Rapture

Dear baby boomers

You might have left an uninhabitable planet to your grandchildren. Not to worry - you are covered by  premillennial dispensationalism.

PS  How like you are to suffer Rapture? Check its SBL (Struck By Lightning) number.

Bike to work day

Almost every workday, for 18 years, I bike to Georgia Teach and back to VaHi, crossing Monroe at Park Drive, then on 12th to Williams St, then to 10th on the Williams St sidewalk, and then on 10th on the sidewalks until one can get onto campus bike / walking paths. It's very safe.
There is only one dangerous spot, the corner of 10th and Williams, where the traffic to interstate is already speeding up, and I see no way of improving the dangerous driving at that corner. Other than educating drivers...

(Not) my grandmother's štrudla s jabukama

[Deutsche Übersetzung ist unten]                                       [blue text: live hyperlink]

C remembered I had a recipe for apfelstrudel. So she wanted to come over and make it with me, as a school project, to show off her Österreichische Kultur, what would her mother and grandmother bake for a project like this.

I biked out to the closest supermarket to get the phyllo dough. Came back with a ton of supplies I did not need, with one exception: the phyllo dough. Biked out again. They did not have the right size. Three supermarkets later I got the right size.

I biked over to fetch her at 6pm, as agreed. But the 3 little grumps were not there - so I sat on their doorstep, waiting, for 1 1/2 hour. Worried about something happened to Big Grumpy, as he did not respond to my text.

When they showed up, C giggled and said that - well - they had just forgotten me. Don't know what school of etiquette they get their manners from ("thank you" is a verbotten phrase in that school). On the other hand, they are doing very well in their respective schools, so OK. Takes love to put up with the little grumps.

The Little Grumpy did not even say hi, he just marched right by, so I'll never know why - out of roughly millions of Konfirmationsspruche possible - three kids in his confirmation class picked out the same Luke 18:27: "Was für Menschen unmöglich ist, ist für Gott möglich?" Not the most obvious choice, nein? Well elucidated, however by Rabelais.

On the other hand, in his confirmation service I learned that Jesus was indeed the first Republican:  Johannes 15, 16a: "Nicht ihr habt mich erwählt, sondern ich habe euch erwähl." The fundamental Christian teaching, now that Jim Crow needs a tweak: draw up Congressional districts by choosing the voters that chose you.

Now C and I had very little time before she would be picked up again. Usually C gets me to do everything, but this time she was the chef - read the recipe, measured ingredients, brushed the phyllo dough with butter, rolled up the strudel rolls. I was strictly assistant sous chef. The result were two gigantic apfelstrudel rolls that neither C's nor my grandma would ever approve of.

Turned out not to be the supposed school project, that had been due today. It's really for her classmate Alexander the Dutchman "he does not even have an accent"), who she has a crush on (see "On Gender").

Then, as we were waiting for the strudel to bake, and whipping up the requisite schlag, we discussed The Wandering Earth. Worldwide blockbuster, except in US, because heroes are the real cosmonauts, i.e. Chinese and Russians, no Gringos. Movie is made for teenage gamers. I would invite Little Grump to see it on the big screen - 700 million viewers so far - but it is not shown in USA movie theaters. C is against messing with gravity. Not good.

C switches to German, and shares with me her currently favorite racy videos, with words and references to various body parts fascinating to 10 year-olds. But Ugly is touching.

When I packed it, it was 2 immaculate strudel rolls. Next morning it was like a medical school dermatology textbook illustration of the dreaded Baghdad boils. Hope it tastes better than what it looks, and do not forget the schlag!

Meanwhile, Google remembers May 17, 2010

And I remember Mother's Day from a year ago.

            ======== Deutsche Übersetzung ========================

C erinnerte sich, dass ich ein Rezept für Apfelstrudel hatte. Also wollte sie rüberkommen und es mit mir machen, als Schulprojekt, um ihre Österreichische Kultur zu zeigen, was würden ihre Mutter und Großmutter für ein solches Projekt backen?

Ich fuhr zum nächsten Supermarkt, um den Phylloteig zu holen. Ich kam mit einer Tonne Vorräte zurück, die ich nicht brauchte, mit einer Ausnahme: dem Phylloteig. Ich bin wieder rausgefahren. Sie hatten die richtige Größe. Drei Supermärkte später bekam ich die richtige Größe.

Ich fuhr hinüber, um sie um 18 Uhr abzuholen, wie vereinbart. Aber die 3 kleinen Nörgler waren nicht da - also saß ich auf ihrer Türschwelle und wartete 1 1/2 Stunden lang. Besorgt über etwas, das Großer Jammerer passiert ist, da er nicht auf meinen Text reagiert hat.

Als sie auftauchten, kicherte C und sagte, dass sie mich - naja - einfach vergessen hatten. Ich weiß nicht, von welcher Schule der Etikette sie ihre Manieren bekommen ("Danke" ist ein verbottener Satz in dieser Schule). Auf der anderen Seite geht es ihnen in ihren jeweiligen Schulen sehr gut, so OK. Man braucht Liebe, um sich mit den kleinen Miesepeterchen abzufinden.

Kleine Jammerer grüßte nicht einmal, er marschierte einfach vorbei, also werde ich nie wissen, warum - aus etwa Millionen von Konfirmationsspruchen möglich - drei Kinder in seiner Konfirmationsklasse den gleichen Lukas 18:27 auswählten: "Was für Menschen unmöglich ist, ist für Gott möglich"? Nicht die offensichtlichste Wahl, oder?

Andererseits habe ich in seinem Konfirmationsdienst erfahren, dass Jesus tatsächlich der erste Republikaner war:  Johannes 15, 16a: "Nicht ihr habt mich erwählt, sondern ich habe euch erwähl." Die grundlegende christliche Lektion, jetzt, da Jim Crow gezwickt werden muss: Erstellen Sie Kongressbezirke, indem Sie die Wähler auswählen, die Sie gewählt haben.

Jetzt hatten C und ich sehr wenig Zeit, bevor sie wieder abgeholt wurde. Normalerweise bringt mich C dazu, alles zu tun, aber diesmal war sie die Köchin - las das Rezept, maß die Zutaten, streichelte den Phylloteig mit Butter, rollte die Strudelrollen auf. Ich war ausschließlich Assistentin des Sous-Chefs. Das Ergebnis waren zwei gigantische Apfelstrudelrollen, die weder C's noch meine Oma je gutheißen würden.

Es stellte sich heraus, dass es sich nicht um ein Schulprojekt handelte, das heute fällig war. Es ist wirklich für ihren Klassenkameraden Alexander den Holländer, den sie mag.

