock and Roll. But people DID throw popcorn at me when I played bass, didn't they Kip? LOL!!!
Last I heard Jack of the famous Texas Knights was making and selling silver cowboy jewelry and hardware somewhere around Kerrville, I believe.
**
The painting is fun, I'm learning a lot. I just ordered the new camera battery charger, along with a gallon of my favorite oils, all from Amazon. So, maybe by Aug. 1 I'll have a gallery to show here online.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
WOW! The Wind Did Blow
The sand was whipping down the beach strong enough to peel paint. Looked cool as heck, about a foot off the ground, this cloud of particles rushing by at four or five times the speed of light, it seemed.
I put my arms out once to try and gague the velocity, relying on old feelings and memories from sailing. My guess was sustained winds peaking at 35 mph, gusting at least 45.
However average sustained was probably around 25. Double-reef at least.
Reality settling in with me settling in; no more the moving, now the moved. Drivers license changes, as well as registering the truck which (I didn't know) I found out doesn't have to be smogged outside Portland and greater Willamette Valley. Imagine that.
Shoulda spent another thousand on painting supplies. Oops.
I tell ya, liquid oil -- aka Rustoleum -- is something else as a medium. But that's the Picasso Lowbrow post.
Back to being a poor guy. The run with the fun was great while it lasted. I think of Bill Murray's character in "Stripes," just before the enlistment: "And then depression set in."
Let's hope not.
I put my arms out once to try and gague the velocity, relying on old feelings and memories from sailing. My guess was sustained winds peaking at 35 mph, gusting at least 45.
However average sustained was probably around 25. Double-reef at least.
Reality settling in with me settling in; no more the moving, now the moved. Drivers license changes, as well as registering the truck which (I didn't know) I found out doesn't have to be smogged outside Portland and greater Willamette Valley. Imagine that.
Shoulda spent another thousand on painting supplies. Oops.
I tell ya, liquid oil -- aka Rustoleum -- is something else as a medium. But that's the Picasso Lowbrow post.
Back to being a poor guy. The run with the fun was great while it lasted. I think of Bill Murray's character in "Stripes," just before the enlistment: "And then depression set in."
Let's hope not.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
A Quick Word about Dating
Dating. O brother it sucks.
Don’t get me wrong, when it’s right it’s terrific. Yumm.
So I’m on these two electronic meeting sites. I’d rather date women my own age, believe it or not. BUT, then again, I’d rather not.
I’m not vain or deluded. I’m a geezer. I know it. I look in the mirror and even though that’s not me, it’s Shreck, I also know it’s me. I get it. So I don’t expect to be banging 20 year olds two at a time.
Often.
And women much younger than me, I just have trouble with some of the trends and pop culture.
But women my age, while they are superior when it comes to confidence and strength and experience, they are mostly wrecked up emotionally. Pardon my rash generalization, but I have some experience on which to base the observation. If it isn’t hormones then it must be mass insanity. I’m serious.
Women my age and older routinely blow through the expressed boundaries I put on my dating expectations, as though age, drinking, smoking don’t matter, they’re exempt from the rules. Or else my boundaries mean squat to them.
Their profiles often bespeak the insecurity and pain of prior relationships left unsettled.
Not only that, they seem to be almost universally prone to hold me responsible for the shit they got from other men. It’s not overt, but done subtly. These women often make rash generalizations like the one I did earlier, placing men into categories (“you’re the kind of man… your kind is why”), I’m not kidding. If we guys did that they’d call us sexist and rightfully so. But that sure doesn’t stop many women 50 and above from engaging in sexist thinking and behavior, does it?
Also, women in this age group also are cooling off, as it were; hormones. Sex isn’t as important to them as it once was. And neither is it with me; hormones. But it still matters. I’m not content to enter into a non-sexual chill just yet.
So, I’m stuck in one sense. I know I’m too old for younger women who still want kids and family, but I’m also too old it seems, at least on first impressions, to women who are also family-driven but have already created their kids. And women who should be in a decent age group for both of us don’t want my old broke ass, either.
Plus, I no longer have the large thick wallet by which I can turn a good-god-grown woman into Ms. Cinderella, damn the personalities.
Oh well. I think I’ll go take a walk along the beach. Seems like a nice sunset shaping up.
Don’t get me wrong, when it’s right it’s terrific. Yumm.
So I’m on these two electronic meeting sites. I’d rather date women my own age, believe it or not. BUT, then again, I’d rather not.
I’m not vain or deluded. I’m a geezer. I know it. I look in the mirror and even though that’s not me, it’s Shreck, I also know it’s me. I get it. So I don’t expect to be banging 20 year olds two at a time.
Often.
And women much younger than me, I just have trouble with some of the trends and pop culture.
But women my age, while they are superior when it comes to confidence and strength and experience, they are mostly wrecked up emotionally. Pardon my rash generalization, but I have some experience on which to base the observation. If it isn’t hormones then it must be mass insanity. I’m serious.
Women my age and older routinely blow through the expressed boundaries I put on my dating expectations, as though age, drinking, smoking don’t matter, they’re exempt from the rules. Or else my boundaries mean squat to them.
Their profiles often bespeak the insecurity and pain of prior relationships left unsettled.
Not only that, they seem to be almost universally prone to hold me responsible for the shit they got from other men. It’s not overt, but done subtly. These women often make rash generalizations like the one I did earlier, placing men into categories (“you’re the kind of man… your kind is why”), I’m not kidding. If we guys did that they’d call us sexist and rightfully so. But that sure doesn’t stop many women 50 and above from engaging in sexist thinking and behavior, does it?
Also, women in this age group also are cooling off, as it were; hormones. Sex isn’t as important to them as it once was. And neither is it with me; hormones. But it still matters. I’m not content to enter into a non-sexual chill just yet.
So, I’m stuck in one sense. I know I’m too old for younger women who still want kids and family, but I’m also too old it seems, at least on first impressions, to women who are also family-driven but have already created their kids. And women who should be in a decent age group for both of us don’t want my old broke ass, either.
Plus, I no longer have the large thick wallet by which I can turn a good-god-grown woman into Ms. Cinderella, damn the personalities.
Oh well. I think I’ll go take a walk along the beach. Seems like a nice sunset shaping up.
Lakeside, seaside
It's a long walk from Laurelhurst Park in Portland to Devil's Lake, in Lincoln City, but here I am. Still in Oregon, still lots of trees, BUT...
There is the small matter of the ocean.
I love the apartment. I'd earlier posted photos of it on my Facebook page, but since then and moving the landlord switched me to a different townhome, one with a much better view of the lake. Still a 2-br loft, but magnificent view.
Like the previous blog, Laurelhurst Park, this will be a diary of sorts, my life along the coast.
There's also another blog, "Picasso Lowbrow," which will detail the art career and its development. Laurelhurst Park, god bless her, will be retired.
There is the small matter of the ocean.
I love the apartment. I'd earlier posted photos of it on my Facebook page, but since then and moving the landlord switched me to a different townhome, one with a much better view of the lake. Still a 2-br loft, but magnificent view.
Like the previous blog, Laurelhurst Park, this will be a diary of sorts, my life along the coast.
There's also another blog, "Picasso Lowbrow," which will detail the art career and its development. Laurelhurst Park, god bless her, will be retired.
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