The Chapman

Thanks again, Hildekitten. Interesting. Agh, I've been blowing off Defoe and reading through Hobbes' LEVIATHAN instead. Sorry, I'll get on it. Promise. But for a variety of reasons I won't get into my major concerns this week were the conflict of rational vs. irrational, and the concept of social ontology of the human as group being vs. individual entity, and the subsequent potentials of inclusion or exclusion in societal structures. Really, it's a question I struggle with from time to time about what creates the circumstances in which a person or group of people can dehumanize another group or individual... ...long story... but I'll get into something more fun this weekend.

- A golden almond granola bar - A lighthouse - The Girl - My friend Susan, who I haven't seen in almost three years, because I passed through her hometown unexpectedly today and didn't stop at the bar she manages.

^ My friend Eva Destruction ( a professional dominatrix). > Why? She has amazing 'work' stories and has been an amazing friend to me when I needed a friend, and I don't mean sexually. She was there when I needed somebody in my house and she helped me through some some tough times. V Passing whatever it was was just posted, and thanks to all.

Deleted.

^ I have to admit I would like someday to make some kind of sense out of cricket. > I saw a young cattledog (blue heeler) yesterday tied out in a yard on a lead with a muzzle on. It pissed me off a lot. If you're going to get a cattledog, except them to be crazy and nippy, or don't get one. ( I love cattledogs ). V What's the oddest sport you've ever played? ( Mad Matt, keep it in your pants, please! )

Abstract Three suicides and one homicide from black powder muzzle loading handguns are reported and the muzzle velocities of two weapons are recorded. The fatal head shots caused wide wound tracts traversing the brains and intracerebral haemorrhages remote from the tract were present in every case. The skulls showed considerable fractures which were pronounced in the cases of contact shots but were also present when the range of fire was 5 m. These extensive injuries from soft lead spheres with muzzle velocities of only 200 m/s are attributed to the expansion of the spheres. The regularly occurring deformation resulted in 13–16 mm calibre missiles in the cases of .44 spheres. The special features of black powder such as incomplete and slow combustion resulted in intense soot deposits in the vicinity of the entrance wound and in long ranges the gunshot residues travelled. In contact shots, large pocket-like underminings even in deeper tissue layers, abundant soot along the trajectory and skin burns were observed. Source: Forensic Science International, Dec. 1998. (This is why so many reenactments give me panic attacks. I am convinced a lot of the people involved do NOT treat their playtoys (weapons) with proper respect. These old charcoal burners can and will kill you. ) Short answer? Blam, splat. Oh, and never, NEVER, believe anything about guns you see on TV or in the movies. NEVER!

There's an interesting question, Hildekitten; what kind of TV do you have in Belgium? I'm always interested in mass media in other countries and/or cultures... So what have you got? Satellite dishes? Government-owned channels? What's the usual lineup of shows and programs? Please let us know, I'm at least very interested in knowing what goes on the airwaves elsewhere in the world. This is off-topic, but if it's burdensome to anyone, PM me, please; and besides, this thread location was kind of moribund before anyway; let's revive it. Oh, and a fine welcome to the newcomer from the Land of Tintin!

AGAINST THE GODS. The thesis of the book is this: A variety of impulses in the Early Modern period converged to create a philosophy of belief in mathematics, as applied to ‘Risk Management’. Statisticians; mathematicians; observers and record-keepers worked in unconscious concert to develop what we now know as ‘Modern Finance’. What this guy proposes is that the accumulation of statistics, and the subsequent development of the Law of Large Numbers, resulted in a previously unknown (or unrecognized) phenomena: the ability to more or less accurately PREDICT THE FUTURE. He considers this event revolutionary; and I think he’s got something of a point. (Or rather, whether the event was revolutionary or not really depends on whether or not you, the reader, personally believes that forecasting the future in order to make yourself money is really the highest purpose of humankind.) I find it worthwhile to speculate as to the nature of this ‘revolution’. Obviously, numbers have been around a long time; but put to what purpose? Why did the emergence of a pastime of counting have such massive consequences in Europe, specifically England, at the time (Early Modern)? The New World contained number and calculating systems of great sophistication, put largely to the same purposes (census-taking and goods quantification); but the argument could be made, and is elsewhere other than this book, that the purpose of American math was to discern the wishes of the Gods; and the author of ATG makes an argument that the number systems of the ancient Greeks had the same intent. So the capability for sophisticated math doesn’t necessarily lead to the development of a new world order. But in this case, the ability to extrapolate an accumulation of numbers into an idea of what may happen in the future, led to the launching of thousands of ships and the creation of a worldwide mercantile empire. Somehow the thing got turned on its head, and instead of math being a method of determining the Will of God, it became the preferred method for determining the Will of Man. Instead of rolling bones to mystically predict the future, humans began rolling bones, tallying the outcomes, averaging them out, and creating a science of prediction in which ultimately, Man comes out on top. Every time. And screw God (This is probably a good place to mention the antipathy of the Church towards the new sciences of numbers; it was felt they ran in opposition to the passive acceptance of the Will of God, and boy, they were right). One of the more interesting factoids is the mention of the importance of the issuance of annuities in royal finances to bankroll 17th – 18th Century wars, and how the newly founded science of predictive statistics created an environment in which these issues could be made to profit every single time, leading to the beginnings of what we now know as the insurance INDUSTRY, as opposed to what previously existed, which were more in the nature of more or less closed, mutually supportive subscription societies or guilds. Anyway. It’s worth noting, and the guy has a point, that fealty to a Crown only goes so far; and running around the planet for the glory of a far-off king or queen has limited scope. SOMETHING sent all those Englandmen off on fools’ errands to encompass the globe; and this author basically argues it was the assurance of the safety of their money on the part of the financiers. He’s probably substantially in the right. Some brain-breaking insights into annuities, finance, and gambling of the period, here: http://www.immediateannuities.com/annuitymuseum/ http://www.york.ac.uk/depts/maths/histstat/ http://www.york.ac.uk/depts/maths/histstat...at/lifework.htm