Dann, als wir darauf warteten, dass der Strudel backt, und die erforderliche Schlagsahne auftreiben, diskutierten wir Die Wandernde Erde. Weltweiter Blockbuster, außer in den USA, weil Helden Chinesen und Russen sind, keine Gringos. Ein Film, der für Teenager-Spieler gemacht wurde. Ich würde Kleine Jammerer einladen, es auf der großen Leinwand zu sehen, aber es wird in den USA nicht gezeigt. C ist dagegen, sich mit der Schwerkraft zu beschäftigen. Nicht gut.

C wechselt nach Deutsch und teilt mit mir ihre derzeit beliebtesten rassigen Videos mit Worten und Hinweisen auf verschiedene Körperteile, die für 10-Jährige faszinierend sind. Aber Hässlich ist rührend.

Als ich es verpackte, waren es 2 makellose Strudelrollen. Am nächsten Morgen war es wie ein Lehrbuch der Medizinischen Fakultät für Dermatologie, das die gefürchteten Bagdad Geschwüre illustrierte. Ich hoffe, es schmeckt besser als das, was es aussieht, und vergiss nicht den Schlagsahne!

The strange and wonderful manner of Gargantua's birth, and old grumpies

Now it is my fate to have to humour any number of old grumpies, all totally uninhibited about their endless lists of dislikes. Which reminds me of one of my favorite parts (well, there are many) of Rabelais Gargantua and Pantagruel  in 1936 Jacques Le Clercq translation:

I.VI The strange and wonderful manner of Gargantua's birth

A few moments later she began to groan, lament and cry out. Suddenly crowds of midwives came rushing up from all directions. Feeling and groping her below, they found certain loose shreds of skin, of a rather unsavory odor, which they took to be the child. It was, on the contrary, her fundament which had escaped with the mollification of her right intestine (you call it the bumgut) because she had eaten too much tripe, as I explained above.

Here comes the part the reminds me of the sins of old grumpies, and their loong looong lists of dislikes:

A truly revolting thought, this, but one suggested by the story of the Devil at St. Martin's Mass noting down the chatter of two trollops and with his teeth stretching the parchment he wrote on, in a vain effort to keep up with them.

And now we carry on with the miraculous birth of Gargantua:

As a result of Gargamelle’s discomfort, the cotyledons of the placenta of her matrix were enlarged. The child, leaping through the breech and entering the hollow vein, ascended through her diaphragm to a point above her shoulders. Here the vein divides into two; the child accordingly worked his way in a sinistral direction, to issue, finally, through the left ear.

No sooner born, he did not, like other babes, cry: "'"Whaay! Whaay!” but in a full, loud voice bawled: "'Drink, drink, drink!’’ as though inviting the company to fall to. What is more, he shouted so lustily that he was heard throughout the regions of Beuxe (pronounced "booze”) and Bibarois (which in sound evokes bibbers and is how the Gascons pronounce "Vivarais”) .

Now I suspect that you do not thoroughly believe this strange nativity. If you do not, I care but little, though an honest and sensible man always believes what he is told and what he finds written. Does not Solomon say in Proverbs (XIII, 15): "Innocens credit omni verbo, the innocent believeth every word,” and does not St. Paul (I Corinthians, 13) declare: "Charitas omma credit, Charity believeth all.”

Why should you not believe what I tell you? Because, you reply, there is no evidence. And I reply in turn that for this very reason you should believe with perfect faith. For the gentlemen of the Sorbonne say that faith is the argument of non-evident truths.

Is anything I have related beyond our law or faith, contrary to our reason, or opposed to Divine Scriptures? For my part, I find nothing in the Holy Bible that stands against it. And if such had been the will of God, would you affirm that He could not accomplish it? Ha, I pray you, do not ambiguembrangle your minds with such vain conceits. I tell you that nothing is impossible to God and, if He but pleased, women would henceforth give birth to their children through the left ear.

Was not Bacchus engendered out of the very thigh of Jupiter? Was not Roquetaillade or Cleftrock ushered into the world through his mother’s heel? Did not Croquemouche or Craunchfly first see the light out of his nurse’s slipper? Was not Minerva progenerated out of the brain and through the ear of Jupiter? Was not the bark of a myrrh tree brought to bed of Adonis? And did not an eggshell, laid and hatched by Leda, extravasate Castor and Pollux into being?

You would be infinitely more surprised and stunned were I presently to expose to you the entire chapter in which Pliny deals with fantastic and unnatural births, yet I am not nearly so accomplished a liar as he was. Read his Natural History, Book VII. Chapter III, yourselves, and do not plague me further with the subject.

Going to "Planet Nine From Outer Space" lecture with a teen

[Deutsche Übersetzung ist unten]

I had invited Konstantin Batygin to give us a public lecture on "Planet Nine From Outer Space" because Konstantin is a riot - very California, pierced, tattooed, purple punk hairdo. Then I thought - you know, A might like it. So I SMSed him that if he comes to the lecture there is a $25 reward from you-know-who.

The inevitable confusion issued because A the-wild-child answered "yes" only to he $25 SMS, no SMS or voicemail response to anything after that. Gene knew nothing about the lecture (but I had written to him as well?), not having been told by A. And I had no clue about how the child is to get to Georgia Tech campus. 

I got a Lyft, more or less kidnapped the child on the spot, Lyft turned around and took us back to the campus, leaving Gene trying to reach the drumming teacher that A should have had a class with at 7:30 (but had not told me anything about).

In other words, everything was normal.

A in flip-flops and I ran across the campus in a tropical downpour, and got totally drenched and happy into the lecture. Konstantin is a very young astronomer (especially for a discoverer of a new planet), totally Los Angeles / Hollywood: an American Russian who speaks Japanese as he grew up in Japan, and has a rock band, so he combines public lectures with gigs for his band. Audience was roaring with laughter, and A, usually his little grumpy teenage self, could not help himself - he laughed several times too.

He told me about his favorite game now. I forget the name, but a mad scientist develops a cocktail of Ebola and like viruses in order to wipe out humanity and save the planet. Perhaps this game? I have to admit that I find the premise of the game appealing :)

Gene, however, is dead set against the kid being paid to attend lectures, so I very solemnly declared "I will absolutely not pay him".

I'll just tell grandma he went to the lecture. What happens then is not my department:)

Also, I told him he could do some work for Marty and Steve to help them with their electronics and get paid. I'll talk to Steve about it.

All in all, A one on one, without the family, is a pleasant date.

