The Quality of Data

The Quality of Data:

Reflections on a numberless society

The quality of data can be strange,

It piles uncounted in pools and puddles

Shaped by where it falls. It is twice misgrasped:

It eludes him that describes and him that listens.

Some concepts seem so basic that it requires considerable willpower to imagine one's existence without them. Numbers are probably not inherently part of our human biology, but once introduces into our framework of thought, it is hard not to enumerate the world around nearly automatically.

But we also verbalize by quality without resorting to quantities for everything we encounter. Probably the qualities of our experienced surroundings are the much more frequently noted characteristics and data we process into our decisions. Many people happily admit to be “math-impaired” without any particular feeling of loss.

So, suppose the only language and concepts for dealing with the world were qualitative, not quantitative. Absence or presence (“out” or “in” to our spherical friends below) of some quality, but no measure of its absolute volume or intensity. All attempts to state such comparison were only relative (bigger than a breadbox, smaller than a refrigerator; or bigger than a large weasel, smaller than a small bison). How lost would you be until you had seen a bison (and a weasel) or had its size placed relative to your own experience?

The mathematicians amongst us would say there is still math to be done with such relations, groups/members, and opposites. Some people simply cannot be distracted from their proclivities, but it will be the rare person today who will follow their symbolic notations and computational gymnastics. Most of us will drop back to our non-arithmetic intuitions and pattern recognitions.

Earthling: I come in peace. Does one of you speak for all here?

Quals (together): I speak here.

Earthling: No, one at a time please. Who is your leader?

Quals (together): Fred! Fred is leader here, bigger than me, bigger than Sam, bigger than Walter, but lesser than Big Bertha. Big Bertha is not here.

Earthling: Fine, then I wished to speak to Fred. … Hello, are you Fred?

Fred: Yes, I am Fred.

Earthling: Fred, we come from a star and planet 184 light-years from here. We want to be friends and learn from each other.

Fred: Greetings. Learning is good. Quals like to learn. And to teach. But, Fred does not understand words you use.

Earthling: How can you answer if you do not understand what I say.

Fred: I do and I do not understand. I ignore when I do not. Why do you say “we” and not “I”. “we” is group.

Earthling: There are 27 other crew members on the spaceship. I came out to meet you, but we all wish to be friends.

Fred: What is “twenty-seven” of not-this crew members?

Earthling: 27 is a number. (holds up all fingers and clenches/unclenches twice, then one hand once, and finally extends two fingers). This many.

Fred: (spherical, no digits) Huh? “Twenty-seven” is a dance?

Earthling: No, a number. (scratches 27 lines in the dirt while counting) 1, 2, 3, …, 27!

Fred: Oh, “twenty-seven” is Art? Both Visual and Performance? What is “one”, “two”, “three” …?

Earthling: Can you not count?

Fred: What is “count”?

Earthling (looking at his commpad): “To name quantities by sequential accumulation.” Gee, I hardly understand that definition. It is like you see one thing and then you see another, so you have two, and then you see another and you have three, and so forth.

Fred: Another is “two” and is “three”? What is the difference?

Earthling: Uh, one? Gee, you are getting me confused, too.

Data Bells

Data Bells

To Melody of: Jingle Bells

Working o'er the years

In employ of D.O.C.,

With lessons and cheers

Filling my esprit.

Data to juggle,

And challenges to meet,

What else would make such a struggle

An employment treat.

CHORUS: Data sets, data sets,

Data everywhere,

O what fun it is to crunch

And find something to share, O

Data sets, data sets,

Data everywhere,

O what fun it is to crunch

And find something to share.

So many years ago,

I happened on this job

And thought while times are slow

I'd hang out with this mob;

I knew nothing of their work,

Corrections was all new,

But with IT I could lurk,

And try to muddle through.

CHORUS: Data sets, data sets, …

The database was huge,

I'd never seen so much;

Part planned and part kluge,

It held all in its clutch.

And yet they desired more,

So I set to meet the task,

Listening as the specs did pour,

And making what they ask.

CHORUS: Data sets, data sets, …

Now that system going,

Too old, they say, to run;

Seeds I've been sowing

May now be redone.

My old friend will be tossed

To make way for the new,

Without his data I feel lost

And think I should go, too!

 

CHORUS: Data sets, data sets, …

When Dragons Came for Christmas

When Dragons Came for Christmas

To Melody of: Frosty The Snowman

Clarence the Dragon came home from the department store
With his soft green skin, and those wings of blue,
And the happy grin he wore.
Clarence the Dragon was a Toys for Tots gift;
He was stuffed with fluff, for a child to love,
But he gave my heart a lift.

He sat in the livingroom
And watched the T.V. with us.
He was fine with whatever was on
And he never made a fuss.

Clara the Dragon came to join him the next week
And quickly she sat right down at his side
And nuzzled up cheek to cheek

Snuggly snug snug, snuggly snug snug,
Look at Clarence smile.
Snuggly snug snug, snuggly snug snug,
They’ll be here for a while.

Both of those Dragons decided they would settle in,
So they dressed up as Thanksgiving pilgrims
And help us feast with our kin.
When the Christmas tree was decorated and lit,
They put on their next holiday caps
And had their own stockings knit.

They moved right in to heart and home
And brighten up the place
With thoughts of a child yet to come
And the smile on her face.

