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Induction

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Most of science is induction. Scientists measure correlation, for example that fat people don’t run as much as thin people. They then use logic to differentiate cause from effect that is do they not run because they are fat, or are they fat because they don’t run, or is everything base on some third factor, like genetics. At every step this is all inductive logic, but that’s how science is done.

The lack of certainty shows up especially commonly in health work. Many of our cancer cures are found to not work when studied under slightly different conditions. Similarly with weight los, or heart health. I’d mentioned previously that CPAPs reduce heart fibrillation, and heart filtration is correlated with shortened life, but then we find that CPAP use does not lengthen life, but seems to shorten it. (see a reason here). That’s the problem with induction; correlation isn’t typically predictive in a useful way.

Despite these problems, this is how science works. You look for patterns, use induction, find an explanation, and try to check your results. I have an essay on the scientific methods, with quotes from Sherlock Holmes. His mysteries are a wonderful guide, and his inductive leaps are almost always true. Meanwhile, the inductive leaps of Watson and Lastrade are almost always false.

Robert Buxbaum, May 9, 2022

Of cigars and marriage, Kipling and Freud.

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My last post included a rather gruesome bit of poetry by Rudyard Kipling where he describes the Afghani women coming to kill the wounded British soldiers in the first Afghan war. It’s sexist, or anti-sexist, if you like. Since it reverses a stereotype of the non-violent, female home-body. Then again the Afghanis had wiped out an entire British army, killing virtually everyone including civilians.

What follows is The Betrothed, one of Kipling’s first published poems, appearing in “the civil and military gazette”, Lahor, India (near Afghanistan), November, 1888. Kipling was an assistant editor). It has a more traditional view of women, or of British women who do not go out murdering, but who do wish to control/ stop a British man’s cigar smoking. In a sense, such stoppage is murder. The inspiration was a breach of ‘Promise of Marriage’ case in Glasgow, August 1888, where a young woman, Maggie Watson, sued her fiancee because he continued to smoke cigars after she insisted he stop. Kipling explores the psychology of the choice between smoking and marriage. I think Freud would approve.

The Betrothed.

OPEN the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout, For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out. 

We quarrelled about Havanas—we fought o’er a good cheroot, And I knew she is exacting, and she says I am a brute. 

Open the old cigar-box—let me consider a space; In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie’s face. 

Maggie is pretty to look at—Maggie’s a loving lass, But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must pass. 

There’s peace in a Larranaga, there’s calm in a Henry Clay; But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away— 

Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown— But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o’ the talk o’ the town! 

Maggie, my wife at fifty—grey and dour and old— With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold! 

And the light of Days that have Been the dark of the Days that Are,
And Love’s torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead cigar— 

The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your pocket— With never a new one to light tho’ it’s charred and black to the socket! 

Open the old cigar-box—let me consider a while. Here is a mild Manila—there is a wifely smile. 

Which is the better portion—bondage bought with a ring, Or a harem of dusky beauties, fifty tied in a string? 

Counsellors cunning and silent—comforters true and tried, And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride? 

Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes, Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eyelids close, 

This will the fifty give me, asking nought in return, With only a Suttee’s passion—to do their duty and burn. 

This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead, Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead. 

The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Main, When they hear my harem is empty will send me my brides again. 

I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their mouths withal, So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the showers fall. 

I will scent ’em with best vanilla, with tea will I temper their hides, And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who read of the tale of my brides. 

For Maggie has written a letter to give me my choice between. The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick o’ Teen. 

And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelvemonth clear, But I have been Priest of Cabanas a matter of seven year; 

And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cheery light Of stumps that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure and Work and Fight. 

And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I must prove, But the only light on the marshes is the Will-o’-the-Wisp of Love. 

Will it see me safe through my journey or leave me bogged in the mire? Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the fitful fire? 

Open the old cigar-box—let me consider anew— Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon you? 

A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke; And a woman is only a woman, but a good Cigar is a Smoke. 

Light me another Cuba—I hold to my first-sworn vows. If Maggie will have no rival, I’ll have no Maggie for Spouse! 