------------------------------------------------------

Ich hatte Konstantin Batygin eingeladen, um uns einen öffentlichen Vortrag über "Planet Nine From Outer Space" zu halten, weil Konstantin ein Aufstand ist - sehr californisch, durchbohrt, tätowiert, lila Punkfrisur. Dann dachte ich - weißt du, A könnte es gefallen. Also habe ich ihm eine SMS geschickt, dass, wenn er zu der Vorlesung kommt, es eine Belohnung von $25 gibt.

Die unvermeidliche Verwirrung entstand, weil A das Wildkind nur auf die $25 SMS, keine SMS oder Voicemail-Antwort auf irgendetwas danach mit "ja" antwortete. Gene wusste nichts über den Vortrag (aber ich hatte ihm auch geschrieben?), ohne dass A es ihm gesagt hatte. Und ich hatte keine Ahnung, wie das Kind zum Georgia Tech Campus kommen sollte.

Ich bekam ein Lyft, mehr oder weniger entführt das Kind auf der Stelle, Lyft drehte sich um und brachte uns zurück auf den Campus, wobei Gene versuchte, den Schlagzeuglehrer zu erreichen, mit dem A um 7:30 Uhr eine Klasse hätte haben sollen (aber mir nichts davon erzählt hatte).

Mit anderen Worten, alles war normal.

A in Flip-Flops und ich lief in einem tropischen Regenguss über den Campus und wurde völlig durchnässt und glücklich in den Vortrag. Konstantin ist ein sehr junger Astronom (besonders für einen Entdecker eines neuen Planeten), total Los Angeles / Hollywood: ein amerikanischer Russe, der Japanisch spricht, als er in Japan aufgewachsen ist, und eine Rockband hat, also kombiniert er öffentliche Vorträge mit Auftritten für seine Band. Das Publikum lachte vor Lachen, und A, meist sein kleines, mürrisches Teenager-Selbst, konnte sich nicht helfen - er lachte auch mehrmals.

Er hat mir jetzt von seinem Lieblingsspiel erzählt. Ich vergesse den Namen, aber ein verrückter Wissenschaftler entwickelt einen Cocktail aus Ebola und ähnlichen Viren, um die Menschheit auszulöschen und den Planeten zu retten. Vielleicht dieses Spiel? Ich muss zugeben, dass ich die Prämisse des Spiels attraktiv finde :)

Gene ist jedoch völlig dagegen, dass das Kind für die Teilnahme an Vorträgen bezahlt wird, also habe ich sehr feierlich erklärt: "Ich werde ihn absolut nicht bezahlen".

Ich sage Oma einfach, dass er zur Vorlesung gegangen ist. Was dann passiert, ist nicht meine Abteilung:)

Außerdem sagte ich ihm, dass er etwas für Marty und Steve arbeiten könnte, um ihnen mit ihrer Elektronik zu helfen und bezahlt zu werden. Ich werde mit Steve darüber reden.

Alles in allem ist A eins zu eins, ohne die Familie, ein angenehmes Date.

Child labor is illegal

10-year old C. came over and made us dynamite carbonara, and even though the prep was not perfect (she did not mention she needed heavy cream). We also made a mean chili con carne together. I can recommend her as a cook for hire.

"However," says C., "I am a child, and child labor is illegal. But you know what? I can pretend to be cooking just because I enjoy cooking, and you can pretend that you are giving me the money a gift, as adults give kids gifts. So you are really paying me, but we pretend it's all for fun, OK?"

Child labor injury - as she was mincing jalapeno, a drop of jalapeno fluid flew into her eye. Ouch! and a red eye.

Scott Locklin on the death of Marty Halpern

In his blog, Scott Locklin reminisces about the death of his buddy Marty Halpern. A sweet manly friendship. The only thing I can add is that to the best of my knowledge,  I do not tell jokes. That must have been the famous Cvitanović.

Now that I'm on Scott: Scott finds Mussolini a more talented writer than Hitler. I dunno, but that's a low threshold. I believe every thinking person should read Mein Kampf not for its literary value, but to understand that he wrote down everything he would eventually do when he was still just another freak in the Weimar Republic freak show. And still, the moron industrialists put him in the position of total power. They clearly did not read Das Buch.

Killing of Scout Schultz, 2 years later

(continued from my post of  Sept 20, 2017)

I found nothing new the status of killing of Scout Schultz investigation (wiki) since September. Do not know anyone at Georgia Tech other than Andrea in School of Physics who cares.  Georgia is high even for United States in the number of police homicides. Historically zero in indicting policemen who kill, though in recent years a few especially nasty killing have led to indictments.

Casey Miles interviewed Hallie Lieberman about the death of Scout Schultz and the aftermath: getlively.podbean.com (Media link;  podcastrepublic.net, 18 Oct 2018)

Hallie Lieberman: "The Trigger Effect" (magazine.atavist.com,  Aug 2018)

A tribute from a friend, written as Anonymous: Scout Schultz was a burning flare maskmagazine.com (Sept 2017)

Officer Tyler Beck who killed Schultz (see the ajc.com article of Sept 25, 2017) rejoined Georgia Tech’s police force in December 2017 in an administrative capacity after being placed on paid leave pending the outcome of the investigation.. The investigation was completed March 2020, see my post of March 12, 2020, so I presume officer Beck is again patrolling the campus.

The family has a civil suit against him and GTPD: cbs46.com (Sept 19, 2018); ajc.com (Sept 11, 2019). I do not know whether the prosecutor decision of March 2020 (see above) vacates the suit.

This Oct 11, 2017 ajc.com article appears informative.

PS
 
On Sept 17, 2019, the 2nd anniversary of the murder, Scout's friends pasted stickers around Georgia Tech's campus in their memory.

Technique: One year later memorial and vigil remember Scout (Sept 22, 2018) 

The Contemporaries Project: It’s A Sin To Kill A Mockingbird - Writings on Scout Schultz (Sept 17, 2018)

Technique: Schultz death sparks outrage, promises, change (Sept 17, 2019) The Technique filed an Open Records Act request on Aug. 27 for information on Beck’s employment status. At the time of publishing, Institute’s legal team had not complied with the request.

11alive.com: 'Scout was a literal genius' (Sept 12, 2019)

GoFundMe (March 21, 2019): Help JT sue cops who lied to falsely arrest him

A tribute from Anonymous: Scout Schultz was a burning flare maskmagazine.com (Sept 2017)

And did I mention how important it is to have independent journalism? Were it not for The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, all news would be controlled by the State of Georgia, be it through Georgia Tech administration or Georgia State police, and we would have never even known that a student in a moment of mental crises was killed in front of his dorm, to the horror of students watching the killing through dorm windows.

