Am I ready, or what?

Er, "or what"...

:-(

Hopefully everything will fall into place this afternoon.

Carolyn Ann

Entitled Opines?

Are you entitled to your opinion? Stephaney Delacey believes not, in a piece entitled* "You are not entitled to your opinion". (This post is the next installment in what might be a long-running series... Frankly, I'm only posting this so I get to use the above title... :-) Hey - at least there's no doubt about my motivations!)

Anyway, in a vague "stop the presses" sort of a way - I actually agree with much of what she says. I don't agree. however, that the right to free expression is "usually trivial" (her italics); freedom to believe whatever you want is hard won, and continually challenged. There's nothing trivial about it, at all. 

There's also a linguistic misunderstanding: when someone asserts their right to believe whatever they want, they aren't extending their argument; they simply changed the subject. So the non sequitur point doesn't actually apply. Ms Delacey also remains confused about the obligation to listen; the right to free expression doesn't include the right to be heard. It just means that you shouldn't be hindered in your quest to tell the world of your views. (Although Ms Delacey doesn't cover this, a related argument that shutting someone from a forum is denying someone their First Amendment Rights; this is facetious, at best. Simply denying the Christian the ability to speak at an atheist forum has nothing to do with the free expression, and everything to do with the atheists' lack of obligation to listen to Christian mumblings. 

What I really don't agree with, however, is the assumption that someone is to be excluded from "rationale debate" because they don't hold dear the same evidentiary rules as those who are, presumably, more able to understand them. That's the problem with the argument that "we must adhere to acknowledged rule of evidence" (I paraphrase, obviously) - what one person knows to be true, the other finds ridiculous. What some find evident, others perceive as dangerous. And in the political arena, as opposed to the supposedly logical circus that is professional philosophy, that's all that's required. Heck, even the supposed logic of philosophy can be refuted; it often is, in strongly worded refutations and essays. If logic were the simple application of "this, then this, then that follows", we'd probably figure it out rather quickly. The fact is: we haven't. An example: Violence is bad; guns are bad. But if you're a Jew in the Warsaw

Ghetto, "guns and violence might be bad, but they're better than dying." Even though many died in the Uprising, the act of resistance, although futile, was important. Which sort of proves that political free expression is never trivial, although in many places the right is assumed, and/or taken for granted. (Another example might be to point out that no one needs a gun to defend themselves; but whenever a town in the US passes an ordinance that all households must have a gun, petty crimes like burglary go down in that area, and up in the neighboring communities. Which is the better?) 

The biggest problem with Ms Delacey's argument is that it is only applicable in some rigid, and narrowly defined areas. Areas of thought that don't necessarily impinge upon our lives. Except when the thinking leads to some questionable action that does affect us; I point to the various eminent domain arguments currently going on in the US. (After that Connecticut town won their case, because it was a simple application of previous case law. (Or however the lawyers phrase it!) What is the province of eminent domain? This isn't as important in Britain, where the government can basically take your property at will; although they do, occasionally, resist being too enthusiastic about it). Is it better to clear urban blight, or improve it? 

Overall, Ms Delacey's argument doesn't follow. The right to an opinion is absolute, but has to be defended. And that's why I wrote this critique: because if we subsume ourselves to being"right" all the time, insisting upon logical correctness, we end up with a placebo, not a society. We end up with a society that fears confrontation, and one that shies from challenging itself.

Not that we're not running headlong into such a society, anyway.

(What I did find interesting is that Ms Delacey seems to be quite at odds with herself; either the principle of free expression is applicable across the board, or it isn't.)

Once we determine that the right to enter debate on anything has to be accompanied by preconditions, we lose the right to express ourselves. But having the individual right to say what we want implies nothing about the obligation of others to listen. But first, let's ensure that the right to say what we want remains sacred.

But Ms Delacey did write about her opinion. And she's entitled to it. :-)

 

Carolyn Ann

*[sic, and I just couldn't resist] 

Edit: Thanks for pointing out the spelling error, Bill!

Nordic oil?

