Joel’s Big Blog

I got to kill some time in traffic yesterday. Played a full sheet of sudoku, chatted with Ronya over texting… hell, I just about pulled out my laptop to see if I could find any nearby wireless connections. 

A full hour… I was on the overpass from Crowchild to eastbond Glenmore Trail for a full hour. And not even the whole overpass. I saw traffic backed up and figured things would be slow, but it was only backed up to just before the main curve so I figured it was at least moving. 

Couldn’t have been more wrong. There were several times where I quite literally put the car into park and just sat there. I saw an old guy wandering down the road, trying to see what was going on up ahead. He walked about twenty car lengths or so before casually strolling back, getting into his own car, and moving it ahead two feet. 

I’m sure you’re all thinking “Wow, yeah, I heard rush hour traffic could be bad, but that’s ridiculous.”

Except it wasn’t rush hour. I arrived on the overpass at 10:21 pm and finally touched Glenmore at 11:22 pm. That’s right, this was late night traffic, a time when volume would normally be considered, at the worst, “sparse”. 

It wasn’t until I was finally level with Glenmore that I saw a sign informing the rest of the parking lot that access to 14th Street was closed. Brilliant. And all the traffic that couldn’t exit was being squashed down into one lane. Joy. There were police cars there, lights flashing and strobing, but I suspect they were there primarily to avert the angry mob that might have otherwise grown spontaneously from the five lane parking lot. 

You what would have actually been helpful? Knowing 14th Street was closed early enough to me to have actually chosen an alternate route, not once I was stuck with fifty cars parked in front of me and fifty more parked behind me. It would have been nice to know it back at 33rd Ave where I could have diverted myself through Marda Loop and made my way over to Elbow drive from there. It would have been nice, even, to have known it right before the overpass where I might have had enough time to divert myself into the Glenmore community itself, turned around, and gone back up north on Crowchild to freedom and home. But telling me only when I’m already committed to the gauntlet is beyond pointless, it’s actively insulting. I can only imagine the person who decided where to put up the notification was either so mentally deficient as to be comparable to cave mold for sentience or so malicious and cruel as to actually sport a handlebar moustache and be cackling with glee as he watched us park our cars and wonder how the hell we were going to get home. Perhaps both. Some shambling mound of cave mold with moustache and a cackle wearing construction overalls. I’m sure I saw similar horrors working there as I edged my way through. 

Now to be fair there was a sign way back around 17th Ave declaring that there would be “major delays” during this time. But parking for an hour on an overpass isn’t a “major delay”, it’s more like a “road closure”. 

In all seriousness wouldn’t it have been better to have just closed the road entirely? Block all access to the route at points where people could turn off and take alternate routes? I know if they had done so I would likely have been home a good hour or so earlier. Hell, if there had been some notification that the road was going to be closed I would have taken a completely different route, driven all the way over to deerfoot and down to Anderson, avoiding the entire region altogether. Pretty much anything would have been better than what they had done.

Had an interesting discussion with Bob the other day. It led to some talk about offense, who gets offended, and who has “the right” to express displeasure at offense, and how much retribution is justified.

Now there will always be in depth discussions about punishment and retribution. Everything from “an eye for an eye” meaning that soon the whole world is blind to the point of “spare the rod and spoil the child.” As much as differing opinions vary the one most common denominator is “do me harm and I will exact retribution.” Even the most evil of person (and perhaps the “evil” people more than the “good”) understands that rule. Everything else is pretty much a fuzzy gray area that can be, and often is, debated ad nauseum.

But that’s when the person harmed is demanding retribution. An even fuzzier area comes when others are making those demands on behalf of the harmed party.

Then things get really weird.

The two examples we were using as “what ifs” were … somewhat extreme.

The first example was the Hugo awards two years ago where Harlan Ellison grabbed the breast of Connie Willis. According to reports there was shock, there was outrage, and there was… silence. Simultaneously.

On the one hand the people who were outraged were outraged to the point of calling for Harlan’s censure, of suggesting he not be invited to any more conventions or panels, or of perhaps hounding him with the same question over and over again if and when he did show up. Some people wanted all three. In all honesty, I’m surprised there weren’t people calling for him to be drawn and quartered.

And on the other hand, there was silence. As this person wrote: “Ellison has posted an apology on his message boards, but much of the science fiction community is still outraged.” But then she follows up with “It is unacceptable for anyone to get away with this. And the almost total silence of the science fiction community on this is appalling.” So the community is outraged yet totally silent? How, then, do we know the community is outraged?

What really happened there, and the whole point of our discussion, was that a subset of the audience (both those actually present and those reading about it later) took offense on behalf of Connie Willis and decided to meet out punishment themselves… without asking her how she felt about it.