(continued in my post of March 12, 2020)

Feynman turns 100

Today we celebrate Feynman's 100 birthday.

In a way, I did love the man. I have even spent some 3 hours in all with him.

The first interaction was professional, and while his specific advice did not help, the fear of not being able to answer Feynman's obvious question has shaped my life to this very day: ChaosBook.org/~predrag/papers/finitness.html

The second interaction was not the Feynman you get from the Feynman cult. Feynman the human was a very smart, forever driven kid. Who naturally bonded with other wunderkinder. Like, when were sitting together in a pizzeria in Ithaca college town, the 2 wunderkinds and 2 of us. Feynman and the other wunderkind were establishing at what age did they do Bessel functions. Something like 12, do not remember which one did the Bessels first. At that age I read "Palle Alone in the World" and my nonwunderkind friend,  being from California, watched television 12 hours a day.

They were boring us to death, so to break up this mano a mano, I asked Feynman "Do you remember receiving a small book with your portrait on it?" Feynman never read anybody else's work, so I was amazed when he said "Yes!"

At that time I used to design private editions of my books in the "Classics Illustrated" format, and had intended to have my other wunderkind acquaintance, Gerard 't Hooft's face on the cover. But try as I may, I could not sketch a recognizable portrait of t'Hooft in a comic book style. So I gave up, and drew Feynman instead. Anybody can recognize HIM. And now that I have done it, I felt I should mail him a copy.

The truth is, had I sent him the book 20 years earlier, reading it would have been good for him. Feynman got QCD right to one loop, but, being Feynman and having to build everything from ground zero every single time, he had forgotten all about Feynman path integrals, and it took an Utrecht graduate student to do it right. My book -if you ask me- is pretty good. It explains t'Hooft in large print and with lots of figures in some 100 pages. But my favorite (and as far as I know, the only) review is Feynman's.

Chilling out on Mother's Day

On Mother's Day C, who is in 3rd grade, came over. She told me: "Your mother is dead, S is in Chicago, and you have no children. So let's have a date."
We biked over from her house to mine, washed, dried and folded all my laundry. Then we started the grill, she prepared the potatoes, and I prepared corn on cob. We invited her family and Jonathan with his kids from across the street.
But the main thing we did was to chill out, she with young adult novels on her Kindle, and me with Pippi Longstocking. C does not multitask. She reads with the intensity of her whole being.

Pa, can I take the donkey into town?

I was not totally up front with Citizens Immigration Services on the manner of my conception. So, in celebration of us whose mothers were immaculately conceived, or, as my mother insisted, us who were born by parthenogenesis:

TheOffingmag.com/wit-tea/jesus-and-his-stepdad-joe

Post-car life is more like life than the car life

I took Lyft to friend's home and back, 1/2 hour each way.

Going out, Ahmed.

Ahmed is a moslem. Things are getting worse by the day. He is thinking of leaving. To Saudi Arabia or to Dubai or to Sierra Leone. Yes, Sierra Leone war was bad, but it has gotten much better since - he has friends there. Or Dubai. Would like Dubai, but you need money to live in Dubai.

He has lived in Atlanta 13 years. He grew up in Newark. Growing up in Newark was very rough. Since he moved here, the whole family has followed him - not only the parents, also both grandmothers have followed him - everybody lives in Atlanta now.

My friend wonders whether Ahmed speaks English. It is a curious, a very white southerner question. Like, was Barack Obama born here? Ahmed's ancestors have probably arrived upon these shores earlier than most American's ancestors, on slave ships. So suppose your people were enslaved, and then treated not much better after the abolition. Would you want to go to the enslavers' church, get a name like "Peter"? Not obvious. Was not obvious to Cassius Clay, either. Islam is an egalitarian alternative.

So I call Lyft again. Kennethia picks up my ride. My friend is baffled. "Where do they get these names?" Well, it is the same story again. If you are African-American, why would you pick a name Louise or Jennifer? Or Guðrún? 

Kennethia is young and lean and pretty. The car is perfumed and we are listening to Shereen Jenkins, who -Kennethia says- is wonderful. He reminds her -and now that is saying how old she is- he reminds her of "Dirty Dancing". Such a sweet young couple. She does insurance processing for veterans, she's driving when she has some free time to get some extra income. Uber, she does not like. Had bad experiences with that company. What bad experiences? As she gesticulates, she touches my arms, my knees. Nobody ever touches anybody in America. So I'm thinking - rowdy customers?

No, this is what happened. Her son, he wants to be an engineer. He's always in his room. He does not do extracurricular things in his school. So she finally talked him into taking jiu jitsu classes in X3 Sports. One day he orders an Uber, the driver comes, looks at his big backpack full of sports equipment, tells him to forget it, and drives away, reporting the kid to Uber as a no-show. She protested to Uber, but there is no way to get to these people to respond or do anything. Lyft is different - there is a phone number, and you can talk to them. Ever since then, the kid will only go if his mother drives him to X3 Sports. So she has to leave her office, drive him, go back to work, pick him up afterwards again.

He is a sensitive kind. She hears a noise from his room - something like lips smacking. Another time, it's a different sound, something like rice grains falling on paper. She goes in. The kid is not wathcing porn. "Ma, I'm feeling tense. It's music to relax me." The mother in law is all organic and vegetarian, and so is the husband, so Kennethia is switching over to vegetarian diet. She's also switched over to Tom's Toothpaste. Used to brush twice a day with fluoridated toothpaste, have I read about what that does to you? I should check it on the internet. Flour is really bad for you. Miracle she's still alive.

Hubby calls. Goes straight through car's hifi, it's a bit inappropriate for general audience, what he has to say to his wifey, but she does not know how to turn off the speakerphone.

There we are. It used to be John Birch Society that was up in arms about the government and fluoridation. Now the they are the government, and it's vegetarians who are up in arms. It is all about our precious bodily fluids. She has not seen "Doctor Strangelove", but she should.

She wants me to give her lots of stars. I did.

Killing of Scout Schultz

On September 16, 2017, Scout Schultz, a 21-year-old student of the Georgia Institute of Technology, was shot once and killed by Tyler Beck, an officer of the Georgia Tech Police Department. Schultz was carrying a multitool and walked towards the police, asking them to shoot.

On Sep 20, 2017 a friend from Mexico wrote

I read about the murder at Georgia Tech and saw the video. They shot the person while SO FAR away because of holding a knife.

A knife? That's the police version.