At work there are various types of placards for loads that are temperature sensitive and whatnot. Usually they're shapes with flames and stuff in them. This is my current favorite: Remember: Whatever happens, NO PENGUINS!!!!!

-Coffee. -Somebody pulled over on the Beltline in Madison WI -This guy Jason I used to work with, who told me one of my old supervisors is dying of throat cancer. -JB, my old supervisor, who I actually liked and respected. That sucks.

^ Getting a few bales of hay, some bendable branches for armature, and some binding twine and making yard sculptures. I'm thinking a garden Buddha would be cool. > While I'm not a Buddhist, the effect of having a transitory piece of artwork in the shape of a Buddha, which will slowly naturally degrade over the season, appeals to my sense of (or probably need for) balance. V Passing along!

^ Semi-abstract India ink, with a brush, on Bristol paper (not board); although I do enjoy woodcuts. > I like the freedom of a brush, in combination with a need for discipline in form. The brush requires more control, but also allows for greater interpretation in technique; an interesting and enjoyable duality for me. V Passing along.

Well, see, I don't have cable...

I guess I should explain that my opinion is really that UNDER THE BLACK FLAG isn't necessarily badly written, but just badly organized. That's why my blame falls more on the editor than the author. Authors should not (and in my opinion cannot) be trusted to edit themselves with very rare exceptions. Did in fact finish AGAINST THE GODS, but since it's late (by my standards on a weekday) I'll get to a talk another time. Picked up A GENERAL HISTORY OF PYRACY today.

The men were arguing, again. They all had names; but Byrd never really used them individually. They tended to blend together in his mind. And at least two of them were too drunk to stand, but refused to quit the game. They had moved in cards from Whist to a game of memory to pass the time, and while generally most of them were on the button, by this time the frustrations and angers were bubbling to the surface. They were impatient to get ashore; and the only reason that action was currently unacceptable was because of the deal amongst themselves, and the men of the other two ships hiding at anchorages: that none would go ashore until all would go ashore. It was Byrd’s contention it wouldn’t much matter soon for the majority… A scrabble erupted suddenly. Gaurov the Lascar argued over a card point, and withheld his coin. The White Scot reached over and shouted, “Get it ouwt!” The Lascar shook his head and leaned back, fist upraised with coin clenched in it. The Scot toppled forward, drunk, and caught himself. He swung with the free arm. “GET IT OWT!” and it happened so fast Byrd almost missed it. Almost. The Lascar’s hand dropped the coin and an awl-shaft appeared in it. As the Scot leaned forward the awl pegged his hand to the deck, and the Indian jumped up. The Scot howled and yanked his hand up and off the top of the steel pin. He reached into his pocket and produced a clasp knife, and as he flailed his arm, he slashed the man beside him with no real intent. The cut man started, as he was quite drunk, and as he gazed almost contentedly at the cut on his shoulder, he pulled a small pistol from his sash and shot the White Scot in the head. The ball impacted in the softer side of the skull, and folded the man instantly. He sat down heavily and his head hit the deck, his legs still crossed over themselves. Thin smoke hung in the air. The remainder of the men sat, bemused, looking at this new development… and then two, or three, of four, of them leaped up and went for the Indian. As they caught him, and they had to, for he had nowhere to go, Byrd got up, turned, and walked away, leaving his small coin at the scene. He would reclaim it later, when the dividends of the game were discussed, when all sobered up. He heard a short scream as Gaurov the Lascar died, and as he rounded the mast on his way to the after deck, he heard his body hit the water.

^ Pistol. > More penetration for wood cover or hard targets; no illusions about capabilities or 'shot spread'. You'd be surprised how easy it is to miss a largish target at close range with a scattergun. V Passing along.