As Ellison himself pointed out in his apology he was in the wrong: “For me to grab Connie’s breast is in excusable, indefensible, gauche,
and properly offensive to any observers or those who heard of it later.”

Many people were not mollified and continued to call for his punishment and vilification.

The really interesting part of this, though, is the voice that wasn’t heard, at least as far as I can tell, that being the voice Connie Willis herself. In researching the event (I was oblivious to it when it happened) I have yet to come across any reply or comment from Connie Willis that isn’t third hand at best… a blogger quoting someone quoting Connie… and pure hearsay at worst.

Consensus was that she was pissed at him and quite possibly might never talk to him again… and that’s her right. Other people have commented on how, if had happened to them, they would have rebuked him on the spot, smacked him upside the head, possibly even brought him up on sexual harassment charges… and that would their right, had it happened to them.

The people, however, who were calling for increasingly sever punishments to be heaped upon Ellison for his horrific act… they were kind of stepping over the line, in my not so humble opinion.

Yes, the act was unconscionable, as Ellison himself will admit. Yes, Connie Willis had every right to bring him up on charges for the act. But that’s her right. Is it our right to charge him with sexual assault on her behalf? At what point do we have the right to decide on the behalf of others? At what point do we say “We feel you’re not defending your rights strongly enough so we will punish him for you”?

Parents have that right over their children until they become of legal age, so are we telling Ms. Willis that she should be treated as a child, unable to speak for herself or to decide what retribution she feels would be warranted?

At what point does the audience get to decide on the punishment?

The whole incident brought to mind another possible situation where the audience could conceivably be considered the wronged party:

Let’s suppose a group of friends have gone out to a movie together and, later, gathered at a coffee shop to discuss the film and otherwise chat away the evening. These are friends who’ve known each other for a few years, and a few of them have known each other since way back. There are no newly introduced people.

The movie was adequate and prompts a fair amount of discussion. There’s joking and general camaraderie all around. Things are comfortable and relaxed.

Suddenly a brief argument erupts between one couple and, without apparent warning, the man reaches out and slaps the woman, following up with some rather severe verbal chastisement.

The silence descends and, just as suddenly, tension mounts. The other members of the group prepare to rise to the woman’s defense, as friends will do for friends, and it very quickly becomes clear the offending male is in danger of being, at best, ostracized. There’s the feeling that some retributive violence might ensue.

The twist? The slapped woman quickly moves to defend her partner, instructing the other group members to hold back any retribution. She is not hurt or offended. In fact, she wanted him to act in the way he did.

The two of them were experimenting with a Dominant / submissive relationship, she explains, and the chastisement was within the bounds of their agreement. She not only accepted the punishment, but she had deliberately spurred him onto it and had relished it when it happened.

Now the real confusion begins. As far as anyone can tell, there was no injured party. The woman not only didn’t feel hurt, but actively promoted the action as per prior agreement with her partner.

The rest of the group, the unwitting audience to the scene, still felt very emotionally charged… angry, for certain, and possibly a little afraid. Angry at the couple together now for prompting such an emotional response from them and afraid of what it might mean in the future.

After much discussion it was later suggested that the rest of the group were the wronged party. While the couple had prior agreement about the violence and public humiliation, the rest of the group did not. As far as they know, social norms still applied, and those social norms have some rather concise language about striking each other: you just don’t. If you do then retribution is due.

However, what retribution would be appropriate? No one else in that group was struck or verbally chastised. Before you can even think of any form of retribution you first have to agree on what wrong has been committed.

In the case of Harlan’s sexual assault Connie was clearly the wronged party and, being a competent adult, was quite capable of demanding retribution. The audience was also wronged, to a certain degree, in that they suddenly felt uncomfortable and angry. Many felt that the act had been treated far too lightly, overall, and that it only served to continue to support the poor treatment of women in society in general. And I can’t argue that.

But what if Connie had not felt at all bothered by Harlan’s act? What if they had agreed upon the act in advance? Would the audience still have the right to feel wronged? Would they have even felt the same way about it?

What if the D/s couple above had asked their friends in advance if they could act on their desires with everyone present? It seems unlikely that the friends would have consented, but if they had would there still have been a wrong being done?

I don’t have any real answers, I’m just interested in some interesting discussion.

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I got published! Sorta. Doesn’t pay, but at least it’s confirmation that someone else thinks the writing is worth consideration:

http://www.hackwriters.com/Bentroad.htm

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Updates are warranted, I expect. It’s been a while.

A couple of weeks ago I was riding my motorbike North on Deerfoot when the tire went flat, just as I was taking the eastbound exit onto 17th Ave SW. My rear end began skidding sideways in a wierdly flop-flop kind of way. At first it just pissed me off, but I quickly realized what was going on. Luckily I’d already slowed down a lot for the exit so it didn’t take much to pull over. It did take a lot to push it, however. All my weight and strength, in fact, so I wound up just leaving it by the side of the road.