The young man, Georgia Tech student Scout Schultz, had a suicidal episode, and called the police on 911 so they would come and kill him. In his hand he had a small multipurpose tool from Home Depot, with no blade extended. He was an all-A student, with no violent past of any kind. It took all of several minutes of warnings by four policemen surrounding him to drop that object before he was executed from a few yards distance, in front of a dormitory full of students watching the execution.A significant fraction of people killed by the militarized local police forces in US are killed for suffering from mental disorders, rather than talked to and provided medical care.

The only reason why this killing got some press coverage is that the all-A student happened to also be a president of the Georgia Tech Pride Alliance, and that is the subpopulation of students most exposed to hate, bullying, prejudice and suicide. They are essentially the only activists on US campuses. Most of the students are uninformed sheep, fearful about their own futures and student debts, with no social moral compass beyond that.

The Pride Alliance organized the vigil. 500 people came, out of some 35000 people who are either students or work on this campus. Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense in America were there (join them or give them money, they are amazing). I saw no colleagues or administrators. It was a moving and somber time to reflect together in the quiet of a beautiful summer night.

Afterwards, there was a debate between a very articulate and emotionally deeply moved person who blamed the murder on the systemic causes, and who demanded that the institution provide better psychiatric counseling for its students, and a group that blamed the campus police for the murder. Some 50 protesters then went to trash the campus police parking lot. Three were arrested and their mugshots published in a local newspaper - one is a physics student, the two others are not associated with Georgia Tech. Now, in the reign of @GOP, as in the Freedom Summer of 1964, the institution's president was not at the vigil, he stood by the police. Police was not at the vigil either, and has not apologized to the traumatized parents. Officer Tyler Beck, who murdered Scout, said that he "regrets the situation he was faced with" but not pulling the trigger. Were the victim not a member of Pride Alliance, or were the victim a young black man walking, there would have been no vigil at all. Presidents of state universities are appointed by state boards of regents, which in turn consist mostly of rich white men with no educational expertise, political donors appointed by state governors.

I do not blame the police. Today the police are trained to deal with "active shooters." If they are not white males, they are called "terrorists." Rural districts state legislators, elected with the NRA and gun manufacturers' money, ram down the throats of the urban and university populations "conceal carry" laws, which allow any of the 300 million citizens of United States to roam our campuses armed. Sandy Hook massacre had shown that the country is beyond repair. Thus, in theory (very few students are armed) the police runs real risks in confronting the citizenry, and shoots to kill. With impunity - of thousand of so police killings per year, virtually none are prosecuted.

It's the way a slide into fascism works. The economic issues of vast income inequalities are real, but the response is driven by the unenlightened greed of the few, who divide and disfranchise the poor by fanning racism, xenophobia and fear. The have not read their Orwell, and do not care about where this ends. They are ethical morons.

See my next post, March 10, 2019.

Casona Rosa, Morelia, Michoacán

The city of Morelia is a hidden gem that is on no foreign tourists’ radar. I spent two weeks wandering around the city and rarely saw anyone who was not Mexican.  My mother was a historian of sacral baroque architecture of Croatia, so I was raised on baroque, with a soft spot for the Spanish colonial baroque, the outrageous amalgam of Catholic counter-reformation and Mexico’s native arts. Morelia is a beautiful, once very rich and fully formed baroque city, as perfect as Noto in Sicily or any still preserved central European provincial Habsburg baroque town.

The antique portales on main street of Morelia, Ave Madero, are just 3 blocks from Casona Rosa.  Lu's restaurant in Hotel Casino, across from the  main square Plaza de Armas,  and kitty-corner from Morelia Cathedral, is the best in town. Try uchepos. Try anything on the menu. When you eat at Lu's be sure and say you are a guest of Casona Rosa, and you will get a free dessert.

But what I find even more amazing than the monumental architecture of baroque is how deeply is the aesthetic, artist’s eye embedded into everyday life. No house, no matter how humble, is left unadorned - I spent countless hours walking through the living city, not the Centro Historico, and admiring ordinary homes and ordinary people that make the city a living beehive of myriad small business and human interconnections - you can see my photos here. With it comes the feeling of sadness for citizens of the depressing towns of North American interior, sucked dry by their Walmarts, condemned to isolated life on opioids, and mysterious fear that somehow the vibrant nation of 120 million down south will rob them of their profound poverty… But I digress:)

Rose, the owner, puts much of her time and effort into the Casona Rosa art collection and supporting the local artists, with valuable pieces from artists collected worldwide. What is displayed is the indigenous art of the famous artists and artisans of Michoacán. If you are very patient, have a look at my tour of Casona recorded for my wife here, or you can scan through some photos of Casona Rosa, starting with this one. It's beautiful stuff - as good as anything my native Mexican art collector friend owns. You can see it and buy it in Casa de Artesanias (Plaza San Francisco), but ask Casona Rosa to organize a visit to artisan villages instead.

Lupe and Mireya, and a bevy of young bilingual helpers  (guest services Viviana, IT whizz Leon) take care of the guests. Lupe can tell you about what Mexican food to eat. You can even ask her to prepare something special - she is an awesome cook. The Colonial Suite  is the nicest suite, and also the most private and quiet, in the back of the property.

Casona Rosa will fetch you at the airport airport for the same price as a regular taxi, about mx$400pesos for a half hour ride, but with the vastly more erudite driver Gerardo. Gerardo will tell you all about Franciscan monk brother Jacobo Daciano, born 1484 in Copenhagen – died 1566 in Michoacán who achieved fluency in eight languages and fame among the indigenous people of Michoacán, and whose relics, now lost, were once kept by the Indians of Tarécuato who still celebrate his birthday every year. OK, I am Danish, but Gerardo will teach you something about wherever you hail from.

There is so much more to write about Morelia, but this will have to do (Tripadviser rejected this review, because it has hyperlinks)

PS About tips: nice but not mandatory. Cabs: typically 10 pesos, 20 if cabbies help with luggage or whatever. Most Morelia rides are 40 pesos so with 10 tip it is only about 2.50usd. Restaurants 10% if it's a cheap place. 15% if mid range place. And 20% if high end place and you got  good service. Housekeepers: Most people tip end of stay, anywhere from 50 to 500 pesos.

Lovely Acura self-destructs to save Sara and me

Short version: a car veered diagonally across four lanes and I hit its tail end.

Long version: Cruising on I-85 at 70 mi/h, on the way to the airport. Second rightmost lane. Traffic not too heavy. There is a curly-haired dog sticking out his head out of the passenger side seat of the car ahead of us 3 lanes over. The head gets bigger and bigger - it is a man, naked from the waist up, standing in the window, with his boxers above the window ledge. And then he tumbles out, stretched out horizontally like a tree log,  and falls onto the highway, between the outermost lane and the next one. At 70 mi/h. Sara is looking at this in horror, I am looking straight ahead, keeping eyes on the road.