I needed two things: oil and a tank-mounted map case. The sort of thing that lets me see where I'm supposed to go, but mounted on the gas tank of the motorcycle. On the way I decided to get my new progressives fixed (again); I also decided to see if I could find Tom Wolfe's "Kand-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby". Barnes & Noble haven't heard of it.

The biggest problem I faced was the oil: what type? A couple of hours on the Internet had me confused. Then I figured it out; Mobil 1 motorcycle oil will - probably - be okay. Fifteen bucks a quart... 

Now for the tank bag. A hunt of various motorcycle shops in southern New Jersey turned up nothing. Not a thing. Deciding I might have better luck in Delaware, I headed over to a store I know. Pulling into the parking lot, I waited while some big guy on a sports-bike zoomed around the it. He paused, and I parked. He then went back around the lot, spinning the engine to ridiculous speeds and slipping the clutch - the bike must have had one those after-market exhaust systems on it - it was loud. Around and around he went, a big, Nordic blonde in a wife-beater, grinning and revving. (He says, like a cheap Tom Wolfe.) So the guy pulls up to the garage entrance, revs the engine as far as it'll go and... BANG! Tinkle, tinkle. 

I've never heard an engine grenade like that.

Carolyn Ann

PS I got the tank bag, and Borders had not only heard of it, they had a copy... :-)

Rating?

So it seems there's a "rating" feature on Blogger. You can select some random number of stars, and I get to see if people like my writing.

As I can't find the button to turn the thing off - you can bet I'll be ignoring it. If you don't like my writing, that would be your problem, not mine. 

Conformism just isn't my style. Anyone telling me they don't like something about my writing can just go take a hike. I swear the Internet is forcing us all into some sort of mold, and if you're determined not to fit - tough luck for you, babe.

A stupid and irritating feature.

Carolyn Ann

UPDATE: Gwenny pointed out where Blogger had disabled the feature. Thanks, Gwenny! :-)

Meaningless meandering through a Tuesday evening

A bit of a nothing post, really. I'm at a bit of a loose end, and I'm not particularly happy with one person, right now. 

I started doing the wainscoting in the breakfast room; I had to fix the sheetrock, and it's taking some try to dry. The electrical problems in that room have me bemused, and flummoxed. Now, I'm not that well practiced as an electrician - it's been a long time since I did any electrical stuff on a professional basis - but surely that particular area by the door isn't up to code? A quick check - and no, it isn't. Which means I have to rewire at least some of it. The biggest problem, at this time, is "time" - I'm running out of it if I'm to meet the Mrs in San Francisco. 

So far my plans are not going too well; there's a big bit of America where I'm not at all sure where I'm supposed to be. Which sounds quite nice, actually! :-) I'd like some knowledge of where I'll be snoring, but apart from that - it's a big, wide and open space. And I'm more than happy to be exploring it. Tom Wolfe here I, er, wander by. His literary legacy is safe. Especially if I manage to actually write about the trip. :-) (Which I will, but Mr Wolfe has little to fear!) 

I'm at a loss for subjects; I'm still upset about Horatio - Harry, as I called him, Hi-Ho as the Mrs named him. I must have visited his grave about a dozen times, today. 

I must admit to being really tired. Neither of us slept well.

Hillary is sort of losing the race; that's a pity. Maybe it's time for Obama to be declared the winner? Pity, I really liked Hillary for the Presidency. My only concern was the "nepotism" of Bush-Clinton-Bush-Clinton. Obama does have some qualities - the fact that he's a neophyte on the ways of Washington must surely count for something? He's definitely toughening up, and the increasingly vicious campaign against him is depleting the GoP of their future fire. Although I have no doubt that some of their supporters will come up with fictions like they did with John Kerry. What Obama has to learn - and quickly - is that letting the other side dictate the battle means you lose. Bill Clinton knew this; John Kerry and Al Gore both forgot it. Obama has to know it from the get-go; so far, he's shown little sign of even having heard of the principle. 