I had it picked up the next day and taken in to GW Cycle World for some new tires. I figued I might as well get a new front tire to go with the back… I had considerably less confidence in my ability to handle a front tire blowout, especially if I were to be going at highway speeds again.

The mechanic called me a couple of days later to cheerfully inform me that the tires were done… but that he didn’t feel the bike was safe to ride.

… which makes me wonder why he didn’t inform me of this *before* finishing the tires, but I digress…

Turns out the brakes need new pads and the steering bearings need replacing. The brakes are no problem, but the dust cover for the steering column are no longer made. He said he’d try to use the existing ones and I’m crossing my fingers that they’ll be good enough.
That was well over a week ago and it occured to me on Saturday that I should have heard from him by now. He did say the parts would take a week to be delivered but that still gives him several days to have worked on it.

I tried giving them a call but it seems they’re closed for the long weekend so now I’ll have to wait until Tuesday.

On top of this the weather has been plummeting straight past fall and diving headlong into winter. Ronya rode to work yesterday morning through snow. Snow! In Freaking August!!

So now I’m wondering just how much riding I’ll get, if any, before winter hits.

*grump*

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I’ve got a busy day ahead of me. I need to clean and decorate the house for guests this evening. I’m trying hard to get motivated.

I am resistant to so very many forms of community I often worry I’m actually antisocial or perhaps sociopathic. So little about traditional established communities appeal to me. Or, rather, their benefits do still appeal, but not enough to outweigh their costs.

Maybe I’m myopic or perhaps just plain evil but the idea of religious community has been repellent to me for as long as I can remember. Initially it was the simple resistance to the idea that I’d have to get up early every Sunday morning to prostate myself before some nebulous authority figure. Gradually it became increasingly due to the realization that any debate about religious doctrine inevitably came down to the infuriating excuse of “because it is written” without any worthwhile explanation of why one set of written word was more valid than any other.

Maybe I’m ungrateful or rebellious but the community of family has always been very elusive to me. I have never really felt like a member of my family, and I can’t put my finger on why. Perhaps I was treated differently when I was young because I was a bastard and that treatment sunk in a colored all future relations. Perhaps being an only child of a single parent left me without the experience of family, leaving me alone enough to develop more self reliance and a strong resistance to anyone infringing on my personal space. The few nights I’d had to share a bed with some cousin are edged in my brain not because of any closeness I might of felt, but rather because I never got any sleep. I’m assuming it’s something other people have gotten used to in their youth but personally I could never wrap my head around it.

So, while I might respect my extended family and grant them what social capital I’m told they’re due, I really don’t hang out with them. While I acknowledge the romantic ideal of “blood is thicker than water” my personal experience with it has been that the line is most often used by sketchy relatives looking for another loan. It’s a trump card used more often for taking than for giving.

Maybe I’m just lazy or anarchistic but I’ve never felt I could survive in the community of the military. While the promise of “no man left behind” and the confidence inherent in knowing a few thousand other guys “have your back” are both very appealing, I honestly don’t think I would survive the initiation. For one thing, I am physically lazy. If I’m not willing to get up early one day out of seven just to attend a boring lecture about some mythical directives how could I possibly be expected to get up even earlier every single day for considerably less lofty ideals? Plus my inability to keep my mouth shut when I think some tactic or plan is pure idiocy would have me shot within months of signing up. So while I salute our soldiers with respect and honestly hope they all get home safe and sound from wherever they’re stationed, behind that salute is the guilty feeling of “better you than me, pal.”

As for my local community… well, again, I may be just a tad antisocial. The only reason I know anything about any of the people in my neighborhood is because of what my wife has told me. I don’t venture much out of our yard. Hell, it’s rare when I’ll even venture out of our house. And it’s rarer still when I might start up a conversation with someone I don’t know. I’m terrible at small talk, and while I have a whole library of stories to share they’re not usually suitable for idle chit-chat. My conversations end up being the “lot of weather we’re having” and “hot enough for ya?” kind of cliches.

The internet has been as much a blessing as a curse in terms of community. While it has introduced me to thousands of specialized and rare communities ranging from the love a certain author to the enjoyment of a particular game, none of it has given me the feeling of any kind of connection. The depth of attachment tends to end around the point of “wow, you love Douglas Adams too? That’s great!” and not much further.

So what is my community?

My community is me, first and foremost. Sounds egotistical I know but anyone who says different is either kidding themselves or they need help, in my amateur opinion. But I’m the only person I genuinely can’t part with so I’d best be comfortable with who and what I am. Should be a simple thing but the closer you look at it the harder it becomes. In all honesty, I’m still working on it. After 42+ years I’m finally making progress, but the effort likely won’t end before I do.