Their car veers diagonally across four lanes. I brake. I hit its tail end. Nobody hits me from behind. The airbags explode, cushion us from the impact, fill the car with gray smoke. Our car comes to a full stop, 2nd lane. The other car smashes into the side rail. Something that smells weird, like gasoline (maybe) is flooding the floor. Sara gets out and I bring the car onto the shoulder. In five minutes cops are there, with ambulance and fire trucks, and they close the entire I-85. The man who fell onto the highway is running around (see the pic below), until they restrain him to the Grady ambulance stretcher. He is beautiful - I would run around naked to the waist, had I his body, and whatever he is on must be an amazing drug. A fashion pointer: one is now to wear boxers outside blue jeans. The driver is sitting on the rail, texting. He tells Sara "I do not know what happened" and he tells me "I am sorry". His arms have some kind fish bone tattoos, perhaps a pitchfork showing “Folks” affiliation. Police are polite with him, then something happens - suddenly they pull their guns out, shout at him, throw him on the ground and handcuff him from the back, throw him into the back of one of the police cars. It's not a "driving while black" situation, two cops are white, six are black. Their 2010 blue Chevrolet Cobalt LT 2-door coupe has a Tennessee tag U62-33K and a door replaced on drivers side, so one cannot get the VIN number.

Police Officer Culbreth's report:

"Driver is Niles Robinson of Memphis, the VIN is 1G1AF1F57A7128023, and the car is uninsured. Upon my arrival, I saw the passenger, Justin Johnson (BM DOB 05-18-91), laying on the side of the highway wearing no shirt and in blue jeans, with lacerations all over his body. The driver, Niles Robinson (BM DOB 08-01-91) was standing over him looking down on him. Mr. Robinson told me that he was traveling on 1-85 SB Expy, when Mr. Johnson starting acting "crazy" and jumped out of the window. The two of them had just dropped off Mr. Johnson's girlfriend. Mr. Johnson then started say, "Oh so I just jumped out of the window." I asked Mr. Johnson numerous times what happened and he would not tell me. He then said the door was not all the way closed. He did not have any identification on him. I was unable to verify Me. Johnson's identity with ACIC, Police Central, Ominixx or any other resources. Mr. Johnson was transported to Grady Hospital." 

"The witness, A. E. stated he was traveling on 1-85 SB Expy when he saw the passenger of Vehicle #1 jump out of the vehicle and roll across the highway. Vehicle #1 and Vehicle #2 then collided. The passenger of Vehicle #1 got up and ran to the left side of the highway. The driver of Vehicle #1 exited his vehicle and walked to the left side of the highway where the passenger was." 

"While Officer Whitworth was gathering information from Mr. Robinson, Mr. Robinson went to his vehicle and retrieved some items. He was holding something close to his abdomen wrapped in a piece of clothing. Officer Whitworth asked Mr. Robinson what he was holding but Mr. Robinson did not respond. Officer Whitworth then verbally commanded Mr. Robinson to drop the items and show him his hands. Officer Whitworth then saw that Mr. Robinson was holding a firearm and commanded him to drop the weapon. The firearm was taken from Mr. Robinson and was confirmed to be reported stolen with Fulton County by ACIC. It was Smith and Wesson Taursu Slim PT740 with 6 bullets 40cal." 

"CID Unit 5305 was notified of the incident and told me to call the complaint room in reference to charging Mr. Robinson with Theft by Receiving Stolen Property. I spoke with DA Stevenson who stated that Mr. Robinson could not be charged for the stolen firearm." 

"Sgt. Woolfolk and Officer Whitworth went to the Grady with Mr. Johnson and were unable to get any additional information from Mr. Johnson about his identity and what happened during the incident." 

"Mr. Robinson received a citation for "No Insurance" 40-6-10
Nothing further to report."

For the pics of cars and the young men, click here. My deep gratitude goes to NRA, which protects the right of every American to bandy a stolen gun, and not be charged with possession of stolen firearm. Good work, Georgia Legislature! And I'm grateful to Sara for not doing her usual, and going over to the driver to reprimand him for his bad driving.

We get to sit in the back of one of the other police cars. You get to understand why that man got his spine severed in a paddy wagon in Baltimore. You cannot fit in your legs any way if you are over 5'8", the seat is of hard plastic, so you can only slide forward in it, not sit, the windows have grills so cell phones do not work, and the doors have no handles.

This contraption ... Only 10 days ago, I got a new set of tires and a new battery, and, on the third try, the 2010 car passed the emissions test (took 1400 mi of driving to get its sensors sensing)​. The very last thing we did before leaving for the airport was to order a new car cover.:)

Still, for the first time since we two got to know each other (Georgia Tech police, who had totaled my Avalon in the physics parking lot, was what brought us together in 2013), I was getting emotionally attached to our Acura - she had just brought us safe back from the racist hellhole that is Mississippi. And her exploding airbags and crumpled front is what saved us from serious injuries or worse. No trauma. No drama. Sara is sore where the seat belt crosses her chest and might have a bit of a cracked rib. I, counter-intuitively, feel better than before the collision - my right shoulder which had hurt for a while hurts less now :) Luv you, baby! I'll miss you...

Nitko nije nezamjenjiv

Hanibal Salvaro, LADICA Fine Arts & Design Center:

 Valjda [Talijani] nemaju zakona po kojem stvaralaštvo mora u mirovinu. Mi takve zakone imamo, pa slijedom njih otjeramo u mirovinu Marinu Baričević i Zdravka Zimu (Novi list) i Danijela Dragojevića (HRT) te još mnoge druge. Usput se koristi krilatica „Nitko nije nezamjenjiv“, koja je notorna glupost. Ali ako je svako zamjenjivi zanima me tko je uspio zamijeniti Michelagella, Teslu, Edisona, Einsteina, Bacha, Šukera, Dražena Petrovića, Mariju Callas, Tita, Reagana, Tolstoja, Krležu, Murtića, Tuđmana, Cervantesa, Lecha Walesu, Picassa, Dalia, majku Terezu i tako bi mogli u nedogled.

The saga of me, my Acura and the Sensor Stimulation

Whenever the woman is in town, or we take a trip through South, I crank this thing up. Normally, I just sits in the backyard, getting dented by the acorns shooting down from 100 y old oak trees, or corroded by bird poop bombs. I do 1750 mi/year. Is that excessive? I really do not care about these 4-wheeled contraptions at all.

