Get businesses freaked out enough about “discriminating against the disabled” and they’ll fall for anything.
12 lessons to learn and hang onto forever. (Especially for business, but plenty have applications in the rest of the world, too.)
Just to cheer you up, here’s the latest report on global-catastrophic risks. I confess not to have read it yet. I don’t need that kind of “cheering up” right now. But just in case you’re interested. (H/T MJR)
Assume your state government is in big trouble if one, single taxpayer saying goodbye could have this much impact.
Barefoot Bandit boy, I’ve always felt kind of fond of you. As criminals go, you’ve got style and brains. You reimbursed your victims and you gave $100 to my favorite vet to help animals. But this is just dumbass stupid. Your mother smoked and drank herself to death on government money. Who, other than you, would want to bring her back to life? (H/T CB)
And it’s the same-old-same-old in the world of U.S. cops, too. So it’s okay to train a dog to potentially “rip the face off” any innocent person — infant, sleeping woman, hapless bystander — as long as it’s for “officer safety”?
Getting away from all that evil … Years ago, webmaster Oliver sent me a the catalog of the Museum of Bad Art. Smiling my way through it the other day, I wondered if the place still existed. Yes! And it’s growing. Here’s a portion of its fabulous collection, each piece worth as much as $6.50. And for those who simply must have these works prominently displayed on their coffee tables, the original catalog has now been supplemented by a collection of their masterworks.
I owe Dr. Jim an apology. It must be two months now since he sent me a copy of his book for review. I meant to get on it right away. But you know, I just could not bring myself to pick up and read that book.
It’s not that there was anything wrong with it. On the contrary, at a glance it was obviously a solid, professional piece of work. I already knew Dr. Jim, an occasional Commentariat participant, writes clearly with an amazingly light touch given the subject matter. The book is lucid, well laid-out, and easy on the eye.
I just could not force myself to endure a rehash of the hash that politicians are making of what was once (and in some ways still is) the best medical system on the planet.
Once I belatedly opened the cover, I realized I had nothing to dread.
This weekend I read Oliver Sacks’ tiny mini-tome, Gratitude. I really mean tiny. It’s a book you can finish in half an hour.
It consists of four short essays, all written in the two years before his death. All four reflect on aging and dying as Sacks went from a robust 79-year-old who swam a mile a day to an invalid dying of liver cancer. He really says nothing new or profound. For that matter he doesn’t say much overtly about gratitude. The attraction is, of course, that Oliver Sacks is saying the rather familiar things about death.
He lived in front of the world for all those decades, a man of the mind who also studied minds and wrote about them in the liveliest way. So you know that when he quotes a philosopher, said philosopher was likely to have been a good friend. And you know that when his cousin turns him on to a good idea, it’s going to be his cousin the Nobel Prize winner.
In this case his cousin the Nobel Prize winning economist, Robert John Aumann, is also an observant Orthodox Jew, who inspired the last essay in the book, “Sabbath.”
I’ve always admired such strict observances as not even being willing to drive a car or flip a light switch or turn on a stove burner from some arcane-but-precise moment on Friday to some arcane-but-precise moment on Saturday. At the same time, it also seems silly. Srsly you can’t turn on a 21st-century LED light on the Sabbath because of a millennia-old proscription against lighting fires on that day? Well, yeah, it makes a certain bureaucratic sense. But …
Yet I sometimes find myself yearning for such ritual, such steadfast belief in something unknowable. I’m not patient enough to practice rituals that don’t make sense to me (whether the rituals of a mainstream religion or some neopagan thing like honoring the four corners), but it seems like such an honorable and mindful ideal.
Sacks wrote of the Sabbath differently. Watching his cousin and his family observe the Sabbath, he didn’t think of their observances as being hopelessly strict or meaningless, even though he’d long since ceased being a believer. He thought of their ultra-observent Sabbath as “a day out of time.” A day to step aside from the go-go world.
What a great way to view it.
That could mean a lot of different things to different people, but most of them, I’m guessing, are filled with adventures in serenity.
During my nice, mundane days, I’ve begun a mega-tidying. Not a Marie Kondo-type tidying, mind you. I wouldn’t tuck my purses inside my purses, even if I owned purses, which for many years I have not (see the “head in the clouds” subhead at that link if you wonder what the heck I’m talking about).
I am, among other things, tidying my computer files and finding the best places to tuck various guns, knives, and power tools. Serious tidying, that.
Along the way, I found the backup files of both the job culture book (which I knew I had somewhere) and RebelFire (which I didn’t know I had). I foresee Kindle-izing in my future.
In the directory with the not-quite-final RF book files I found yet another forgotten piece of the history of Jeremy, Cedra, and the band RebelFire. A movie script.
Well, this is depressing. Fear of punishment from a vengeful god turns out to produce social good. Not surprising, really. That’s probably why vengeful gods were invented (by those who wanted to define social good for everybody else).
Nicki on government health care as the ultimate sickness. Man, such horror stories should have been left behind in the Soviet Union.
Smart guns, stupid science (and that’s even without addressing their “features” of being hackable and remote shut-offable).
Just five years old and already the the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau is a hotbed of abuse, including race-based corporate shakedowns.
You and I both know there are a lot of reasons not to vote for Bernie Sanders. But it never occurred to me that fear of burning in hell was one of them. More madness in gender feminism? Or just desperation in Hillaryland?
Per jed in comments: If anyone had any doubt that big-city police are mostly nothing but armed gangsters (not that you actually had such): the woman who pulled over a cop for speeding gets doxed by his union pals.