Clarence and Clara, soon they will have to leave us here,
But as we say goodbye, with a heartfelt sigh,
We’ll be filled with Christmas cheer.

D.O.C. Office Party

Corrections Carols

=====

The Prisoners’ Carol

To Melody of : O, Christmas Tree

O, D.O.C., O, D.O.C.,
Your prison bars confine us.
O, D.O.C., O, D.O.C.,
May prison soon refine us.
You teach us what is right and wrong.
You teach us how to get along.
O, D.O.C., O, D.O.C.,
May prison soon refine us.

O, D.O.C., O, D.O.C.,
You give our life such structure.
O, D.O.C., O, D.O.C.,
You give our life such structure.
And when we return to our homes
Better thoughts will now fill our domes.
O, D.O.C., O, D.O.C.,
You give our life such structure.

O, D.O.C., O, D.O.C.,
Your prison bars confine us.
O, D.O.C., O, D.O.C.,
May prison soon refine us.
You teach us what is right and wrong.
You teach us how to get along.
O, D.O.C., O, D.O.C.,
May prison soon refine us.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Go Rest You Weary Officer

To Melody of: God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen.

Go rest you weary officer,
Leave your woes behind here.
Remember the next shift
Will now put on their gear
To relieve you from the stress
When inmates start to wear.
O time off for leisure and home,
Leisure and home
O time off for leisure and home.

In bed so snug, in your own home,
You can catch up on your sleep
And dream in peaceful rest
‘Til your alarm does beep.
A few hours of your own,
Remaining day does creep.
O time off for leisure and home,
Leisure and home
O time off for leisure and home.

Soon enough you return again
To take your daily post
And guard all those poor souls
In the imprisoned host. 
How you will guide them from the wrong
Where your help is needed most.
‘Til time off for leisure and home,
Leisure and home
‘Til time off for leisure and home.

“Fear not,” says your supervisor,
“You are the one in charge.
The inmates will work the rules,
But obey, by and large,
Remain firm and be vigilant,
And your duty fairly discharge,
‘Til time off for leisure and home,
Leisure and home
‘Til time off for leisure and home.”

You used your training every hour
To maintain the site’s calm.
You faced conflict ‘fore it starts
And dealt with great aplomb.
You ran your unit as it should,
Part sheriff and part Mom.
Now, time off for leisure and home,
Leisure and home
O time off for leisure and home.

----------------------------------

Way Out On A Bender

To Melody of: Away In A Manger.

Way out on a bender, too drunk to see straight,
He swerved from the highway and hit the park gate.
Stars twinkled above as he passed out below,
That very drunk driver to prison will go.

It was not his first time reckless at the wheel,
And the judge was less willing to make a deal.
“Your mother may love you and think you are sweet,
But to the rest of us, you belong off the street.”

“So cool your heels awhile and clean up your act,
Six months to serve is the penalty we exact.”
He sits in his jail cell as holidays pass
To reflect how alcohol should not mix with gas.

-------------------------------------------------

‘Cause DOC is Watching You Now

To Melody of: Santa Claus Is Coming To Town

You better watch out.
You better not stray.
You better behave
Both night and day
‘Cause D.O.C. is watching you now.

They have your charges,
Sentences too.
Better be careful what you do
‘Cause D.O.C. is watching you now.

They check in when you sleeping
And know when you’re awake.
The E.M. tells them where you go,
They are very hard to shake.

You better watch out.
You better not stray.
You better behave
Both night and day
‘Cause D.O.C. is watching you now.

With officers on the street
Checking everyone on their beat,
The D.O.C. is watching you now.
 At jobs and home, with whomever meets you,
They make sure you are staying on cue,
‘Cause D.O.C. is watching you now.

The neighbors will be happy

To know you’re doing well.
If you stop being scrappy
And get off that worn path to Hell.

So! You better watch out.
You better not stray.
You better behave
Both night and day
‘Cause D.O.C. is watching you now.

They check in when you sleeping
And know when you’re awake.
The EM tells them where you go;
They are very hard to shake.

You better watch out.
You better not stray.
You better behave
Both night and day
‘Cause D.O.C. is watching you now.

------------------------------------------------

Did You Learn What I Taught?

To Melody of: Do You Hear What I Hear?

Said the teacher to the inmate,
Did you learn what I taught?
Up here on the board of slate,
Did you learn what I taught?
A fact, a fact,
Simple in its way
With value if you tuck away,
With value if you tuck away.

Said the parolee to his employer,
Do you see my degree?
I’m working to be a lawyer,
Do you see my G.E.D.?
A start, a start
Upon which to build,
To become somebody more skilled,
To become somebody more skilled.

Said the employer to the governor,
Do you know what I know?
Corrections molded me a learner,
Do you know what will grow?
A seed, a seed,
Planted in knowledge,
Can a mis-started life salvage,
Can a mis-started life salvage.

Said the governor to all the people,
Let us spend taxes wisely.
Proclaim it from hall and steeple,
With our schools, be not miserly.
The stray, the stray,
Can be brought back home,
And needs not hopelessly roam,
And needs not hopelessly roam.

------------------------------

The Good DOC Commissioner

To Melody of: Good King Wenceslas.

The Commissioner looked on
The work of Corrections,
And proudly his eye was drawn
To all fulfilling their missions.
With duty, they bent to task,
‘Though often unnoticed,
Performing all he did ask,
To leave no detail missed.

