Greetings from Colorado. I am looking out the window at Cheyenne Mountain and reading Sandburg's biography of Lincoln, one of those classics I've always meant to get around to (Half-Price Books, $9.98) and using the free wireless. Lest you think I'm some sort of vacation wuss rest assured I spent most of today hiking around on steep stuff, often with a two year old on my shoulders.

My wife tells me there isn't really a stargate under Cheyenne Mountain. I was deeply disappointed by this.

Marijuana is not a gateway drug. Neither is alcohol.

Sugar and other junk food is the gateway drug.

On the morning of July 5th, 2007, 68024 saw, as he drove down my street, our neighborhood bear. Apparently it crossed the road right in front of his car.

This afternoon, July 5th, 2008, my next-door neighbor called to say the bear was in her yard, and not to go outside for a while.

Iiieeeeee do not want bears in my neighborhood.

The End.

During last night's fireworks, a lot of patriotic music.

But I also recognized Elton John, Phil Collins, and a march that's most often associated with Monty Python's Flying Circus.

After sitting around in my "to be read" boxes for the better part of two decades, I finished this a week or so back, and have been trying to find "the right angle" to take in dealing with it in a review. While a very interesting book, William H. Calvin's The Cerebral Symphony: Seashore Reflections on the Structure of Consciousness doesn't ever seem to get where it purported to be intending to be going, but is a most engaging journey on the way.

The book is somewhat oddly structured, sliding in and out of observations of the environment of Woods Hole, MA where Calvin worked for three years. He will, for instance, start discussing a sea bird that frequents a particular location, and spin off into musings on evolutionary strategies. He doesn't, however, quite get to the point (that he speaks of in the introduction) of what he refers to as a "Darwin Machine", a conscious machine that would evolve by means similar, but vastly speedier than, that in the natural world.

Consciousness is fundamentally a process, not a place or product: How is the fundamental question, not the where or what of the classical "seat of the soul" searches. ... We are conscious machines (among other things), and we can probably create mechanical consciousness as well. Creating "mind" in a machine comes closer to "playing God" than any amount of genetic tinkering -- and to exercise suitable caution, we must understand our own mental processes ...

Again, the fifteen chapters here all are based on things observed on Cape Cod, and around the Marine Biological Laboratory, and the "reflections" keyed by these observations, so take a rather meandering course. Basic concepts of evolution come in, the "good enough" solutions, the "random with rules" behaviors that look purposeful, etc. and are related to various structures and behaviors. He posits how some core adaptations (such as "hammering" or throwing) can be the basis from which the "wiring" for higher behaviors such a language and music are based, and looks how the innate organization of these are "borrowed" between systems (think of trying to talk when attempting an accurate throw).

Multiple scenarios evolving simultaneously suggests, however, that there is more to Darwin Machines than just the set of railroad sidings, evolving away to create a dominant sequence -- it seems as if there are various collections of sequencers, subpopulations with their own internal evolution.

Reading that particular bit, one would hardly guess that it sprung from the relating of a discussion that Calvin was having with his wife regarding a fluid leak in the car on a trip to the beach!

Perhaps I'm being too hard on him in expecting that a book written in 1990 would have a solid vision of what a conscious computer would look like ... after all, Moore's Law has been happily churning along for nearly 20 years at this point, and we still don't have machines that think. He sort of stakes out some markers to triangulate what this would entail, but it's frustrating that he chooses to not go for the big (and, no doubt, eventually embarrassing) proclamation for the mechanical version, and leaves it to just define our own minds as the "wetware" version of this.

My minimalist model for mind suggests that consciousness is primarily a Darwin Machine, using utility estimates to evaluate projected sequences of words/schemas/movements that are formed up off-line in a massively serial neural device.

Let me point out, however, that The Cerebral Symphony is a delightful read, something like half a scientist's personal journal, half the technical by-ways that his thinking about the things he encounters lead him to. The text covers a wide range of considerations, from cultural development, coastal erosion, glacial cycles, music, coastal communities, and many discussions springing from the local fauna (some of the 2-legged variety).

I'm happy to say that this is still in print (if in a paperback edition), but you can find it in the hardcover from the Amazon new/used guys for as little as 1¢ (plus $3.99 shipping) for a "very good" copy, and around a buck for a "like new" copy!