Judge Judy

Some thoughts about Billy. Billy wears what I called a death charm; that’s not technically what it is. It’s a protectant charm to ward off bullets. A few years back I was hanging out at the local watering hole with my friend H, who is an immigrant from the Cote-d’Ivoire. Make a long story short, we had more than a few and started in on that age-old question: Which is better, the M16, or the AK-47? He, of course, came down solidly on the side of Comrade Kalishnikov; and then, incredibly, after a few more drinks, informed me in all seriousness that you could purchase from a magician a charm which would ward off bullets; and not only that, but he had first-hand knowledge of their efficacy, as he had seen it with his own eyes. I still feel bad about my reaction, because it was obvious from my face that I kind of, well, didn’t believe him, and he clammed up about it and changed the subject; when what I really wanted was to get information from him about procedures, what these charms looked like, how and when you wear them, etc. Hell, I got blessed by an old Gypsy woman on my way into a war zone; I’m not going to say that didn’t help. BUT; and this is the kicker, for me. H wasn’t some superstitious villager out of the sticks. This guy was a research chemist for a food additives company! He has a degree from an extremely prestigious European university! This is an educated, articulate guy! And he tells me you can wear a friggin amulet that WARDS OFF BULLETS?! I damn near fell off my stool! I mean, Holy -----!! What the-? It’s an excellent example of the tenacity and long life of FOLK BELIEFS. It bugs me when people try to separate the past from the present; because, kids, a lot of the belief structure from four hundred years ago is still here, running underneath, roiling. It’s just not as apparent as it used to be; but don’t doubt it’s not still there. Don’t doubt it’s not hanging around in the souls of the descendants. Four hundred years, my friend, is not a long time. Don’t get it in your head that it is. Anyway. I got even with H. He asked me about the Stars of David he was seeing associated with US Blacks; and, gleefully, I explained Mystical Black Identity beliefs to him; and remember, he’s an actual African! HA HA HA HA HA!!! I think if I’d been planning ahead I could easily have sold admission to his facial expressions. It was too funny for words. He sat speechless at me regaling him, and finally managed to gasp out, “…That’s CRAZY!!” And I thought, ‘Crazier than buying an amulet to ward off bullets?’

The ship rocked gently and Byrd sat in a gunwale, silently relaxing, feeling the slow movement of the bay. He should be examining the hemp rope and cordage, but with the finish in sight, what was the point? The mild swell was oddly comforting; as violent and unpredictable as the sea could be, it could occasionally be a friend, an old acquaintance too long unseen. It was one of the few things he liked about the life. That life was about to end. This bay was the terminus of a long, unexpected journey, which had started at the docks of New York. That beginning had been so routine, so meaningless; a few years in the East, at a factory, ousting a drunken fool as had destroyed his humours and potted away like a bitch dog. Byrd had met him, once, before he’d gotten on the ship to rot his way back to that clammy island in the ocean. The man was beneath contempt, and Byrd replaced him. They’d told him, ‘You must enter dinner quarters; toast the Crown; toast the wives in England’; on and on in nonsensical foolishness. They were fools, roasting alive in the continent of India. They were replaced by the Company as they died off like the ever-present flies. Byrd had known he was disposable to them; but he had money to make and deals to cut. And that is just what he did. They mocked him for his dress, and he did not care. They died in their black woolens and leathers; he lived in his white linen and rubbed kohl on his eyes. They fussed and fumed openly; he schemed secretly and made his partnerships. The only mistake he’d made was killing that damn girl; but that had been smoothed over, and had gone not only unpunished, but resulted in an advantageous business arrangement for all concerned. He’d had it all set, his voyage embarked, his career assured; and then it had all been taken away, and they’d left him with nothing but a shirt and breeches, not even his pistols. He’d had to join the pirates to be near his money and goods they’d stolen; and after three years, he had earned it all back, and more, right down to his pair of guns. There were two other ships waiting away from Lascars, both filled with goods stolen from more than two dozen ships. The Samuel’s hold was the tip of an iceberg. The real loot was in them; and some of it was Byrd’s. Enough of it to make up for the years lost in the Colonies from the rotted merchant and his plotting wife, who had, unbelievably, deceived him in business and left him nearly bankrupted. That vicious woman… he couldn’t believe it, and the thought visited a white-hot fury, and he shook it from his mind before it had adverse effects. Now they waited, on the Samuel, for Thomasse to deal with the merchants and broker the cargoes, and then they could all make their decisions and go. The last deal for Byrd would be selling Billy manumissions. And that was the end of it. A crewman walked past and said, “Thers a Whist Game in th’ Fo’castle. Ready fr’ a set down?” And Byrd roused himself.

Mad Dog!

^ HENRY AND JUNE. > The forceful creativity of the characters, the setting, the intense sense of discovery and artistic accomplishment... oh, and there's sex, too. V HAMLET; crazy or faking it?

I'm centering a beer right now.

Meisterbrau

^ LITTLE MURDERS. >Corona and limes. Yeah. V Yes, there it is. V. Passing it along.

burgemeister