“Deputy, come stand by me,
And help me solve this puzzle.
What thought have you of how we
Can reward such bustle?”
“Sir, there’s hardly any money.
Budget’s tight, costs mounting;
It’s long since times were sunny,
According to accounting.”

“Bring me pad, and bring me pen,
Let’s brainstorm ideas;
A snack maybe, now and then,
Or coupons for tortillas.”
The two of them went to work
To find a way to say,
From the top to lowest clerk,
We owe more than we pay.

“Sir, perhaps we should say that,
As often as we can.
For them, we’ll go to the mat,
As they do, to a man.”
“In their footsteps, we should walk
With the devotion they show,
And with our acts, as much as talk,
Remember the debt we owe.”

So, led by them, he leads them,
With determined drive
To make a workplace gem
Where all can work and thrive.
Let us appreciate the boss
As he does of us all,
And join him in shared sauce
To answer duty’s call.

 -------------------------------------------------

Rudolph, the Under-aged Felon

To Melody of: Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

Rudolph, the under-aged felon,

Was caught while in the act.

But even though you saw him

He would just deny the fact.

Nobody could ever trust him

Nor would even turn their back,

Lest they became the victim

Of Rudolph's next attack.

Then one Marine recruiter came

To offer some hope:

"Rudolph, you're so fill of fight,

Why not serve your country right"?

Now everyone claps with pride

And cheers him when they can.

Rudolph, you under-aged felon,

You're off to Afghanistan.

------------------------------------
 

The Workcrew Carol

To Melody of: Deck the Halls.

Paint the walls and clean the highway,

Fa la la la la, la la la la.

Service hours is how you repay,

Fa la la la la, la la la la.

For the harm you did to others

Fa la la, la la la, la la la.

Bringing shame to dads and mothers,

Fa la la, la la la, la la la.
  

See the happy people greet you,

Fa la la la la, la la la la.

Here is a chance to start anew,

Fa la la la la, la la la la.

Replace the bad with good deeds,

Fa la la, la la la, la la la.

Relieve instead of cause the needs.

Fa la la, la la la, la la la.
 

Feel your value in your labors,

Fa la la la la, la la la la.

As you help, not hurt, your neighbors.

Fa la la la la, la la la la.

You'll feel better for what you do,

Fa la la, la la la, la la la.

And now follow a path that's true

Fa la la, la la la, la la la.

--------------------------------------------------------

Adoration of the Three Stooges

Adoration of the Three Stooges

We three Fools of Comedy come
Performing deeds so truly dumb.
Seltzer and pie and insults fly,
Amusing you with our scrum.

O screen of silver, screen of light,
Screen turned on through the night,
Sleepless viewing, popcorn chewing,
Bring us to your endless sight.

Born in Brooklyn, the fourth of five,
As the bully I would so thrive.
Others are good, but I guess would
Without me not survive.

O screen of silver, screen of light,
Screen turned on through the night,
Sleepless viewing, popcorn chewing,
Bring us to your endless sight.

The smarts is what I sought to bring
When all thought was sorely lacking.
But man of wit when an idiot
Often gets a bruising.

O screen of silver, screen of light,
Screen turned on through the night,
Sleepless viewing, popcorn chewing,
Bring us to your endless sight.

Mirth was mine: the view of a child
With all my emotions gone wild.
Chortling, barking, anger sparking,
Anything goes if you smiled.

O screen of silver, screen of light,
Screen turned on through the night,
Sleepless viewing, popcorn chewing,
Bring us to your endless sight.

Humorous, yet it makes you cringe,
As slapstick goes to outer fringe.
With “nyuk, nyuk, nyuk”, and a quick duck,
Come along on our binge.

O screen of silver, screen of light,
Screen turned on through the night,
Sleepless viewing, popcorn chewing,
Bring us to your endless sight.

LEAVES

The leaves under the snow
Accuse I was too slow.
Too much ease I did take
Instead of wielding my rake

It is the trees I blame
Which cause me undue shame.
They held on for too long,
Trying Fall to prolong.

I did do the chore thrice,
Clearing the leaves quite nice,
While those oak trees looked on
At my work on the lawn.

They shook at me their crowns
With the wind's rattling sounds.
Although strong gusts did blow,
They refused to let go.

So now the leaves will wait
Until winter does abate.
I will find them next Spring
As the first chore they bring.

Cost Analysis of Straw Architecture

Fifer Pig
Old Sow’s Sty, McDonald Farm
Storyland, USA

Dear Sir:

As per your request, I have prepared the following cost-benefits analysis on the desirability of constructing your future home of straw.

The excellent availability and low cost of this material makes it practically a steal as a construction medium.  The 8-feet tall walls for rectangular, modest 144 square feet home (15X15 exterior, 12X12 interior) requires about 126  bales and can be erected by the homeowner and a few friends within a day.  However for this design, an additional cost would be the construction of a roof requiring much more expensive wooden support beams.  The A-frame, pyramid, conical, or igloo designs with narrowing walls as they reaches their peak height would close the top of a straw structure while providing adequate headroom for a person of your size.  Somewhat more technique is needed to complete these designs, but their complexity should not be overwhelming to a pig of your intelligence.