Newt Gingrich is calling for substantial, rapid, changes in the GoP. Like that's going to happen! He signed the missive where he makes his claims "Your Friend, Newt Gingrich". That's really going to help - he's quite reviled in the party. Personally, I think he's just trying to grab the headlines, and maybe even his old job back. If I were Republican, I'd also be inclined to think that the GoP has no need of enemies with such friends. 

The fact is the GoP is in turmoil. The party has been hijacked - it's now the party of God, guns and tax-cuts. Or should that be "God, tax-cuts and guns"? Maybe even tax-cuts and God, with guns as a special sale item? It's not the party of business, unless you're a big business, preferably the oil business. Many who would ordinarily support them have started looking with a lot of interest at that Federal deficit, and the overall Federal debt: they're starting to realize that borrowing to pay for regular expenses is bad for personal expenses, and worse for national ones. 

The debate, if it were to happen, would center around the role of religion; but that's not something that's going to happen. Unless the party loses the next election rather badly; something that's still possible, considering the Dems propensity to, and affection for, grabbing defeat from the jaws of victory. If they do lose as badly as they are expected to, the bloodletting will begin quickly - and it will be funded by the very people who have funded the current GoP dichotomy. Nice old world, ain't it?

Changing subjects, one thing I don't like in personal communications: when my correspondent inserts a condition into the whole thing. Something like "you can't tell anyone about this, unless I agree". What am I - a fool, an idiot? (Don't answer that...) I keep personal emails personal. I also feel insulted when someone treats me as a child, and doesn't presume that I'm mature enough to know when something is personal and not to be shared, and when I can share it with the world? I felt like telling my correspondent to take a running jump when I saw the condition; I certainly won't agree to conditions that are imposed. (I refrained; what would be the point?) On the other hand, I'm an adult (or at least I emulate one, occasionally), so I won't share the details. Suffice to say I also felt just a little manipulated. 

ADDED: What I also didn't realize was that the normal give-and-take of a, er, well, what do you actually call a series of emails? Despite the last trillion years I've had an email address, I've never actually known what to call an email conversation; it's not a conversation, each email is a communication, but the overall? It's certainly not a conversation! Anyway, I feel that I gave. Why do I keep trusting people? Every time I do, I get bitten. One day I'll learn, and that'll be a day I'll be sorry ever arrived. (Did that make sense?) Heck - despite a day of emails, I'm not sure she even knows that Horatio died, and that he was important to me. 

Well, we're watching Jay's monologue, and then heading to bed. 

Carolyn Ann

Electrical woes...

The electrician must have been drunk, or absent, when he wired this house. (Yeah, I know: sexist. How many women electricians have you met? I rest my case.) I've got this one area that seems to have power on the wrong cables - which is bad enough, but I can't figure out where the other cables go, anyway! One goes to the deck light, but that's all I know. Another heads into the bathroom, and seems to power that entire room. This is called "not good". And yet another heads to the ceiling, and who knows where. 

Ah well - I plastered up the holes, and that's that. I've extended all the cables to the basement, so it won't be that difficult to figure something out in the next few days. 

I did run a new cable for the smaller pool pump; it'll save us some money. :-)

Carolyn Ann

Blogroll changes...

Don't ask, don't tell. 

Suffice to say, it's changed, and it ain't gonna change back.

Carolyn Ann

Death, grief and religion

(WARNING: This post deals with death and grief. It's not a "happy" post, obviously. It was difficult and upsetting to write, but I can't say if it is or isn't upsetting to read. I can only suggest that you read it at your own discretion. /Carolyn Ann)

===============

Being the ornery sort I am, and as I couldn't sleep much last night - I was missing that lad too much - my thoughts turned to grief: I examined it, and I poked it, and prodded it. I concluded that grief is the start of religion.