Sigmund Freud with his cigar. The whole attraction of cigars, is a strange one, as Freud knew better than most. Cigars are deadly, but casual, often with a good flavor, and a sucking comfort. The death-risk of one is small and distant. Cigars thus represent risky fun they are thus life, in a temporary, risky way. Marriage is permanence and safe, and binding. The binding permanence is a sort of death, but children are good, and that’s life. Freud’s choice was to smoke himself to death. Kipling got married and eventually gave up smoking.

Robert E. Buxbaum, September 17, 2021. Kipling has a great sense of words, and an attractive sense of the subjects, great and small. For years he was the voice of his generation in Britain, but by the end of his life, his views were unacceptable. sexist. On the other hand, he remained staunchly anti-Nazi, anti eugenics, and anti Soviet. By comparison, George Bernard Shaw was a vocal fan of Stalin, of Hitler, and of the eugenic removal of Jews and other undesirables. Shaw’s words remain fashionable, while Kipling’s do not. Such is the nature of fame.

Sewage jokes, limericks, and a song.

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I ran for water commissioner (sewer commissioner) of Oakland county, Michigan last year, lost, but enjoyed my run. It’s a post that has a certain amount of humor built-in. If you can’t joke about yourself, you’ve got no place in the sewer. So here are some sewage jokes, and poems, beginning with an old favorite; one I used often in my campaign:3b37b9cab2d27693de2aa7004a3d90ef

Why was Piglet staring into the toilet?
He was looking for Poo.

Last week someone broke into the police station and stole all the toilets. The cops are still searching. So far, they have nothing to go on.paperwork

On administration: In life as on the toilet, the job isn’t done until the paperwork is finished.

Speaking of toilet paper: do you know why Star Trek is like toilet paper? They both go past Uranus and capture Klingons. I wrote an essay on Toilet paper — really. 

Here’s my campaign song and video. It’s sung by Art Carney (I’ve no rights, but figure they’ve expired). The pictures are of me, my daughter, and various people we met visiting sewage treatment plants around the county. Great men and a few great women who don’t mind getting their hands dirty. 

septic12

The Turd Burglar, We’re No.1 in the No. 2 business. What a motto!

And now for sewage Limericks:

There once was a man named McBride.
Who fell in the sewer and died.
The same day his brother
Fell in another,
And they were interred side by side.

There is a double intent in that Limerick, in case you missed it

By the sewer she lived, by the sewer she died. Some said t’was disease, but I say, Suicide

sewage treatment

sewage treatment plant in Pontiac, MI — the county’s largest.

How do you describe a jocular sewage joker? pun gent.

Life is like a sewer, what you get out of it is what you put into it (Tom Lehrer). And sometimes it stinks.

Robert E. Buxbaum, June 4, 2017. There is just one more sewage joke I know, but I thought I’d leave it out. It concerns the sewage backup at the prom. Unfortunately, the punchline stinks.

Abraham ROFLed; Sarah LOLed.

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Something is lost, and something else gained when the Bible is translated into modern terms. Some grandeur is lost, some weight, but what is gained is a sense of intimacy, a personal relationship to the events and people.

Consider, for example, Abraham’s reaction when God reveals that he will have a son (Gen. 17:17). The King James translation is “Abraham fell facedown; he laughed and said to himself, “Will a son be born to a man a hundred years old? Will Sarah bear a child at the age of ninety?” There’s grandeur, but the event is distant from me.

Similarly, The Living Torah, “Then Abraham bowed down to the ground, but he laughed to himself in disbelief. ‘How could I become a father at the age of 100?’ he thought. ‘And how can Sarah have a baby when she is ninety years old?'”

I don’t find this translation relatable either. To me, it would be better to say that Abraham did the first ROTFL (Roll on the floor laughing): “Abraham ROFLed, how grand to have a son at 100 years…” It brings up a pleasant image: of Abraham as a man of red face and good humor, a hearty companion, and a good host. Someone you’d want to visit, not a stick-in-the-mud who you visit because he owns the last hotel on the road to Sodom.

Not totally the way I see it: Sarah looks stunned, but at least this captures a jolly Abraham.

Not totally the way I see it: Sarah looks stunned, but at least this captures a jolly Abraham.