I estimate the floor area, enclosed volume, and bale count for these four closed designs as:
Equilateral A-frame, 15X15 exterior base, 15 feet height: 144 sq.ft. with 1370 cu.ft. (1190 below 8 feet) from 130 bales (some cutting required);
Equilateral pyramid, 15x15 exterior base, 15 feet height: 144 sq.ft. with 760 cu.ft. (695 below 8 feet) from 109 bales;
Equilateral conical, 15 feet exterior diameter, 15 feet height 113 sq.ft. with 600 cu.ft. (545 below 8 feet) from 130 bales (shaping required);
Hemispherical igloo, 19 feet exterior diameter, 9.5 feet height 200 sq.ft. with 1040 cu.ft. (max height is 8 feet) from 162 bales (shaping required).

Heating and cooling cost are largely a function of the cubic volume.  Your best bargain for floor space as a ratio of the enclosed volume is the igloo design (about 1:5.2) without volume loss above 8 feet, but that is the most difficult to build and requires the largest lot size.  The equilateral pyramid is the most economical and relatively easiest erected with a similar floor-area:volume ratio.  It is my recommendation for your needs and budget.

Recognizing the limiting time constraint you have placed on this project in order to meet the demands of your musical career, it would be possible to forego the usual coating of the straw with stucco, mud, and/or plaster.  Unlike the speed with which the walls can be erected, this spackling phase is very labor-intensive.  There is an increased risk of damage from weather, rot, and foraging animals with an appetite for straw in the absence of this protective barrier, but if your residency plans are short-term, the rates of depreciation may be essentially immaterial  to your needs.  Similarly, the expense of a water-tight foundation on which to rest the house may also be a waste of money and time, given the short occupancy you anticipate before your career blossoms after the coming winter season.

In summary, I would encourage you to proceed with your plans to build your house of straw.  It is suitable to your lifestyle, timeframe, and budget.  I look forward to your house-warming party; please remember to invite me.

At your humble service,
Zeke Midas Woolf, RA/AIA

Rapping at My Door

Rapping at My Door

Once upon my lazy recliner, feasting on takeout from the diner,
I sat and flipped idly through mindless cable channels galore –
Tasty crumbs from my lips lapping – when outside there came a rapping,
A most irritating tapping, an insistent, beckoning chore.
“Oh, not now, I have just sat down to eat,” I did wish to implore,
“Please leave me and come no more.”

The knocking stopped to my relief, visitor gone was my belief,
As I paused on the sports network to get the latest baseball score.
But too soon had I decided, my conclusion was misguided;
For upon my ears collided, the urgent knock I could but abhor,
That pounding call to duty – a host’s duty I could not ignore –
Oh, stop now and knock no more.

So I set my dinner aside and went to see who was outside,
In my slippered feet slowly sliding across the hardwood floor.
Carefully I went, not to fall as I traversed through the dark hall.
The peeking hole in the portal showed me no one at the front door,
For I had not lit the lights when I went silently to explore,
Hoping he stood there no more.

So I turned to make a retreat and resume my meal and my seat,
When again, at the infernal rapping behind my back, I swore.
“You are not there, I just did look,” I said as angry fist I shook,
“Why do you treat me like a schnook and play your games to make me sore?
Some comfort and to relax at end of day is all I ask for,
But you still want something more.”

Across the hall I go again to confront my evening’s bane.
Resigned now and with the porch lamp brightly aglow, its light did pour
Forth to illuminate my stoop. And looking now I saw a troupe
Of small monsters that made me whoop to see such characters from lore.
Their true identities all hidden by the frightful costumes they wore,
Covered in gore and much more.

“Have you come to scare me tonight? For, in truth, you gave me a fright.
Two Ghosts, ghoul, vampire, beastman, and mummy, in all miniature.
Why at my house do you here haunt and with your knock do you me taunt?
I have to wonder what you want that you assemble at my door?”
In one collected voice “Trick or Treat” arose from this motley corps,
“Candy is fine, nothing more”.

The Freedom to Vote

The Freedom to Vote

The problem with absolute Freedom is how seldom one truly gets to exercise it. To be free is to be untethered to anything and unfettered of any restraint. When does that ever happen!?

Freedom, on a more practical level, does not permit us to do everything we can, but defines a range in which we may act. Some restraints are self-imposed, based on our own sense of morality, risks, values, and logic. But many limitations are established by agreements we have with the people around us. Those choices which we allow to others are the same freedoms of which we have the expectation to possess ourselves.

Such is the freedom to vote. If my vote is to have value then so must yours under the same qualifications. In demanding my right to vote, I am conceding my inability to make the decision alone. I am buying into the agreed process for how the votes will be treated to arrive at a decision and thus implicitly agreeing to the decision as binding on me, irrespective of how I vote. Such a “freedom to vote” is costly purchased in restraints upon my other actions, especially it seems, when that vote goes against me.

True “Freedom” would be not to need to yield my actions to the opinions of others in the decision to be made. Universal Freedom would be the anarchy of everyone governed by their own decision, unable to affect or to be affected by another person’s actions. Hermits might experience such, but not those of us living amongst others.