Grief is just about the most powerful emotion there is; a huge mix of chemicals doing various things to your psyche, and you your body. Most of it is indescribable, but some of it is: a desire for some continuity, some reassurance, hope, that what you had can be had - even at a later time regained. A powerful, immensely powerful, sense of loss: you lost something more than a car, or a favorite toy, you lost something that provided your life with other, more base, emotions. The shared experiences with the other person or pet mean something to both of you. You search for some way to end the meaningless anguish and pain you feel: but it's not a pain that someone can put a salve on, bandage up. It's inside you, it's very clear, but it's not coherent, not at all. 

Death is more powerful than not talking to your brother for years, for instance. Or a divorce: you certainly lose something in both circumstances, but it doesn't contain the finality that death brings. It's not the same when a cat disappears; we've had a few of them, but the loss is gradually noticed that while you miss them, your chance to really grieve just doesn't come. The suddeness with which death occurs, known death, even when that death takes a long time, and you're waiting for the end. We had that with my Nan; we knew it was simply a matter of time, but it was still horrible when she died. Until death occurs, there's always a hope, some thought that maybe she'll get better. We saw this raw emotion on public display with the Terry Schiavo case; her parents desperately wanted her to get better. She wasn't going to, but that hope is greater than any evidence. 

And therein lies the beginning of belief: the hope that you'll be able to be with that loved one, again. It's natural to want to believe that the indomitable spirit that made Horatio who he was would continue; how could the essence of my Granddad be gone?, I asked myself when he died. It didn't seem possible that this larger than life man, who'd been there all my life could be so suddenly not there. You hope like you've never hoped before that there's some place where you can meet, again. Desperately, you try to imagine their spirit, their essence, moving to some other plane of existence, where pain and suffering are all gone. 

It is, I'm sorry to say - genuinely sorry - not there. We come from almost nothing; two cells are the start of all us, but we end up as part of the earth. It used to be that we were all two cells in a mothers' womb, but technology has magnificently, and scarily, breeched the walls of our moral and ethical castles. Death can be delayed - never prevented, just delayed - and birth can be controlled to an unprecedented degree. Many of the old ideas of life still apply; never let anyone say that even life, ethics, or morality has some "2.0" counterpart, as if it were some technology we haplessly wander into using. 

What does happen is that when we demand an explanation - Why, oh for God's sake why, did you pick just then to run into the street, Horatio?!? - there's always the chance that some charlatan will attempt to provide an answer. The answers range from the contrite to the inane; rarely do you hear "because that's what happens". Reassurance is plentiful, and explanations tend to be many. Religions get started around fundamental ideas; it's no coincidence that religion seems to focus upon death. With grief being as powerful as it is, someone had better have a good explanation for it! But, the sad and unfortunate fact is that death happens to us, because we're alive. 

Life is the wonder, not death. Its inevitability doesn't mean we should fixate on it, nor does it require explanation: it's enough that we're alive. 

The processes we have developed over the millenia to help cope with death have a purpose; funerals, even the little one I gave Horatio, have meaning, and bring some order to the senseless wave of emotions. We connect the process of internment with the need to go on living, and we simultaneously provide ourselves with some finality; a point of separation. Where we acknowledge the death, and provide a point for when we can start to move forward, get back to our lives. 

The healing process - it is a healing process - starts after the funeral, or remembrance. We can start to remember the person, or pet, and we have firm knowledge that they aren't going to be calling, or knocking on the door, or dashing about trying to eat everyone else's cat treats. We can wish they would appear, but we know they won't. We can miss them, and hope that they're in some other existence, but that's all we can do. 

We can hope, but when we grab onto some explanation - religion begins. And that, I think, is the most dangerous part of grief. It's natural to want an afterlife - we only know life; death is a foreign, inexplicable and hideous thing we don't understand. We can't experience it, for ourselves; no matter what those people with "near death" experiences tell us. I've been there; there's no great castle in the sky. It's a blank nothingness, a void of impenetrable darkness the likes of which you'll hopefully never know. But that's not the same as death; those people, nor I, passed from life into death. But when I buried Butterscotch, and Pookah, and Horatio, I wanted there to be something, anything, that was good for them. Where they could continue living, playing in the woods, sunning themselves on some wonderful deck, and catching mice. But the sad, and unfortunate, reality is that life is the most precious thing we have - because there's nothing else. 

