Desuetude

This blog appears to be suffering from it. It's not because the woodpecker has eaten all the suet, either. No, the squirrels got a fair amount of it too.

And it's certainly not because I have lost interest in current events, or in the Internet in general or the blogosphere in particular. No, for me the Internet reminds me of London in that line of Samuel Johnson's, when he said "when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life."

Actually, I have been very sick with cancer on my pancreas. Not pancreatic cancer, but a neuroendocrine tumor there, and on the liver as well. The general discomfort, the distractions of many visits to doctors and hospitals, and the debility induced by chemo treatments have all contributed to the lack of posting. So that's what's going on.

I'll continue to post links here every now and then, but I doubt I'll be indulging in anything lengthy, not in the immediate future, anyway.

Senator Claiborne Pell, R.I.P.

He died on New Year's Day, at the age of 90. Some years ago, that would have seemed to me to be a full span of years. Now that I am a little closer to that mark, it seems nearly premature. And as we wait with bated breath for the approaching Singularity, or for Skynet (different sides of the same coin), it seems not unrealistic to think that some of the younger ones now living may eventually come to celebrate a four or five hundredth birthday. (And why stop there?)

Here's my Senator Pell story. I forget exactly which year this was, but it would have been in the neighborhood of 1990 or so. The music had become thin, and the rare books had not really gotten started. I was driving a cab to make a living, and Pell was still in the Senate. So it's a cold, rainy December afternoon in Newport, I'm driving Car 54 (really!), and I get a call on the radio to come down to the office for a pickup. It turns out to be Senator Pell. He had been on his way back to Newport from Providence, with some friends, in their car, on the way to the Governor's Ball at Ochre Court. (A big deal event involving formal dress, champagne, and that kind of thing.) The car gave out, just would not go any more, near the top of the arch of the Newport Bridge. The Senator got out of the car and walked down from the top of the bridge, in the rain, to the taxi office, which was close to the Newport end of the bridge, and asked for a cab. I got the call. I drove him out to his home on Ledge Road and waited while he changed clothes. He invited me in, and I went in for a moment, but considering that, right then, what my dispatcher might have to say could be more important than comfortable relaxation, I chose to wait for him in the cab, where I could hear the radio. (No cell phones then, you kids!) After a while, I drove him to Ochre Court. He paid the fare, with a nice but not outstanding tip, and that was the end of that.

If I had been in town on Monday, I think I would have made an effort to get to the funeral. As it was, I did not even know about it until yesterday, when a friend whom I will identify as L.C. said something about shaking Bill Clinton's hand.

Vale, Senator Pell.

You have to love a man who will walk a couple of miles in the wind and rain, down from the top of a bridge, to get to a party! I would like see to more of that kind of steel in the leaders we have now. Most of them look to me like they would have melted before reaching the exit ramp. Or — hah! — called for a [taxpayer-funded] helicopter airlift.

That bridge has since been named for him.

Do you know what's in the news?

Apparently, I do. And so does Morgan Freeberg. We both hit 12 out of 12 on the Pew News IQ Quiz. But, really. These questions are not even interesting. They are in the "Is the Pope German?" category. I screencapped my score, but it's just the same as his, with the 97 at the top. Makes you think you might have missed one. In other words, 100 per cent on the quiz puts you in the 97th percentile. Got that?

Oh, all right, here it is:

That's what reading blogs will do for you. Maybe I'll go read a few more.

Happy birthday to Ann Althouse

I think it was this post that led me to choose the template you see before you. And it was certainly this one that brought in my biggest traffic surge evar.

I doubt I would be blogging at all if not for the (former) requirement that one have a Blogger ID to comment at Althouse. With the ID came the offer of blog space, and one thing just followed the other, as things sometimes do.

So—Happy birthday, Professor Althouse, and best wishes for many more to come.

Here's a cake, swiped from someone [Janet Margul?] on GEnie so long ago that I no longer have any idea, in the old ascii boxology style:

                 ()     ()     ()    ()    ()
                 ||     ||     ||    ||    ||
                 ||_____||_____||____||____||
               (|VvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVv|)
               (|\@/\@/\@/\@/\@/\@/\@/\@/\@/\|)
                |  *   *  *  *  *  *  *  * * |
          ______|____________________________|______
         (((((((((((((((((((((3))))))))))))))))))))))
         (((((((((((((((((((((3))))))))))))))))))))))
          |                                        |
          |                                        |
          |\@/\@/\@/\@/\@/\@/\@/\@/\@/\@/\@/\@/\@/\|
          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now that's a bunch of tasty bits. Or bytes. Bites of bits.

Update a few minutes later: I see that Blake has a good birthday post at BitMaelstrom—and also that he has the good(?) taste to be another Thorne Smith fan. So there's a movie of Night Life of the Gods? To think I never knew! I'll have to order a copy. Nostalgia Family Video has it on VHS. So wishing Althouse a happy birthday turns into a happy unbirthday for me! Lots of win to go around.

Youtube debate

I seem to have participated in this. Just got excited, I guess. I'm usually more phlegmatic.

View from the fort

There now, that's something more pleasant to have at the top.

And here's the reason

why I am "Hector". (The "about me" page.)

"Jim Bennett" is, apparently, someone else. And also a lot of other people.

I am a former dues-paying Libertarian party member. I felt that Harry Browne, and with him, the party, left me after 9-11. In my opinion, they misinterpreted the self-defense part of the non-aggression doctrine. Not to try to start yet another political party, but it seems like there are a fair number of libertarians who are strong on national security -- call them "self-defense libertarians," or "national-defense libertarians" -- where's our candidate?

When I discovered Glenn Reynolds's Instapundit site (then on Blogspot), shortly after 9-11, I realized I had found someone of similar political leanings: like him, I had voted Libertarian in elections before 9-11, gravitated to the Republicans after that, without agreeing with them on much besides the need for a strong national defense. "Social liberal, fiscal conservative," isn't that how it goes? Reynolds was a very active linker then as now; I began to explore the nascent blogosphere using Instapundit as a starting point.

I'm very fond of the Constitution, Ben Franklin, Thomas Jefferson; not so fond of Lenin, Stalin, Mao, Castro, and anyone else who thinks that the citizens, and their assets, are the property of the state. That would include Hillary! (evidence at the link), and too many more who fancy themselves leaders.

I am a musician [but as someone said in the '60's -- was it Billy Faier?: "Do you consider yourself an artist?" "Hell no, I'm a banjo player!"] and music teacher. I studied Latin for years, which probably accounts for my penchant for long, complex sentences. I am a long-time SF reader, but not an actifan. Member of Chicon III, 1962, non-attending. I attended Boskone a couple of years ago, and hope to get to another one or two cons before the Singularity arrives. Favorite authors/books in the genre: Tolkien, Heinlein, James Branch Cabell, Lord Dunsany, Vernor Vinge, John Crowley (Engine Summer in particular), Robert Anton Wilson, Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle, Charles Stross. Buffy and Firefly. I like anchovies on my pizza, and any kind of fish on my plate.

My daughter is a better musician than I am, even though she doesn't actually play an instrument. Synthesizers are wonderful things. A couple more of her songs are here.

The full quote from the header: "If there is no great glorious end to all this, if nothing we do matters — then all that matters is what we do. 'Cause that's all there is. What we do, now, today."