“Free” societies are not built to strengthen Freedom, but to harness its power of desire beyond self-interest into cooperative efforts and protections. The Declaration of Independence makes this point in its “self-evident truths”:

• that all men are created equal,
• that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness
• that to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed,

These are truths which are universal (equal in all people) and not statements about our differences (in health, wealth, beauty, intelligence, citizenship, etc). There is a set of naturally provided (endowed) attributes that cannot be separated from the person to be given to another (unalienable). One person’s Life (organic being), Liberty (choices) or Pursuit of Happiness (desires) cannot be removed and placed in another person. And yet, these attributes are not secure. Although they cannot be transferred to another, they may be denied without the security of society (Government) and specifically a society whose agreements (rules of governance) are based on the protection of equal and shared rights being the purpose of that society. A Society that is “destructive to these ends” must be altered or abolished, according to the Declaration of Independence, in favor of another “most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness”. There is still no certainty of these goals ensured by this fundamental document of our American society, only best efforts.

To secure = “to make (something) safe by guarding or protecting it”; “to make (something) certain”; “to put (something) in a place or position so that it will not move”. Particularly, this last definition describes the relationship between Security and the Freedom it secures. In order to be secure, restrictions are placed on the range of motion (action) of the object. It is “tied down for its own safety”. Security and Freedom are opposing forces and it is the “consent of the governed” which decides the balance.

And thus, as a society, we vote, a compromise in every decision made between our individual Freedom and the Security of having any Freedom.

Discovery?

Discovery?

In fourteen hundred ninety-two,
Columbus sailed the ocean blue.
Across the unknown western seas,
He went to find the East Indies.
Twenty-four hundred miles he thought
Was how far to the lands he sought.
Wrong was he by fivefold or so,
But yet the Royals let him go.

Five weeks from Canary Island,
He led his small maritime band.
And there was seen a shore again
As ended the easterly sea lane.
The next four months he island-hopped
As for the Asian spices he shopped.
He found the chili pepper hot,
But not much else to spice the pot.

His eye did seek other treasure
To bring him and sponsors pleasure.
In the natives' trinkets of gold,
His chance for riches, he did behold.
One tenth was his by the decree
Signed when he was sent out to sea.
Perhaps they thought he would not return,
But the gamble might profits earn.

And so gathering what he could,
He turned back to make his claim good. 
His own success he richly praised
And soon a larger fleet was raised.
All of Europe passed 'round his name
Spreading wide his explorer's fame.
The Admiral, Governor too,
Had conquered the ocean blue.

Now the Spanish empire began
To add the conquest of the land.
All that was west of the Pope's line
Was Spain's realm by powers divine;
The riches, the land, even people,
Dealt cards from the Catholic steeple.
Subjects to rule by force needed,
Their pagan rights so quickly ceded.

Centuries later, in this land,
We celebrate the ocean spanned
And honor those who led us here
To this “discovered” hemisphere.
'Though helped by serendipity,
Europe took the opportunity
To fill the space (or seize a bit)
And, in their own eyes, upgrade it.

Who Hid My Cheese?

WHO HID MY CHEESE?

There are widely held beliefs that vocalization in the common house mouse (Mus musculus) are largely devoted to procreation and nurturing of the very young. Although selectively bred and altered for uses in laboratories for over a century, the study of the audible (to humans) and ultrasound speech of mice has remained in its infancy. Thus, I received the following with a great deal of skepticism, but consider it only fair to allow you, my readers, to draw your own conclusions.

My transcription from the near microscopic markings on the scraps of paper found on the floor of the Animal Care Facility may be somewhat inexact, but I have labored many a long hour over some years since their discovery to organize these materials. Nonetheless, gaps exist in the record that I have, perforce, needed to leave unfilled.

===

“George, can we go to the gym? Let's go to the gym, George. I like the gym.”

“Maybe later, Lenny. Algernon is coming over to help us plan for our future. We can't run the Boss' mazes forever. We need our own maze where we are free to decide whether we want to run today or just relax and have the cheese delivered.”

“But I like the wheel, George. I can run and run and run and I never get lost there, George.”

“Sure you do, Lenny. We'll have a wheel at our maze too and then you can run all day if you want. But we need to plan, we need to save to get there. Algernon's got a program for planful mice like us who want to get beyond this day-to-day working for the Boss.”

“Okay, George, if that is what you say, it's okay with me, George. But can we eat first? I'm hungry, George.”

“Yeah, go ahead. But try not to eat it all. We gotta think ahead.”

...

“So, the postponement of the immediate gratification of making a repast of every consumable good you find can yield you long term security. Allocating a small but steady contribution to the pooled trust fund provides all members with a dependable resource to support them in old age and disability when they have completed their working careers. Any questions?”

“Ah, Algernon, what's a con-sometable? It's good, right, Algernon?”

“It is the best, Lenny. The trust fund handles a variety of commodities; Agricultural and Manufactured. Seeds. Dairy. Pellets. And many more.”

“Algernon, if we eat what other mice are depositing for their future, what will they eat when the future gets here?”

“Well, George, the simple fact is that the shelf life of these non-durable goods means they won't last. The beneficiaries now provide an outlet for the commodity while it still has value and the depositors now receive credit towards the acquisitions more contemporary to the future date of their need.”

“But where do these 'acquisitions' come from?”

“The next generation, George. Your kids and your kids' kids. This a program for the ages. We are not a bunch of savages. A little help from everyone means everyone gets help when they need it.”

“Why won't the young mice just eat it? Or cache it away for themselves?”

“Decomposition in the latter case. Maybe obesity in the first. Waste does not preserve value, simple as that.”

“How much will we get back when we retire?”