Well, it turns the tires are programmed to dry rot even if you do not drive them. Good for tire makers, bad for environment.

Came back to Atlanta after a few months away, drove to Miss Daisy and back, and the front right tire developed a leak. Asked my car doctor what to do, he told me to go to a tire place, and ask them with a firm manly voice to remove the nail that seems to be in my front right tire. Otherwise, he said, they will stick you a new set of tires, priced for housewives. Hmm, there seems to by dry rot here? he added thoughtfully... Well, my car doctor is prescient. I went there, dressed as a man, and with the firm voice asked the man to pull that nail and patch the tire. The man came back with a big, half-moon grin: "dry rot!", and $920 later I was four new tires, pumped to different over-pressures, richer.

Now that Acura had gotten my attention, I took it for emissions test across the road from the Midtown Tire in Toco Hills. There I was greeted by a young man, 18-20, of Indian subcontinent extraction, who seemed fresh on the job and was learning it step-by-step, by watching it on YouTube, or something like it, in-between steps. After some twenty minutes, he told me that my sensors were not sensing, and sent me off to drive 50 mi before coming back. Now I was nailed - he had my $25, and he had me in the Georgia MVB systems as partially failing the emissions test, so I could not just drive off to the next guy and get tested again.

Having done meaningless 53 mi over the weekend, I drove all the way back to Taco Hills for the Emissions Test 2.0. I was greeted by a sprightly redneck from Duck Dynasty (are we sure these guys are not Moslem fundamentalists?) who tried again, and then gave me a long sweet tale about what a sensor really wants. Basically, sensors (at least to guys who do emission tests) are more mysterious than women. They might want a hour at 70 mi/h, then down to 60 mi/h, then .... Their algorithms are unknown. He sent me back to the road, for more sensor stimulation.

Or, as the manual so helpfully explains: "certain `readiness codes’ that must be set in the on-board diagnostics for the emissions systems. These codes are erased when the battery is disconnected, and set again only after several days of driving under a variety of conditions."

My bike mechanic Godchile pipes in: "Ah, Duck Dynasty youth - what they are referring to is a Drive Cycle. You need to fulfill a certain number of these.

There is some variation among vehicles but these might do the trick. Its a maddening pain in the ass by the way: repairpal.com/how-to-perform-a-basic-drive-cycle, repairpal.com/drive-cycle-issues-readyness-code-reset-180 . What kind of Acura? Year? Model?"

Acura TSX 2010 sedan 2.4L I4 MPI, 201 HP, Torq 172.

So now I'll drive to New Orleans and back, see whether that does the trick:)

And now this: AP-AE. Was really missing another administrator

The Georgia Institute of Technology invites applications and nominations for the position of Associate Provost for Academic Effectiveness (AP-AE). Reporting to the provost and executive vice president for Academic Affairs, the AP-AE will work closely with the deans and academic leadership and advises the president, provost, and senior Institute leadership on matters related to academic planning and is responsible for ensuring the effectiveness of Georgia Tech’s academic programs through quality assessment and review processes.

You better brush up on your Rabelais ... (or, when to say this PhD thesis is good enough)

August committee co-members

We, denizens of the Upper Aetherial Realms, commit all our work to our common repository (well, Professor Heartthrob commits our common work to [Spam] folder, but the rest of us do :) so we are up to very latest latest on the latest PhD thesis saga:

On Mon, Nov 7, 2016 at 3:23 AM, TheStudent wrote:

Author: TheStudent
Modified:
   thesis/thesis.pdf
Log:
I've addressed everything I intend to

Let me translate this for you.

In Gargantua and Pantagruel Rabelais thus describes the birth of the giant Gargantua (AKA PhD thesis):

Whereupon an old ugly trot in the company, who had the repute of an expert she-physician, and was come from Brisepaille, near to Saint Genou, three score years before, made her so horrible a restrictive and binding medicine, and whereby all her larris, arse-pipes, and conduits were so oppilated, stopped, obstructed, and contracted, that you could hardly have opened and enlarged them with your teeth, which is a terrible thing to think upon; seeing the Devil at the mass at Saint Martin's was puzzled with the like task, when with his teeth he had lengthened out the parchment whereon he wrote the tittle-tattle of two young mangy whores.

 

... and so has TheStudent's thesis adviser been lengthening out the parchment whereon he has been writing his desiderata for the said theses; TheStudent reports that it is a multi-branched, exceedingly lengthy affair with rewrites of the rewrites. The said adviser has pulled the same trick as for TheStudent-1 a year ago. He ignored our thrice, clearly and loudly repeated request that we take the signed committee approval of the thesis over to Chair, and is clutching it to his breast, unsigned by him as until such time he is fully satisfied with the said student's implementation of the aforementioned multi-sheeted Riemann parchment diktats.

One is inclined to think that this all has to either with male menopause, or something Newt Gingrich adds to the water in Gingrichland, north of I-285, but no - unbeknownst to the adviser, the aforementioned thesis committee member made TheStudent-2 write an entire new chapter in the 2008 thesis, before giving up hope, and writing to the lowly student that this was the Thesis of Missed Opportunities. Which is the work that in periods is one of the most cited article in the lowly Journal of Aqueous Mechanics, and upon which the entire reputation of several professors of tenure as honorable plumbers' guild members rests. But who are they to judge, with their lowly Cornell and MIT pedigrees.

So starting today, what TheStudent says in the above is: No More Rewrites. The matter is coming to the head fast, as the thesis has to be approved and uploaded in a week:)

Servus

Aeternally Yours
Panurge

PS clearly, this is an email from a professor who should instead be glued to grants.gov, completing the NSF report in the face of a very fast approaching deadline :) 

PPS This actually is not our favorite translation. You can try it in the original, if your medieval Latin and French are in good shape - the modern French footnotes for each page tend to run to many pages:)

God misfathering, the first decades

Usually you are -like- not even born when your mother sticks Godparents on you, for some reason that seemed obvious right then, but no one remembers 30 years later. Godparents have long since moved to Toledo and dedicated their lives to Orphaned Samoyeds of Northeastern Ohio.

But not so when you get appointed to God-parenting Jun 1, 2015 by a fully-fledged Superchile herself. As perfect Aphrodite emerging from Zeus' split head. With a feel and the zeal of Born Again Godchile.