And the same with Abraham’s wife, Sarah. Her home is full of dusty tourist guests, and she feeds them steak. Do you see a silent martyr, or a jolly sort who genuinely likes guests. This is important because we are to learn from these stories, Too often the doctors of the religion seem to want martyrs, but my read of Genesis is that sh’s jolly.. Sarah listens to the tales of her guests, and when one says she will have a child at 90, she LOLs (laughs out loud, Gen. 18:12) “So Sarah laughed to herself as she thought, ‘I’m old and my husband is too, will I have fun!” If God wants something weird Sarah is up for it. To her, it sounds like fun. And after that, “Will I nurse a child?!.”

I note that these are the paradigms of humanity, individuals that God loved, and spoke to at length. So lets do the same, be open to the positive, weird future, wherever God takes us. Let’s behave as God himself does. For, as we find Psalms (2:4), “He, who sits in the heavens, laughs; He mocks those who plan against HIm.” Now, ask the doctors of your religion, why are you so serious, when “He, who sits in the heavens, laughs”

Robert E. Buxbaum, January 12, 2016. This is my third essay on religion, all of them, I guess on the lighter side. In the first, I note that science and religion are opposites, In the follow-up, that secular philosophy and religion are uncomfortable competitors, and now that God likes the jolly (you probably prefer the jolly, too.)

Chemical engineers and boilers, ‘I do anything’

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One of the problems I run into trying to hire chemical engineers is that their background is so varied that they imagine they can do anything. Combine this with a willingness to try to do anything, and the job interview can go like this.

Me: You have a great resume. I suppose you know that our company is a leader in hydrogen engineering (in my case). Tell me, what do you see yourself doing at our company?

Engineer: I don’t know. I do anything and everything.

Me: That covers a lot of ground. Is there something that you do particularly well, or that you would particularly like to do here?

Engineer.: Anything, really.

Me: Do you see yourself making coffee?

Engineer: I could do that, but was thinking of something with more … responsibility.

Me: OK. Could you design and build a 5 kW, gas-fired boiler?

Engineer: Himm. How much coffee did you say you guys drink?

Current version of our H2 generators (simplified) and the combustion-heated modification I'm working on.

Current version of our H2 generators (simplified) and the combustion-heated modification I’m working on.

Not quite where I was going with that. The relevance of this joke is that I’m finally getting around to redesigning our hydrogen generators so that they are heated by waste-gas combustion instead of electricity. That was the plan originally, and it appears in almost all of my patents. But electricity is so easy to deal with and control that all REB generators have been heated this way, even the largest.

The current and revised processes are shown in the figure at right. Our general process is to make ultra pure hydrogen from methanol and water in one step by the following reaction:

CH3OH + H2O –> CO2  + 3 H2.

done in a membrane reactor (see advantages). My current thought is to make the first combustion heated hydrogen generator have an output about 2/3 as large as our largest. That is, to produce 100 scfh, or 50 slpm, or 6 kg of H2/ day. This could be advantageous for people trying to fuel fork lifts or a hybrid, fuel cell car; a car could easily carry 12 kg of hydrogen, allowing it to go an extra 300 miles.

The generator with this output will need a methanol-water feed rate of about 2/3 gal per hour (about 80¢/worth pre hour), and will need a heat rate of 2.5 to 3 kW. A key design issue is that I have to be sure not to extract too much energy value from the feed because, if there’s not enough energy in the waste gas, the fire could go out. That is, nearly pure CO2 doesn’t burn. Alternately, if there is too much flow to the flame or too much energy content, there might be over-heating. In order to avoid the flame going out, I have a pilot flame that turns off the flow if it goes out. I also plan to provide 30% or so of the reactor heat about 800 W, by burning non-wast gas, natural gas in this iteration. My plan is to use this flow to provide most of the temperature control, but to provide secondary control by (and safety) by venting some of the off-gas if the reactor gets hotter than a set limit. Early experiments suggest it should work.

The business side of this is still unknown. Perhaps this would provide military power or cabins in the woods. Perhaps ship-board auxiliary power or balloons, or hydrogen fueling stations, or perhaps it will be used for chemical applications. With luck, it’ll sell to someone who needs hydrogen.

Robert E. Buxbaum. December 4, 2015. By the way, hydrogen isn’t as flammable as you might think.

Disney’s Star Wars seven: muppets in space

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I just bought tickets for opening night of the new Star Wars movie, “The force Awakens,” now produced by Disney instead of Lucas Film. While the original films were not family unfriendly, Disney has a peculiar wholesome reputation to uphold and a peculiar taste for cross marketing. As Disney now owns the Muppets, too, and the muppets 30 years ago made some cross-promotional photos with Kermit and Piggy, I now propose the following plot to integrate the photos into the saga as it stands.