“Okay, now, that's an interesting question.”

“Does it have an answer, Algernon?”

“Oh, certainly. But there are several variables involved, so the answer for you may not be the same as the answer for a different contributor. And since you do not yet have a history of contributions, it would be more a speculation than a guarantee to state a specific rate of return. But, be assured the system will take better care of you than having no support.”

“Well, okay, let's sign up. Is that okay with you, Lenny?”

“If you think we should, George. You understand these things, George.”

…

“George, do we got any more of those 'plan seeds' left?  I am hungry, George.”

“That's because you eat like six mice, Lenny. Here, I still have some.”

“Why are we getting fewer seeds, George?”

“Well, Algernon says that enrollment of new mice is down since the funding cutbacks at NIH and other research labs. It probably only temporary, he says.  Plus with all the exercise, nutrition, and medication we have been getting, there are more of us retired mice living longer.”

“Could we go back to work for the Boss, George? He fed us good.”

“No, he is not looking for old mice like us, Lenny. He cannot even support all the younger mice at the moment. I heard he set most of them out in the field to fend for themselves. Something about defaulting on a 'mortgage'.”

“What's a mort-gauge, George?”

“I am not sure. 'mort' comes from the Latin for death and a gauge is a device to measure, you know, like the treadmill the Boss used to have us run. So, I guess it is something to measure how dead or near dead you are.”

“I don't think I could run many laps on a mort-gauge anymore, George. I'm too hungry.”

“Well, I think they all expected us to be dead by now, Lenny. It will happen with their help or not.”

===

That is all I have been able to decipher from these mysterious scratching. I know nothing more of the fate of George, Lenny, Algernon, or any other mice from this facility.

Chasing White Rabbits

Chasing White Rabbits

When the hours grow long and the day goes stale
And I start to drowse at the end of the day,
I will sometimes glimpse a fluffy white tail
Round a corner to hurry on his way.

The sight awakes in me a curiosity
‘Tho his urgent business is not mine.
Where is he going with hopping velocity?
The wish to know my mind will entwine.

And, without rising from my lazy chair,
I will start upon my eager pursuit;
Into the hall, out the door, I follow there,
‘Cross the lawn, under the hedge, and down the chute.

I land with a bump in darkness all around
And must listen intently for his footfalls.
I, a blind puppy, crawl on the ground
As, led by scent and sound, adventure calls.

Blinking into the glaring light, I emerge
Where all in exaggeration loses scale.
Colors in wild pattern and hue splurge
To disguise and to reveal the quest’s trail.

Did he go Right or, mayhap, to the Left?
Under the six-foot peony, I look for clues,
Pushing aside leaves of considerable heft,
To locate the first path I will choose.

Nearly underfoot, I hear a sudden shout
From a tiny table and those gathered there.
Carefully, on my knees, I go to check it out;
It is a tea party set for a solitary chair.

None sit on that seat, as it hops up and down;
I believe it would never permit such an use.
The clamor from dishes, each other to drown,
To bar anyone listening from hearing their views.

Red saucers on one side and blue cups the other
Bicker about the differences between them.
The timid green teapot is caught in the bother,
His efforts to serve both sides only condemn.

Well, here I will not find my missing rabbit;
These dishes argue less for reasoned debate
And more for satisfying their ancient habit.
Back to my search before it becomes too late.

‘Tween the small pine and a towering grass,
I notice what may be that rabbit’s footprint.
I guess many creatures may this way pass,
But this earthy dent may be my best hint.

“Halt. Where are you going?” booms in the air.
I stop, for a dangling chain has challenged me.
“You will not follow my links from here to there,
Unless you possess the correct passkey.”

“I am just following the rabbit,” I say,
Searching my thoughts for how I might get by.
“I think that recently he came this way,
And left a message for this path to try.”

“Do you butter a sandwich on bottom or top?”
The watchword question is posed for my reply.
“Inside” is the answer that into my mind does pop,
And I am certain that response will never fly.

“Why do you ask?” I query as I think,
“Some like butter and others not so much.
With a sandwich, it is important what to drink.
I like milk, but water is okay in a clutch.”

“To see the sights I herein protect from all,
You must to us like-minded be proven.
You will not believe what dwells in this wall,
If to our ways you are not yet behooving.”

“Oh, well, can you at least tell me if you saw
A rabbit pass through your sacrosanct gate?
He wears a vest and often thumps one paw;
Oh, and by his watch, he is always late.”

“That snobbish rabbit is not welcome here.
He is so eager to please all whom he meets,
His words never mean what they would appear;
We must add so much to expose his deceits.”

Some other path then I will need to find,
If on my quixotic trek I would persist.
All ways equally unlikely for one so blind,
Arms out, I twirl myself into a spinning twist.

As I turn and turn faster, wind lifts me skyward
And carries me dizzily elsewhere to drop.
The landscape and its residents are all blurred
Until I alight in a dainty ice cream shop.

Oh, well, I think, my rabbit to me is now lost
When, at the counter, I see his furry butt.
Here is my sought after chance him to accost;
So I set my course at him coolly to strut.

But betwixt us, on one wheel, cycles a mouse
Juggling cones to deliver to the tables.
As he metes out his wares, all can hear him grouse
Of the illnesses his sugary trade enables.