Secondly, my community is those whom I love. Sounds obvious and, really, it is. These are the people who love me for me. As someone once put it a friend is someone who, once you’ve made a complete fool of yourself, doesn’t feel you’ve done a permanent job. They admire you for your positives, forgive you for your negatives, and will remember how you like your coffee, that you’re allergic to shellfish, and that they shouldn’t bring up that ill fated trip to Utah anymore.

Friends, it has been said, are the family you choose. Not being particularly attached to the family dynamic, in my mind your friends are the community that builds organically around you. Like a coral reef turning the crushed and rusted debris of your past into a floral panorama that takes your breath away.

Thirdly, my community is those people who believe in me. Tightly intersected with that second group above, and occasionally touching on the first group of “me”, are the people who know I exist and think this is a pretty good thing. Whether or not they’re friends usually depends on time and circumstance. But at least they’re not out to get me.

The problem with such a community is that it’s rather fluid. Other communities will back their members up such that when someone challenges them with “Yeah? You and what army?” their members can jab their thumb over their shoulder and say “That army.” (Particularly those, you know, in an actual army… but I’m bordering on the literal so I should let it go at that.)

So I can’t tell you who my community IS, per se. I don’t have a label for them, or any kind of commonality between them. But at least I know who they are, I know I can count on them, and best of all I know why I can count on them: they like me, and I like them. And that’s the best kind of community I can think of.

The objective of terrorism, as I understand it, isn’t just to inspire fear… it’s to create chaos and to cause your target as much distress as possible with minimal effort.

Well, it’s working. The TSA “Terrorist Watch” list not only has horribly inaccurate information it also… doesn’t work.

As this article and this video show, three James Robinsons are on the terrorist watch list. The eldest was an assistant attorney general during the Clinton administration and served as US attorney in Detroit, Michigan. The next eldest is a retired Air National Guard brigadier general and, currently, a commercial pilot for a major airline who is certified by the TSA to carry a weapon on board with him to guard against terrorist takeovers. The youngest James Robinson is eight years old and doesn’t even know the meaning of the word “terrorist”.

All three discovered their names were on the list three years ago. All three of them have filed the necessary paperwork required to get their names OFF the list. Every single one of them is still ON the list.

The funniest part? All three of them have found ways around the hassles of being on the list so that it’s no longer an issue. The parents of the youngest use a skycap service that automatically gets their tickets and boarding passes for them, and they’ve also learned that booking their son as J. Pierce Robinson has also let them bypass all the hassle. Captain James Robinson now books his flights under “Jim” or “J. K.”, neither of which get him flagged.

The report who started the story began it all because he found himself
on the list a while back. His solution? When he books his flights he
runs his first and second names together without a space. This alone is
sufficient to bypass the “security” feature.

The upshot? The list doesn’t work. If normal everyday people who are on the list by accident can get around the effects of the list simply as a matter of convenience, I seriously doubt the list is of any effect against terrorists.

And when the TSA hires such mental giants like the inspector who accidentally grounded nine jets by using their sensitive instruments as step ladders to conduct “security checks”… all I can say is, the terrorists must be laughing their asses off. Because even from over here it all looks like a bad Abbott and Costello routine.

Make Podcast: Todd Kollin’s Electric Motorcycle

This video is a couple of years old but Todd Kollin’s web site, Electric Motorsport, is still up and going strong. He has even better bikes up on his site than the one he demonstrates in the video.

As an aside, the range of the bikes is stated to be between 35 and 60 miles, which would be between 56 and 96 kilometers. My ride to work and back was a grand total of 30 km. I know because my motorbike doesn’t have a gas gauge so you have to keep track of your mileage to estimate how close to empty you are. While I don’t live on the exact opposite side of the city from where I worked, I’m still pretty far. I can see this bike working just fine for daily use within the city. It’s a rare day when I go for more than 80 km within the city for my usual visits and/or shopping. With a recharge time of 4 hours (1.5 with the optional high speed charger) You could even charge it while you work if you work more than 90 km away from where you live.

And with a top speed of 60 to 70 mph, that translates easily into freeway speeds, especially something like Deerfoot at rush hour.

A really good interview of a man who’s been been an officer of the law for 34 years and a police chief of Seattle for six years. He’s been on the front lines of the “War On Drugs” and considers the war to be a complete and utter failure. The drugs are more available now than they have been since the start of the “war”, and are far more potent than they ever were period. As he points out the only people benefiting from this continued armed conflict are those they are supposedly fighting. Naturally, the people most opposed to the relaxation of drug law are the drug dealers themselves.

reason.tv - Videos > Former Seattle Police Chief Norm Stamper on the High Costs of the Drug War