Carolyn Ann

I'm writing to ease the pain. This will be a difficult post. I can only suggest that you not read it.

Losing that little guy was a blow; he was so full of life - he was one year old, and he loved life. On top of that, I had a discussion that verged on the serious, got close to being "real" and finally stayed firmly in the casual. What a waste of time. I thought my correspondent was genuine, I finally realized that there wasn't much to the entire communication. I gave more than I got, and what I got - I already knew. 

But, the little guy is more important than any thwarted friendship. We're both having a hard time of it; I buried him, and planted a red rose over his grave. My wife had to go to work. As much as I'm an atheist, I still wished him well, and told him to play in the woods. I'm crying, thinking of the little lad. Love is a strange thing; we can love our pets, knowing that they can't express much back. Copper misses him; I saw him looking for the lad, earlier. But if love depended on perfect reciprocity, we'd never love our pets. Heck, I doubt we'd love each other all that much! 

Major, my dog, was special. I missed him - I still miss him - when I moved to the States. I left in that youthful expectation that all would be well; I even vaguely thought I'd bring him over at some point. At that time the regulations stated 6 months in a detention center, and I couldn't do that to the lad. He was happy wandering the canal bank with my Dad; I think my Dad, for all his chuntering, was happy to take him. 

I got Major when I lived with my brother; we agreed to a "no pets unless we both agree" rule. I promptly ignored the rule; the moment I saw the lad, he was mine. He was a good dog; I have some fond memories of him. The time, as a pup, when he ran into the kitchen for his dinner. His legs stopped, but he didn't - he slid straight into the back corridor! Oh, was he surprised! Or the time he was on some girl's lap, and started chewing her earrings. That was a bit awkward... 

We used to go for long, long walks. I've always liked hiking - despite not having done it in over 15 years! - and I'd take him on these long walks; he was fine as long as he wasn't on a leash. Running here and there, he'd get excited about every new smell, he'd chase a duck or two, or spot a rabbit and try to see what it was. Sunday afternoons would often find us walking along the canal bank; we could cover a good number of miles. At the end, he'd stop - as if to say "you can walk, I'm waiting for the bus!" We'd take the bus back, I'd give him his dinner and he'd go to sleep on the sofa. 

Horatio would run up the front steps, eager to get in and get some cat treats; he'd try and eat as many as he could, staying out the way of the Dragon Lady, also known as "Bongo", or "Mommy". She has a temper that's quite tempestuous; she can be purring one minute, and an absolute demon, the next. She also hates, absolutely hates, orange cats. One, Butterscotch, used to bully her when she was a kitten; he'd take her food, and intimidate her into giving up her catch. A wily old character, he was perfectly capable of catching - and devouring - squirrels. I once found 3 squirrel carcasses that he'd used for some meal or other. 

Cats deal in death; it's their livelihood. Butterscotch died in my arms one sunny afternoon; we brought him in as he got older, and less capable of defending himself. He turned out to be an absolute sweetheart. He had an heart-attack, one day, when the door bell suddenly rang. He was startled, and I was next to him on the stairs; he suddenly went limp. As a qualified First-Aider, I recognized the symptoms, even if there was little I could do. He recovered, but was never quite the same; sometime later, he had another heart attack when we were giving him his medicine. After that, it was simply a matter of days. He walked into the den, and I picked him up, and hugged him, and he died. 

Once, someone tried to persuade me to Christianity by giving the example of cats: he said they were "all the same". As I really needed something from him, and suspected that if I disagreed I wouldn't get it, I played along. Until I finally decided that he'd gone too far. He had started the conversation with "do you believe?" And I'd responded "Huh? Believe what?" I proclaimed ambivalence; such was my life as an atheist, at that time: I didn't proclaim it, because someone just might decide to make my life painful. These days, it's your problem if you have a problem with me being an atheist. Sitting for a week in Bellevue, on a suicide watch, is more than enough to make you realize just how important it is to be viewed well in the eyes of others. On the plus side, I did get some reading done. And my roomies were both good guys, fallen on hard times. 