“Why do you provide a service you so abhor?”
I pause to ask as he rolls over my toes.
He says, “If they will eat, let it be my store.
The money helps me live with their stupid woes.”

I hear the shop door’s bell give its small jingle
And see the rabbit’s backside retreat outside.
I reverse my way through all here to mingle,
But it is a swim against an incoming tide.

At long last, I make it out onto the street,
As odd in architecture as ever was seen:
A ranch house next to a tower of concrete,
Shop, church, and factory fill the wild scene.

The buildings brag to each other of their worth
And the needed preferment to occupy their lots.
Each thinks he is the reason Man is on Earth
And that all others to him should cede their spots.

“Did you see which way the white rabbit went?”
I ask the sidewalk stand who calls out “Next!”
“Depends if you’re buying; I gotta pay rent.”
A hotdog later, she points me to the triplex.

For one in haste, he takes many a detour,
I think as I scan the posters on the wall.
“Sex, violence, and fun amongst the gore,”
The middle advertisement does shrilly call.

“No, no, sir, you want Action with a Punch,”
The right playbill declares for his fifth sequel.
“Be serious,” argues the last of the bunch,
“Without 3-D, you films are never my equal.”

How do I guess that rabbit’s cinematic taste?
Was it a movie for which he was tardy?
Is that the reason thru unreason him I chased?
Does nosiness always make me foolhardy?

For tonight, this adventure will end now
As from my chair I get up to go to sleep.
In bed, I hope to get some rest somehow
Unless, of course, I start chasing black sheep.

The Patriot's Ride

The Patriot’s Ride

(Thanks (?) to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow for the rhyming scheme)

---

Listen all citizens and you shall learn
Of the internet ride of patriot Verne.
Nightly he blogs from eight to five
With fire in his passionate drive
To warm the sleeping many to a burn.

He says to himself, “It is my duty,
When evil forces beset our nation
Attacking its rights, law, or beauty,
To lead us away from such temptation.
Neither one within nor two from overseas
Shall slip past me their corrupting sleaze.
For I shall be ready to fight the harm,
Through every website and data farm,
To awake the country folk with alarm.”

Then he bids his patient wife “Good night”
And turns to his laptop armed for the fight.
As the moon through his window peeks,
The first opponent for tonight he seeks.
Perhaps a Giant windbag will come his way
Spouting lies to lead citizens astray,
Full of intent on their minds to prey;
A huge chasm of an information gap
By its own emptiness to entrap.

And thus, the patriot begins to surf,
Wanders and watches with eager eyes,
‘Til in the abundance around him he spies
The thread that will lead him to battle,
A silly invasion of his well-known turf
With foolish conclusions and outright lies
That makes his deepest bones rattle.

Then he prepares to mount his reply
By force of wit or mastery of lore
To reach the spot where he can score.
And to gather to the fray an ally,
Facts and citations he draws from the store
Over which they together do often pore.
Above his keyboard, his fingers pause,
As he relishes the power of the cause,
And, for that moment, he does think
Of those unable to smell the stink
And at them he silently guffaws.

Out there, so unaware, lay the masses
In their blissful sleep until morn,
Ignorant as the day they were born.
May he find how to kick their asses,
And with clarion call stir their sense
That they should look to their defense.
Their complacency he must dispel
And their dreams that “All is well”.
Before the disaster comes and passes,
They must put on their looking glasses.
And suddenly, back from such thoughts intense,
He returns to his urgent task at hand
To spread his warning throughout the land,
And save those who would be saved
From the assault on them so depraved.

He grows impatient to join the fight,
And flexing his fingers, he starts to write.
Out goes tonight’s first post from Verne
To set the flare into all surfers’ sight
That now it is time for their turn.
To fill time until a response comes,
He scans for other trails of crumbs.
But mostly he watches his thread for nibbles
To see what a friend or foe scribbles.
In his head, his next salvo he composes
To what he thinks, mayhap, the answer poses.
And lo! As he looks, the message arrives;
Though hardly dampened, his passion revives.
He springs to laptop to drink it all in,
For it is the food on which he thrives;
Oh, if only it is not just name-calling!

A flurry of strokes on the keyboard,
A text onscreen, a silent shout in the dark,
And within, his guard dog’s warning bark
As bits and bytes on the server is stored.
That is all! And yet, through the wires and waves,
His post triggers both rantings and raves,
Its value measured in the nation it saves
While echoing from mountain to seaboard.
But his night’s work begun still has far to go
For he holds much that others need to know.
And though he has beheaded this first enemy,
Like hydra, they will grow yet another voice.
Focused upon the mission of his journey,
He turns to many topics to make a choice.

It is twelve by the clock in the hall
When he solves the problems of healthcare.
A simple solution for one and all,
So obvious that none can disagree,
Unless they biased idiots be.
For them, there is no pity to spare.

It is one as the grandfather chimes
When gun rights and wrongs are laid to rest.
It is a debate he has had many times;
Though it is clear to him what we should do,
Those more fuzzy in thought still grope and grasp
And bicker their feeble points to the last gasp.
But tonight he has shattered their view
With an argument indubitably the best.

It is two where he sits tapping this night,
(‘Though for readers, both earlier and later)
When he balances the scales of Left and Right.
A bit more weight here and there a lot less
And we can clean up this political mess.
To everyone’s desires, no system can cater;
But with proper pruning of the dead wood,
And some growth where it is most needed,
We will have politicians do what they should
Ere the people from the government have seceded.