We know that the main characters from SW6 (Empire Strikes Back) are back. Harrison Ford appeared on an entertainment magazine wearing a peculiar black vest. I expect to see them on sale, as the Indiana Jones hat was on sale, and maybe still is (I nearly bought one). In a preview he’s shown handing a blaster to a young girl dressed vaguely like a Jedi. My guess is this is an orphan he’s found, and that she’s going to become a Jedi. Han’s personality never changes in the earlier movies, and neither did Leah’s, so my expectation is they’re still the same here. I see Leah leading the free rebels, making pompous comments about uncle Luke, or about the kids (I expect they have at least one child). Han remains a grumpy fly-boy, with perhaps some depreciating humor about his age. I expect Leah to plan the winning air battle, and expect Han to pick the kids up at the end of the movie, and to fly off in the old Millennium Falcon station as the credits roll. Han and Leah are not main characters; mostly there for reference and continuity.

This is a meme on Facebook, don't know who did it, but clearly relevant to Star Wars 7.

I saw this on Facebook; don’t know who did it.

In the preview, the girl enters a wrecked star ship and hears a voice saying, “who are you?” The girl answers “nobody.” I’ll guess this is a new female companion, who is, like the girl a castaway. All the key people enter Star Wars as castaways of one sort or another (Han, Luke, Chewie, Obiwan, Yoda, Anakin, Qui Gon, Jar Jar Binks…) It’s a pattern found with the baby Moses, or the young Oedipus found by Polybus. Finding such castaways is rarely good luck for the finder’s clan. As the castaway is unseen, I’ll assume it’s a certain muppet, a voluptuous pig who dresses like Leah. We’ll call her Lola. My guess is that Luke will be taken by her. Is it love? Can Luke be true to her and to the force? The Ghost of Yoda will appear to claim she’s trouble, and will remind them that control of feelings is of utmost importance. (Yoda’s a creeper, as was Obi Wan: teaches emotion control and pacifism; helps Luke blow up a death star).

The previews also show a handsome black ex-storm trooper, perhaps he’ll be a love interest for the girl, and perhaps the next generation of Jedi: the force has to awaken in someone. Either way, he too is a castaway. There’s also a bad guy in black. I don’t expect another castaway, so I’ll guess this finally is the biological son of Han and Leah, and that he’s the first student of Luke.

I see a new love interest: Lola, the she pig. Can she be trusted? Can Luke keep true to her and to The Force?

I see a new love interest: Lola, the she pig. Can she be trusted? Can Luke be true to her and The Force?

The bad guy is shown at the head of an army of Imperial storm troopers. He’s been turned bad, perhaps by the skull of Vader? Luke, dressed in black, is still on the good side and will try to teach the girl and storm-trooper, dressed in white, but without much success. He’s lost his nerve. Someone is shown in black, with a cross- shaped light-saber; my guess is it’s Luke. Disney would not put a cross in the hands of a villain (just saying). The red cross shape flickers suggests anguish. My guess is there is a foreshadowing that Luke will eventually perform an act of self-sacrifice, like Christ or Obi Wan; can’t let the cat out of the bag.

Not knowing otherwise, I’ll assume that the ex-storm trooper is the McGuffin, or has it. It’s he that attracts the bad guys. He conveniently crash-lands on a desert planet where we also find Han, the mystery girl, and the mystery pig (the force is strong with him). Perhaps he’s been turned to the good side by the mystery pig. The Empire attacks and Han takes them all to the Rebel base where we meet Leah and Luke. Luke sees something in the trio and (I’ll guess) takes them to Degoba, the planet where Luke was trained. Why? Luke won’t say. I picked Degoba because that’s where the muppet shoot was. I expect one robot to go, and the other robot to stay behind with Han and Leah. Robots always accompany people in SW, like valets.

I expect Luke’s ship to be blown up on Degoba, stranding them. They get stranded in every movie, so why not. But who did it: Luke? Lola? One of the kids? Something’s not kosher about the pig. Is she a sith with a snout (say that five times fast). I imagine Luke teaching the kids some Jedi stuff, but growing frustrated. He tells them to control their feelings; that fear leads to hate, etc. His niece will say she’s already heard that from Yoda, and will add, What are you doing with the pig? Don’t you see the danger? Luke will try to explain: “You’ll understand when you’re older,” and will walk off with the pig into the woods.