If you're interested in contemplations of consciousness, a "look under the hood" of evolution in systems (both biological and theoretical), and are willing to cut Calvin some slack of never quite getting around to pulling the tarp off that that thinking machine he posits, this is quite a rewarding read.

Once owned a Blackhawk .44 Magnum and rather enjoyed it, though simply for ease of reloading and for carry I want to pick up a DA .44 instead. Now, I know most folks would agree that a .44 Magnum is too much gun for street carry and I agree; I'd load with .44 Special and be happy with that. The Magnum loads let me play fun blow-stuff-up games and maybe go into bowling pin shooting, so I'd rather get the one magnum.

I'm looking for something in the four to five inch barrel range; I've handled the occasional wheelgun and prefer the balance and feel of something in that size. The old BH was an 8" and change, fun for blowing up canteloupes but not so hot for carry. I don't need adjustable sights, nothing fancy like that, just a good "working revolver" that'll do double-duty as a fun gun.

Now, I've been looking around gunbroker, and I admit the prices on the six-inch Taurus .44s are pretty attractive, and the look and shape of the gun is appealing. I also do have to say I like Taurus grips, though I've also heard a number of complaints of their QC when it comes to autos. A retail S&W nukes my budget (as I'm adding a Marlin .44 carbine to this set) but some of the used ones on Gunbroker are approaching affordable. And Ruger's Redhawk is pretty fine as well pricewise, though I don't see a lot of shorter versions.

What would you guys generally recommend - as it's a carry gun, reliability is key more than anything else. Are the Taurus revolvers good despite their rep for things like the Millenium, or are they pieces of Bull crap? Can I find a Ruger that fits my bill, or is their legendary Mini-14 quality affecting those as well? Should I go with the S&W and just take the hit pricewise, or are they not so much better than their competition to be worth the higher price(see Colt and Bushmaster AR-15s)?

Also, if anyone has recommendations on ammo, holsters, etc, thoughts and speculation would be appreciated. Open discussion on .44 DA revolvers, what you like, what you don't, and what you recommend for a long-time shooter but new (again) wheelgunner.

Tunnels freak me the fuck out. It's like some sort of illusion where it feels like the tunnel is moving around the stationary traffic. It's very disorienting. Anyone else get the same feeling?

On the other hand, this was a wonderful way to spend the afternoon.

I HATE THONG SANDALS, PLEASE MAKE SOMETHING ELSE.

Awesome:
- Had to wear a sweater
- Got to eat steak and beans
- Reconnected with forgotten species (grasshoppers, daisies, coyotes)
- Heard a quick flute solo this morning -- husband informed me it was an elk bugling
- Helped 5-year-old nephew read "Dick and Jane", despite that he kept hitting himself on the head for not knowing words
- S'mores
- Beer
- Bonnie happily following us around, wagging tail
- Thunderstorm

Not awesome:
- Camped across from clan of drunk redneck asswipes who kept shouting "WEWWWWWWWWWWWW!" every minute until a mean old lady shouted at them

Thought some of ya'll would appreciate this!
http://forsakewolf.deviantart.com/art/Children-Inspiration-89579441

And no, this isn't related to Thursday's question about running someone over. Just an educational post of 2 videos over in ernunnos' journal.

The second half with the cop speaking gets the point across best. There are a million ways to trip up and the police know all of them.

One of the local boutique dealerships in Phoenix sponsored a stop for the Duck Truck this weekend. There was free food and Ducati demo rides; what's not to like?

d_klein and I showed up around 8:45 and signed up for rides. The first time around I rode a Hypermotard and the second swing saw me in the saddle of a red 848.

( Very short reviews )

It's been years since I've posted here, though I lurk sporadically. Need you guys right now, though.

A week ago a met a really incredibly amazing guy. I have never, in my 30+ years of life, been so taken with someone so immediately. We clicked instantly -- strangers even asked me how many years we'd been together. We have tons in common, the chemistry between us is indescribable. We've been out with groups of other people several times since the meeting but have had little one-on-one time.

You all see where this is going.

The very night we met, I made a point of dropping into the conversation the fact that I had a tubal ligation several years ago. (I always find it best to get that said as soon as possible.) Last night we talked. He wants a kid. Just one, but that's still more than I'm willing or able to give him. I don't know what to do. It's a non-negotiable issue, we both realize that, but I don't think either of us is willing to just turn our backs on what could otherwise be something incredible between us. We just kind of put the problem on the table and stared at it.