You might guess the rest if you too surf the web.
How riders roll in and then out with the ebb --
How the posters come from all sides to debate,
Their ideas in jumbles there to conflate.
Chasing each other in the endless rounds,
Then jumping to the next battling grounds.
Under their pen names, they fight to and fro
And only pausing to find where next to go.

So through the nights rides patriot Verne
And so through the night go his words to us,
To every citizen who sleeps through the fuss --
A cry of alarm, mixed with much concern,
A voice off the mainstream where some never tread,
And a warning of things they never have read!
For, borne on technology we might all share,
Through all our lives, and to our heir,
The freedom to speak, and to hear if you wish,
Is a right with practice, not neglect, we earn.
We must do nothing to extinguish
The patriotic fire of those like Verne.

The Win-a-Wench contest -- ah, college years

Why I Read or Refuse to Read “One Small Voice”

This might be a very good question if it did not have an answer. Without an answer it would make excellent material for Mssrs. Cornell or Reichenbach. However, this query must step down from that pedestal before attaining its height, because there is an answer. I read “One Small Voice,” because in this column and articles by the same authors, going back to “Catch-22”, I have found a philosophy with which I can identify. (I just realized I had better start working the extra information in here if this is all to be one paragraph. Last date: January 23, 1972 if you could call it a date. Actually I have considerably atrophized and am writing more to say why I read “One Small Voice” than to win a WAW contest.) That philosophy is if you cannot say anything nice, say something argumentative and make it sound nice. (However, if the prize is won, I, as any gentleman of refinement would, will accept it.) As I interpret “One Small Voice,” it attempts, and succeeds, at getting across the point and laying low its opponents not by hitting below the belt, but by hitting in the head. In some instances, of course, no goal will be scored with some people, because there is nothing vulnerable up that high, but such trivialities need not bother me as a reader. And so, thus, I read. And laugh.

Meeting with Myron

Meeting with Myron

As lord of the castle, one might expect I had more important matters to occupy my time and energies. But Myron is an old friend and has served my family and fiefdom for longer than anyone can recall. So here I am aside the moat, waiting unattended for him to tell me what is wrong this time.

“Oh, I am so sorry to trouble you, Charlie,” Myron addresses me as he has since I was a mere lad sharing an afternoon of fishing and swimming with him. “You are so kind to come down. I would come to see you, but I cannot fit through any of the gates.”

“Think naught of it, old friend. As steadfast and loyal of a protector as you have been all these years deserves my respect and attention.” I do not mention that his recent thrashing in the moat can be felt throughout the castle walls and floors and that nobody has slept well for two days with his nocturnal sobbing and moaning.

“Old! So you think so too!” wails Myron. “Yes, at last, the end draws near for me, Charlie.” He slumps down into the water until only his tear-filled eyes show above the surface.

“No, it is merely our friendship that is old. Myron, you are as ageless as the stones of the castle walls. You have lived in our moat while many generations of my family have come and gone and will do so for countless more.”

“Look, Charlie,” he says as he rears out of the water and turns to show me his side. “See that bare spot there. And here. And over there. I am falling apart.”

“Could you simply be molting? Maybe it is time for your next growth spurt,” I suggest cheerfully.

“Do you really think so, Charlie,” he brightens momentarily, but quickly sinks into the water again. “No, no, my molting days are ancient history – this is rot! Decay! The Slide to the End!”

“When did this skin change start, Myron? It seems early to be reaching such dire conclusions if we just need to cycle this stagnant water out with a nice fresh flow from the stream. I cannot remember when we did the last moat overhaul but we are probably overdue.”

“Fresh water would be nice,” Myron concedes. “Could we add some shady shrubs along the edge of the southside too?”

“Yes, certainly. I will have the chamberlain get the work started today.” Ah, problem solved, I think.

“It won't really do any good though,” Myron continues. “It'd be nice to be comfortable in my last days. Maybe we could carve a small grotto under the drawbridge where I could crawl in and finish out of the way. I don't want to be any trouble, Charlie.”

“You never have been any trouble, Myron.” I should have guessed that was too easy.

“That is not really my name, did you know?” he says quietly.

“What? Your name is not Myron? I have never heard anyone call you anything else. What is your real name?”

“Alas, even I do not know. Six hundred years ago at the next solstice I was bound by a wizard named Myron. He dealt in magical protections, Myron's Mystical Monitors. And I was a servant he sold to your ancestors. At first, they called me Myron's Moat Monster, then Myron's Monster, and finally, as the generations of castle dwellers passed, only Myron. So you might as well too.”

“Six hundred years?”

“Next solstice.”

“That is a long time. And you have never had a break in all that time. Is that what has you upset?”

“Oh, no, Charlie. At the next solstice my bewitchment will be over. I will no longer be the only thing I know how to be after all these centuries.”

“What will you do then?”

“I will do nothing. I will be nothing, Charlie. With my geas gone, I will have nothing.”

“But you will be free to do whatever you want, Myron. To go wherever you want. You could, of course, stay here if you wanted also.”

“No, the time for my retirement was set.” Myron sinks into the moat, sobbing.

What am I to do?  I did not make the rules that bind him and I have no power to change them.  Myron has made no preparation to be anything but what he is.  Many of us do not.  But what a misery to know with a date certain when such an end will come.