Star Wars, green with envy.

You make me feel like I’m 500 again, but my place is with Kermie. It’s another awkward family reunion photo.

The kids will meet another green, wise one. A frog, named Kermit, who will train them using music and laughter. The kids will then try to explore the woods with Kermit in tow.

Meanwhile Luke, will fire up his cross-shaped light saber and raise up a hoard of dark assistants (or assassins?). Who are they? They are phantasms of Luke’s wayward student, and of other’s he’s injured. Luke will fight a phantasm and kill it; again it’s himself. The girl will show up and he’ll nearly kill her, but Lola will stop them, and tell Luke not to feel bad about the bad guy, his student.

The ghost of Yoda appears, and Lola says, “It’s about time, sonny-boy..”  Yoda will say, “Yes, mommy.” Luke says, “She’s your mother?!”. Lola will look up at Luke and say, “yes, and a very troublesome lad he’s been. “He’s told you all wrong about feelings. “Feelings are good.” The ex-storm trooper and the girl look at each other. Lola will look at Luke and say, “you make me feel like I’m 500 again, but my place is with Kermie.” Kermit  looks lovingly at Yoda.

There’s a space attack from the Empire. Rescuers appear, with Han at the lead in the falcon. The two youths turn out to be excellent flyers. Everyone flies off. Inside the ship, Lola turns to Kermis, “Feelings, Kermie, I’ve been in that prison ship for 800 years, get behind the seats, and I’ll show you feelings.”… Kermis makes a face. Han hits the hyper drive. Ship vanishes, Music swells, and the credits roll.

Buxbaum, Yes, that’s a winning combination script, written. November 23, 2015.

A prison tale (fiction) by R. E. Buxbaum

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I’m writing from the Michigan Department of Corrections; Mail-stop 5678 E, Jackson, MI, awaiting trial on auto-related charges. So, legally speaking, I’m still innocent, if not quite free. So, here’s my  story, and my bargain. The whole situation, it seems, is more comical than criminal. At its source, at bottom, all I was trying to do was take care of some left over issues from unofficial jobs I was doing for the city. For his honor, the mayor. That’s K.K., Kwamie Kilpatrick, the ex-mayor to you, but always his honor to me; great guy. Anyway, cars that fall in the river aren’t that unusual in this town, and it’s not like I planned to smuggle anything to Canada. You’ll notice my case doesn’t involve theft, or injuring anyone but myself. Just trespass, though I wouldn’t mind a short prison stay if it can be arranged. Sort of like Shawshank redemption.

Anyway, my minor crime was committed a week ago, Thursday, and involved a Dodge Viper. One that I own, straight-up, with a partner and the bank: a yellow, convertible viper costing some $220,000 when new. Beautiful machine; tinted glass, and capable of doing 180 mph without breaking a sweat. I use it, or did, to take care of errands for his honor. He tips nice, and helps out when I’m in a jam, so I did get paid for the work, but for the most part, it’s like I’m like a patriot-servant to the city. I’m using my own car for city business. In better days, those errands included taking judges for the occasional joy ride, to the airport or lunch, plus other deliveries. Not generally on the water, like last Thursday, and yes that’s me, waving in the photo. Shame about the car.

As to how I got the viper, I got it at the dealer on Woodward, just over the 8 mile bridge, and paid for it mostly myself, with a loan from First Federal. At the time I had a good job running errands for his honor, as I mentioned. Now I’m so of unemployed. What sort of errands? The sort of ones you’d want to run in a viper, Duh. Aside from driving judges to meetings, there were girl errands; some boy errands; some money errands. Occasionally a disposal — nothing illegal, but embarrassing maybe. When you’re disposing of city property, you don’t look too carefully at the item. When you’re carrying something big, or someone’s wife or girlfriend, or a lot of money, it’s nice to be able to move quickly. Judges and senators like to move fast too, behind tinted windows. They still do.