It can't work in the end. I know that. I know it's stupid and pointless for us to waste our time entering into a relationship with such a un-compromisable issue. So I'll have to do the right thing and walk away. I am devastated. I literally collapsed into hopeless sobs over this earlier today. I don't fall for people that fast -- it's not me at all. I am absolutley amazed at the depth of loss I feel for something that never even was.

I always said that any man who wants kids is obviously not the right one for me. This is just the first one I've met who appears so right in every other way. I've never regretted my tubal before and I don't now, but this is the first time I've had to deal with such a painful repercussion of it. I'm just heartsick about it and figured this community would understand.

I imagine that the job listing to be a police officer, or on the staff of the District Attorny in the world of Law & Order requires that you have to be smoking sexy hot. Seriously!

I went to Hot Springs yesterday and had July 4th festivities with the fam, and ate a joyously fatty meal consisting of smoked chicken that was literally the size of Christmas turkeys, baked beans, buttered french bread and a scrumptious maccaroni and cheese casserole dish that is a family recipe. There were also sliced (and homegrown) tomatoes, onions, and some deviled eggs. I don't want to say that I gorged myself, but I certainly wasn't eating lite portions. Afterwards we went down to the lake's edge, and watched some fireworks. And what's more, we saw fireworks all across the edge of the lake. It was like getting to see several different displays all at the same time. Normally I am not that big on fireworks, but seeing many of them going off at once was something entirely different.

I thought I had more to write about, but that's all I feel the need to detail right now!

That, and I really dig on Kate Beaton's stuff. Her July 4th strip had me smiling widely.

Nick, a spazzy Ohioan high schooler in green cargo pants, turns up at his slickster uncle Roger's New York office asking for advice about getting girls. Fresh out of an on-the-D.L. fling with his reasonably well-preserved boss, Roger takes Nick out for an instructional night on the town, an extended disquisition on and trial-by-fire in the art and science of picking up women.

* * *
This film is not packed with clichés, even though it appears to be on the highway to the danger zone from minute one. First bad possibility: it becomes a fetishistic technique-fest à la The Game. ("Dude, go kino!") Second, worse possibility: in a shocking reversal, the squirrely virgin who just wants to fall in love teaches his sleazy uncle a lesson about his squandered, one-night-stand-based existence.

As that second one goes, the story skates dangerously close to the edge of the abyss. Nick does have a piece to speak about the nature of true love, and the talkative Roger does have a few moments of uncomfortable silence, ostensibly pondering his own seediness. But there's no tidy resolution, no big speeches about What We've Learned. And thank YHWH for that.

Hollywood movies and bestselling novels lean on this crutch all the time: Sure, this character might think he's happy what with all the sex he's having, but he's not, and must realize that only in "settling down" will he attain nirvana. That's the sort of sermonizing that should have died with prohibition, and it's implausible to boot, one of those morals that people only believe because they've seen or heard it thousands of times before. (That's not to say that an endless string of hook-ups is the route to satisfaction, especially the way Roger does it; I'd pay good money to avoid spending the night with the thirtysomething bargoers he beds.)

But, as I said, Roger Dodger just barely avoids that. What it doesn't avoid is making Roger an ad man. Because, see, just as he cons women into going home with him, he cons people into buying junk they don't need! Because advertisements are cons! And he even explains early in the film that his strategy is to make people feel bad, so that they'll buy the product! And that's what advertising does! It makes people feel bad! So they'll consume, man!

Oy. That the advertising industry operates by generating misery and foisting it on the helpless consumer is, like the line about true happiness only coming when you give up the bed-hopping, repeated endlessly as axiomatic. Never mind that it doesn't reflect reality. How many times have you looked at an ad and felt actual misery? Of any degree? I don't think it's ever happened to me. I see an ad, and I either want the product it displays or find the whole thing irrelevant. At no point do I feel bad about my life, even if I do want the product. Desire doesn't require dissatisfaction; I'm often simultaneously happy and in pursuit of something. In fact, I doubt I'm ever happy without something to pursue. Maybe that's what, in some respect, Roger himself understands.

It's weird, that I haven't seen this movie since shortly after it came out, and yet I'm remembering all sorts of lines and musical things.

W: It's Japanese.
K: How would you know?
W: ...because I bought it in Japan.