I gamed that system; I set myself up to out-do the doctors, and I succeeded. When they said I needed a therapist, and one of those docs who give out the happy pills (I can never remember the name of them), I had a couple of appointments ready. Verifiable appointments. What, did they think I was stupid? 

One thing you can never game is love. If it's genuine, you know it, and so does the loved one. Even if they can't acknowledge it, they know they're loved - that they have a home, where they are welcome. Even if they bring the occasional dead mouse in. (It always gets evicted, post-haste!) Sure, some people profess love and try to fool the other person. If they're a fool, they'll fall for it; the rest of us can see through those lies.

Some people try and persuade affection; one thing about animals - they're not that stupid. You accept them on their terms, and they will give a little. Try and bend them to your will? It just ain't going to work. Lately, I've had two people try and persuade me to their friendship; what they get isn't clear, but what I get is: not a lot. In both cases, I can honestly say that Horatio in 12 months of exuberance has given more than those two could ever give in a life time. Even if they got together and tried to connive their way to my affection. 

Remembering the lad clambering over the deck, his explorations, and his general love of living. What can we give a pet, but the chance to be happy, and the knowledge that they are loved, and have a home?

Ah well - go play in the woods, Horatio. We miss you. Say "Hi" to Butters, Major, Pookah and the gang.

Carolyn Ann

I had to bury one of the cats, today

I had to bury one of the cats, this afternoon. Hammie Horatio was knocked down by a car.

She liked to hunt in the woods around here, and was often crossing the road; she liked to appear for dinnertime, and often just dropped by to idle an afternoon sunning herself on the deck. She always looked somewhat bemused, as if life were presenting her with one surprising little thing after another, and was sharp and a disciplinarian with the kittens. 

We'll miss her.

We've concluded that Horatio was hit. He looks almost identical to his sister - there's one difference, but the condition of his body was such that I couldn't tell. Horatio really was part of the family; he loved to snooze all day on the bed. With the warm weather, he was out and about a bit more. He loved chasing our feet, under the covers, and he really enjoyed his morning milk with his Oscar; and he always loved to snuggle with Copper - Copper, in turn, was quite devoted to Horatio. 

At least he died instantly. Geeze, I'm having a really hard time writing this. I'll miss the little guy; just last night I gave him a hug, and told him to be careful, and that he was loved. :-(

Carolyn Ann

Damn blogroll

I'm thinking of doing away with the thing, altogether! 

Carolyn Ann

Stop using Ajax?

It's really quite interesting what you read on the web. Some of it is self-contradictory, some of it is awful, some of it ludicrous, (via Mojoey) and some of it good. Most of it should be ignored by me because I'm supposed to be doing something else entirely: home renovations.

Still, I often see a headline, and read the accompanying article. Sometimes I'm glad I did, sometimes I'm really sorry I wasted the time. Other times, I simply feel bemused and even confused! Such was the case this morning when I read "Stop Using Ajax" by BrotherCake. I saw the headline on Molly's blog, and wondered what it was about. I read the article and I'm really, really confused. 

In his post, BrotherCake asserts that Ajax, the mechanism behind much of Web 2.0 renders inaccessible for some disabled users. I can see that, what left me in a daze was the following: 

1. I'm not saying Ajax is bad, I'm saying it's immature
2. I'm not saying never use Ajax, I'm saying don't use it for the sake of it, and try to avoid it for now, instead sticking to accessible alternatives

I really don't get this. Campaigning for accessibility of websites is good. Decrying a technology for not addressing these needs from the get-go? BrotherCake goes on to say: 

When Ajax comes of age I'll be cheering as loudly as anyone. And I'll be working towards that goal and looking for solutions myself. But until that day comes, I intend to stick to proven, standards-based and accessible tools - not sketchy, proprietary and inaccessible toys.