Cannot speak for Professor S., but for me it all started innocently enough. If I am made to enter a mall, I start developing green spots within the 1/2 hour of confinement. So Godchile and Godchile's Mom, who is a pro in all things Cuban Latin American Princess, drove me to the scariest, meanest of all the malls in this town, and within 20 minutes I was owner of fancy Japanese tweed pants (I've never been able to find that miraculous textile again), cargo pants, and a flower-patterned shirt that my department's Black secretaries compliment me on to this day, and we were out of the Mall again.

We did not get a pair of sneakers, so that's a Mall visit still awaiting: getting me my J'z :)

Then I went to Copenhagen, and Godchile had flipped the script for me - with the new pants, shirt

and a gay boy cut young women saw me again. Reborn. Even fell in love with the 23 year old Nína from Iceland (did not take much - she actually started talking to me) but no need to alert the authorities, it was over by the 2:30am night bus and nobody noticed. Except I have like one zillion pics of a woman with flowers in her hair.

Strictly speaking it was not illegal, but it was pushing it, with my puzzled nephews and nieces, thinking "WTF? Why is uncle P. sitting out there in the night on a bench with Nína, 47 years out of sync?"

 

Godchile and I share secrets that no one will ever be able to crack:

Me: "Check mine (scroll down for the details) https://m.flickr.com/#/photos/birdtracks/9344308133/in/set-72157634630128814/ . Do you approve of the derailler? What has changed my life is Modolo Brevettoto E-2091 handle bars - wide bars make one feel more manly :) I've gotten lazy (and now lack tools for that) so I had a bike mechanics replace the bottom bracket UN-55  for the steep $30. And gave up on cleats, replaced them by classic commuter pedals MKS Sylvan Stream black  for  another steep $35."

Godchile: "Ahhhh vintage aluminum! Before I was subjected to the pothole addled streets of New York, I rode nothing but Aluminum bikes.Very whippy and like an extension of the body. Once had an Italian steel bike. The Italians definitely know something about frame building - it was the only frame I've ever ridden that had the responsiveness of aluminum but the forgiveness of steel."

Godchile: "Love cleats I just don't like the shoes I have  as much. Current pair of shoes belonged to my friend who is dead so the mojo is skewed. But regardless with properly tensioned pedals you never think of releasing your feet it traffic. Like driving stick. Oh and surely you are referring to SPD pedals ? There is no other way to go in the city." 

So I got Corky for Godchile. (Corky is a heroine of Jarmusch "Night on Earth"). My post-teenage year's idol,  could not do better. But Heathers? Godchile: "At the same time I was memorizing every word in Heathers, I was reading and rereading Brave New Word and using it as the subject matter for my Paideia application essay. Shouldn't that have been a greater cause for concern than Heathers? Seems like I must have grown up in the Wild West days of parenting..."

 

But that could not last. After splitting a decade between two very miserable though decent men, the Godchile was on a move again, sucking me instantly into the eye of a falling-in-love hurricane.  

Godchile: "In other news I have a viable crush on a mathematician (with Standford credentials and all) at work. Everything was fine until our offices moved and they sat him across from me. Now I'm deeply distracted."

 

Me: "Wonderful news. But, what was his PhD on?" Godchile: "Ultimately he had to be eliminated due to the fact that his PhD in Math is in fact - UNFINISHED."

 

Godchile: "I met  Mr. R. at the bar downstairs and I have a terrible crush. I am still trying to gather my wits and connect the dots. I have not had a crush in at least 12 years and I am - to say the least - not very good at it. Though this guy definitely does very good work and what good's a crush without excellent brains???  So now you get to truly be my godfather because I feel like I'm TWELVE."

Godchile: "I had a nightmare about  Mr. R. last night. I was sitting at the same bar where were met, he walked in and sat down next to me. Proceeded to say nothing. And I was suddenly MUTE and unable to say anything either. Then some woman walks in, sits down next to him and captivates his attention. After observing his hands on her legs for at least five eternal minutes, I wake up feeling bad."

"I have since consumed 5 shots of espresso and dyed my hair black. Well... not jet blue goth black but dark enough."

 

Me: "Cute. You are a LAP (Latin American Princess) and it cannot be helped. You have not had a conversation with him yet, and you are already fending of the Other Woman? :)"

Godchile: "Oh but i HAVE had a conversation with him! The most scintillating hour I spent all year, so much so that then i panicked and ran! I may yet have some LAP in me but i do NOT get crushes without conversations :)  Shit, I got NO moves. Maybe you do need to  come up here and seduce him for me."

 Me: "I'll go to bed with him, ungay as I am, if that's what it takes. Decade ago he claimed to be dating a woman (“Nurse, pass the vagina!”), something some of the attractive NY men have done at some time or other. Well, maybe. There is always the issue of the hair on his back. "

Godchile: "My first instinct upon meeting Mr. R. was to run like hell. So after 45 min of conversation that spanned what seemed like several universes, I bolted leaving no phone number, no suggestions and only my name. When the article came out a month later I emailed him. We had a few e-exchanges wherein I have also failed to suggest anything outside my affinity for brains and an overwhelming disdain for the FDA.  Thanks for considering it as ungay as you are."

Godchile: "Other than that, I have been working 80 hours a week and have little to report.  Oh, I'm going to have some art in an upcoming gallery show in Chelsea. I'm going to shave my cat now."

 

 

All this adrenaline - it had to go somewhere. And indeed, things took a darker turn next:

 

 

Godchile: "Tomorrow I will return to my local climbing wall and meet Schauerbach (don't they all have such WHITE names??) and enjoy the falling and the catching for what it is and be happy that at least I have confirmed that his back is totally free of hair"

 

Me: "Well, if the brain is what it seems to be, a hairy back is a minor distraction, quickly forgotten. A funny smell, however, can be insurmountable. We are mammals."

 

Godchile: "We had a friendly outing today to the rock climbing gym. A VERY good place to go with a crush it turns out. How ridiculously appropriate is it that one belays the other and then if and when one falls, (which I certainly did) the other one catches the one falling but i'm sure you've rock climbed and can appreciate this"

 

Me: "I like the physicality of it - falling, catching, holding - no better way to be mammals together.  I might be over romanticizing your physical prowess, but this Youtube.com/watch?v=0bHF5Yfu_jQ makes me think of you two :)"

 

Next thing. Godchile shows up at our house, and drives me to this place

 

All I can say about that is that I am still alive. Nothing like this had ever happened to these keyboard tapping hands. However, and I says this with all proper Godfatherly decorum: in the same setting, my Godchile is very presentable.

 

 

The `climb' cured me forever of feeling excessively guilty as a dead-beat Godfather. It's a job a wimp like me cannot live up to. Me, the dancing chicken! , just happy that we have each other.

So, let's dance!