Anyway, after his honor goes to prison (real shame, that), and my job becomes near-ended. There’s still some errands to to, but not so many, and I’ll grant that the viper has become more of a liability than an asset. Not that there’s insurance fraud behind me ending up in the river, just good-ole fun, and maybe a little reckless driving. I’m owing like 165k still on the machine, and my brother and I came up with this great plan for a movie — no fraud intended. There’s this great spot that we know by Zug Island, where the Rouge meets the Detroit river. It’s pretty well deserted, with a pier and a boat ramp. We used it all the time, back in the day for meetings and such. No-one goes there because of the smells. There’s always an oil slick and the water there will dissolve most anything metal. The Zug Island folks make sure of there are no cameras or loiterers either — just so no-one steals their secrets. Anyway, my brother and I figured that, if I got the viper up to about 30- 40 mph on the pier we could sail it out over the rocks and garbage into the river, land softly in the water, and make for a great movie. We never planned to file an insurance claim like we’d lost the car or it was stolen. Anyway, the water’s only about 8′ below the end of the pier, so it’s sort of like a high-dive. I figured I’d get out of the sinking car swim up to the boat ramp, and walk to my brother’s car on the street. The car would dissolve to rust in a week; the water’s pretty nasty there. He’d film the whole thing. I’d dry off; we’d drive home, have a beer or two, then sell the film. Probably pull the rust out of the river in a week, just to keep everything in it’s pure, pristine state. Though, now that I think of it, insurance might still cover most of the value of the car. You never know.

So the first part goes OK. We drive to the pier about 9:00 PM, Thursday, just as the sun’s setting. There’s that good, reddish light over the Windsor skyline, and the pier is empty. There are two winos off far from my intended route. My brother and I take down the top and line up the vehicle so I avoid unwanted bumps and garbage as I sail out on my way to glory. And, with a shot of Jack, and a wave to my brother (It’s on the film), I go shooting out down the pier and over the water. Fine. No bumps, no rocks. Nice flight. No soft landing, though. The car hits water like a pumpkin on concrete. Ouch! The thing bends in the middle sealing the door shut and me inside. There’s hardly any spring to the seats anyway, and what little there once was is lost. My back gets twisted into the steering wheel. I can barely turn and I can’t quite get out. Then, about 5 minutes later, the air bag goes off. Guess they didn’t design for this accident. My back, is now twisted into the sat-back, and I’m in pain.

I think it’s some sort of Sprite Healey fracture like Kevin Everett got last year. I can walk, thanks, but it needs medical attention that I’m not likely to get on Medicaid. Anyway, like I said, I’m trapped inside the vehicle, and suppose I’d be dead if the car sank like we planned, bit it don’t sink. The thing floats. Like, forever. The car weighs like two tons and it floats! Who knew. I’m carried by my momentum and by some random Rouge current out past Zug Island into the main channel between Detroit and Windsor where I’m almost run down by an ore boat. Anyway, the yellow metal Viper-dingy I’m in gets noticed by the boat lookout and by some fishermen, but no one helps. Everyone’s seems to think it’s really funny. They’re all taking pictures, and texting, and calling their friends. And everyone is laughing but me. It’s funny, like a fart in a space suit. Meanwhile my brother’s been driving along by the river, filming everything and hoping I get out and can somehow swim to safety, and I keep floating off to Canada. Finally, someone calls the coast guard, but when the come, it turns out I’m in Canadian waters. So the Canadians come, and they’re all think it’s a boot. I’m a celebrity with pictures of me in my car floating all over the internet. And well, here I am, a relatively innocent man, with a junked car and a bad back. And I’m ready to make a deal. I’ll admit it looks like I was planning to defraud someone, but there’s no evidence. I’ll admit to trespass if you like, but not fraud or endangerment. There was no one there to endange, and no one endangered, except of me. And I won’t press charges (little joke).

What with all the publicity, I figure you want to press more than just trespass, and what I was thinking of is reckless driving. I’ll admit to that with no contest. Looked at the right way, that’s like a 60 day sentence, maybe 90 days, and that’s just fine with me. I don’t have the cleanest record, but it’s not like I’ve done this before. I think it would be fair if I got 60 to 90-days of incarceration with medical benefits and job rehabilitation. I’d like to learn a new trade, like auto repair. That’s a win-win for everyone. You close the case, and I get cured and put my job skills to work just as soon as I get out. But I really need the medical though. My health insurance doesn’t cover injury-in-performance-of-a-crime — it’s right there on page 28. And Medicare is garbage. Next time you get insurance, your honor, make sure to read the contract.