That's all well and good, I suppose. But shouldn't BrotherCake be advocating that developers include accessibility into their offerings? No technology is perfect from the get-go; saying it shouldn't be used because it's immature is likely to lead to it remaining immature. Instead of offering helpful suggestions, he simply says "don't use it". Which is a bit like sticking your finger in the dam and hoping the forces of progress will stay behind it. 

So, I'm confused. That's nothing new, but this one really got my attention, and my confusion. I'm all for accessibility, but instead of telling me not to use the tools at my disposal because they're "immature", or worse: insult my judgment because those same tools are "sketchy" and "toys", tell me how to make my stuff accessible! I'm not an expert on the needs of the disabled; in fact, I'm completely clueless. So tell me what I need to do - and that doesn't include "educate yourself" - it would help BrotherCake's advocacy if he undertook to educate me, and the rest of the world on the subject. Don't assume that I'll read lots and lots about it, either. Specific guidelines, something that says "do this, because of that". And get onto the developers of the relevant browsers: they are as much at fault for not considering their user base, and adapting and shouting about the needed changes. Change is a two-way street; that's especially so in this case!

As it is, I'll be ignoring his imploring and angry rhetoric, and I will continue to develop my Web 2.0 projects as I see fit. When I finish renovating the house, that is. BrotherCake: Be the change you want to see. 

Carolyn Ann

Blog changes

While I'm in the last stages of preparation for my forthcoming sojourn, I decided that one thing I needed to do was clean up this blog. Not the language - there's no hope for that! - but what's over on the left. 

I reluctantly deleted a long-standing favorite, Valeria Maltoni's "Conversation Agent". Since we had that little spat a few weeks ago, and Valeria has been writing about Twitter more and more, I've gradually lost interest. Sorry, Valeria. It's still a place I'd recommend, but I seriously think that Twitter is draining Valeria's critical and creative thinking. Valeria and I had a (very brief) conversation, and I've restored her blog to the roll. :-)

"My Flickr" has gone; it's now a smaller link in the blogroll. Technorati should have been removed some time ago, but I kept forgetting. It's now gone, as the service really seems to be going the way of the dodo, anyway. It was "new" and "interesting" for a bit, but as I don't track readership numbers - who linked to this blog became a meaningless statistic, anyway. The Atheist Blogroll stays: I like browsing it, and I think it's important that atheists get as many forums as they can. I still wish that some, many in fact, atheists recognize that attacking Christianity isn't really going to convert people. Many evangelical Christians do this sort of thing: attack the opposing view. What they, and the atheists who simply attack religion because it is religion do is declare a strawman and fight that. The underlying issue - belief - is given lipservice, but little else. People believe what they wish to be true (I think Julius Caesar said that), and telling people they're idiots for believing in a god is well, not exactly going to persuade anyone. Still, it's important to keep on attacking evangelists and others who would rather impose their beliefs than acknowledge that belief is a fundamentally [sic] personal thing. I hate belief, but I'll never stop anyone from holding one; I just don't like when the believer tries to tell me I'm wrong, or assumes that I'm simply lapsed in some way. Personally, I often think belief - especially strident belief - is a lapse of judgment on their part. 

Anyway, atheism is still very much a minority view, and that's not likely to change. I often think it's safer being a crossdresser than an atheist; other times, it seems safer the other way. The biggest consideration, of course, is that people tend to despise those who aren't like them. All too often the attack isn't rhetorical, but physical. 

Changing the subject... Once I get back, I'll be able to work on some of the projects I've got lined up. The house will still need some (a "lot" of) work, but it will taper off. At some point. In the dim, dark and distant future... :-) I'm not exactly sure when I'll be heading off; I probably won't be writing an "I'm off!" post (Bloggers' new future-posted feature notwithstanding); but you'll know because I stop posting for about a month or so. I can hear the sighs of relief, already. :-) 

(No, I can't really go into why I don't know my exact departure date and time; it's not because the reason is personal or something: it's because there isn't a particular reason! Generally, if I'm happy with the Breakfast Room, I'll head out. If I'm not - I won't. It's really that simple!)

But, in the meantime, a little tidying up was warranted.

Carolyn Ann