Anyway, you have the tape and the pictures, and can check with my brother. We have plenty of people who will testify for us, even folks in congress and in the police department. They’ll all tell you, we’re just a couple of good fellows, somewhat down on our luck, waiting to get out and go straight. Thanks for your help, and God-bless.

R. E. Buxbaum. Sept 30, 2015. Some weeks ago, I wrote an essay, “What is comedy.” So I thought I’d try writing one. Tell me how you think I did. No one in the story is meant to be anyone real, except for “his honor,’ who’s meant to be a fictional version of His Honor.

Pelham G. Wodehouse would like to acknowledge

Here is the acknowledgement page of P. G. Wodehouse’s autobiography, “Over Seventy”, published 1957. Wouldn’t we all like to be able to write an acknowledgement like this (and have enough of an oeuvre to make it funny)?

Wouldn't we all like to write one like this.

You have to have a lot of hits — or an imaginary Frisby –to get away with an acknowledgement like this.

For those who don’t know, P.G. Wodehouse (1881-1975)  was the author of some 150 books and plays, plus a hundred or so short stories, radio-sketches and songs. He is best known as the creator of one of the great bromance relationships: carefree Bertram Wooster and his super-competent valet, Jeeves. Wodehouse collaborated on two dozen Broadway musicals including with Jerome Kern (Showboat), Cole Porter (Anything Goes), Guy Bolton, and George Gershwin, and once had 5 running simultaneously. But, to my knowledge, he has never sold an eel, jellied or otherwise.

Robert E. Buxbaum, September 1, 2015. “It was one of those cases where you approve the broad, general principle of an idea but can’t help being in a bit of a twitter at the prospect of putting it into practical effect. I explained this to Jeeves, and he said much the same thing had bothered Hamlet.”  (Jeeves in the Morning).

On gays, God, and owning Canadians

Here’s a great letter to Dr. Laura. I don’t know what Dr. Laura said to get this guy started, but I’ll answer at the end as if it came to me. I get good comments too, but mine are more thoughtful, and  less funny.

Dear Dr. Laura:

Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God’s Law. I have learned a great deal from your show, and try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind them that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination. End of debate. I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some other elements of God’s Laws and how to follow them.

1. Leviticus 25:44 states that I may possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can’t I own Canadians?

2. I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?

3. I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual uncleanliness – Lev.15: 19-24. The problem is, how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.

4. When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord – Lev.1:9. The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?

5. I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself, or should I ask the police to do it?

6. A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination, Lev. 11:10, it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don’t agree. Can you settle this? Are there ‘degrees’ of abomination?

7. Lev. 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle-room here?

8. Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev. 19:27. How should they die?

9. I know from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?

10. My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev.19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? Lev.24:10-16. Couldn’t we just burn them to death at a private family affair, like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev. 20:14).

I know you have studied these things extensively and thus enjoy considerable expertise in such matters, so I’m confident you can help.

Thank you again for reminding us that God’s word is eternal and unchanging.
Your adoring fan,
James M. Kauffman,
Ed.D. Professor Emeritus,
Dept. Of Curriculum, Instruction, and Special Education University of Virginia

P.S. (It would be a damn shame if we couldn’t own a Canadian.)

And my answer is: You CAN own a Canadian: go ice fishing with the right bait; put out some Molson’s or Labatt’s while playing the “Hockey Night in Canada” theme. They’ll come, eh.

Just because the Bible allows something, that doesn’t mean it’s a general good, and just because the Bible opposes something that doesn’t mean it’s a general bad. Generally, it’s not up to the individual “believer” to correct things by smiting. Besides, figuring out what God really want’s of each person is really tricky. He appears in a cloud, as it were (Ex. 16:10; Deut. 31:15, etc.). I’d say it’s up to the preachers to try to understand individual people and help them change for the better, ideally he (or she) first improves himself (or herself). Bible literalness isn’t a great approach to religion, I’d say, not science, not threats, nor miracle stories, but real concern and a fine example. Failing at self-improvement (and I usually do) I’d leave it to God to do the smiting. He does an awfully good job of it in the Old Testament and you wouldn’t want Him to lose the knack. R. E. Buxbaum, April 28, 2014.

It's sometimes hard to guess what God wants if you just read the Bible. Gary Hart, BC.

It’s sometimes hard to guess what God wants by just reading the Bible. Gary Hart, BC.

Climate change, and the metaphysical basis of humor

It’s funny because ….. it’s metaphysical, it deals with what’s real and relevant, and what’s secondary and transient– an aspect as fundamental as it is funny. We claim we understand the real, but realize (down deep) that we don’t. A classic of old-time comedy is the clever slave, the sympathetic stooges, of the brave coward, or the most common version– the stupid person who does clever things at the right moment. A typical comic structure is to establish, early on, that this person is stupid (as well as being low, and crooked); he may say some stupid, low things, so we accept it as so, or perhaps someone in authority tells us, as in “Puddin’head Wilson”. But as the story progresses, we see the person do something clever, or show loyalty and bravery. The viewer begins to laugh because he knows that reality is sort-of this way, though our minds must keep people pigeonholed. The reader already knows, perhaps from other comedies, that the slave will turn out to be the hero, the stupid one will one-up the smart and the chicken will save the day– somehow.

Ward Sullivan in the New Yorker

Ward Sullivan in the New Yorker. It’s unsettling when you don’t know if this is a new reality or a passing phase.

In life, we grab on to the patters we see because the alternative, chaos, is worse. All winters are cold, but will this winter be longer or shorter than normal; perhaps the groundhog knows, or perhaps the president of the US knows? We’ve learned to ignore the groundhog, but trust the president. Once we accept, from authority, that winters are getting warmer, we resist any effort to think we may be wrong, or that the pattern of the past may have changed; uncertainty seems worse. But we laugh at comedy, and occasionally get mad. How much evidence before one accepts that the temporary is permanent, or that ones original assessment was flawed? In comedy there’s always a stuffed-shirt character who tries to show off and gets hurt, perhaps by a pie in the face. Then it happens again, and again. The injuries and slow acceptance of the new reality create the humor. A common ending is to discover that the clever slave is a half-nobleman, perhaps the son of the stuffed-shirt, and the crowd goes home happy, with someone new we can trust.

With global warming and climate change, I see the same comedy being played out, and I expect it to reach the same, happy ending. For 20-30 years, till about 1998, there were a string warming winters; as a result we come to believe things will keep getting warmer. Then the president says we have to stop it, and laws are passed but not implemented; Al Gore gets a nobel prize for his efforts to stop global warming; the computer experts predict global disaster if we don’t change by 2005. The studies predict 4-6°C warming per century warming with massive flooding; we make new laws and point to shrinking of Himalayan glaciers, shrinking polar ice, and the lack of snow on Kilimanjaro — all justifications for the need to act fast and sacrifice for the future, and the warming stops. So far it’s been 16 years and no warming, the snow’s comes back to Kilimanjaro, and the seas have not risen. A few scientists start saying there may be a problem with the models, and the president gets mad about the headless chicken skeptics.

The US is then/now hit with the coldest temperatures since the early 1900s, with as much snow as 1904, but it’s never clear if this is a fluke or the new normal reality. Has the real pattern of warming changed, or maybe it never was. Kilimanjaro’s still snow-capped, the glaciers have returned to the Himalayas, and the antarctic ice swells to record size. The US sees a year with no major hurricanes.  We can laugh, but there’s no laughter from the President of The US, or the Prince of England or any who solemnly predicted disaster. Like the stuffed shirts in a comedy, they double down, and roar at the deniers; “They’re pawns of the lobbyists.” And I suspect the resolution will be that some climate denier will be crowned as the new expert, and we’ll go on to worry about a new disaster.

For what it’s worth, the weather seems to be chaotic (Chaos is funny); we appear to have been seeing part of a cycle that has an up-period and a down period. Something like that is shown by the 100 year plot of temperature data from Charlotte Carolina shown below.

Charlotte SC average temperatures over the last century.

Charlotte SC average temperatures over the last century. Perhaps the recent warming is part of a cycle. Is it clear there has been a change in climate. If so, where does the change start?

Robert E. Buxbaum, March 9, 2014. Surrealism is funny because it taps into the ridiculousness of life. Metaphysics humor is behind a statistics joke, an architecture cartoon, and my zen joke.  Physics is funny too.