Who's Now, CUFF?

Football season will soon be starting once again; you know what that means...

Why 'The Myopic Manifesto'?

For one thing, the title alliterates, but you and I know that is no explanation.

At once, I say the blog is 'myopic' to admit I have no long term vision for the material and opinions I express here. The entries that appear are merely an accumulation of observations on a stage as eminent as a playground.

When I begin to write on this page usually I have a foggy understanding of just what I will write. So, you coul say I conduct this whole writing enterprise with a dimness of vision that might be called myopic.

Finally, I thought 'myopic' a fitting descriptor for a novice's writings, which is to say: naïvely dire and biassed by immediacy.

I thought myopic sounded swell with manifesto. And since a manifesto is a public declaration of aims and policy - it fits pretty snuggly. I realize that in the wake of Ted Kaczynski's famous 'manifesto' the word also tends to connote the doctrine of a beraved person. But I assure you, I am more or less sane.

Hairy Business

When I finished college, my age caught up with me. As if my body could know its greatest years were behind it - and had no further interest in esthetic preservation - it began to discard hair as though it were ballast from a sinking balloon.

I was in Europe, visiting my sister in Paris not a week after graduation when I began spotting strands on my pillow each morning and on my towels after showers. In a matter of days the hair on my head thinned to the point I could no longer shape it with but a few, hapless passes of my fingers. Instead, I'd meticulously push hair this way and that until it rested in that Euclidean perfection required to hide fleshy veins of scalp left wantonly exposed by this effluvium of hair.

I supposed many superstitious explanations for my misfortune. Among the causes I scapegoated were: the alkalinity of parisian water, high pressure exerted by the showerhead, stress from an oversees plane ride, and my travel-sized bottle of Pert Plus™.

I had never before used a combined shampoo and conditioner.

It's unintuitive, I know, but the most outlandish explanations become the most credible at the height of panic. When one goes completely blotto with worry, the fantastic becomes so ponderously imponderable that its weightiness proves as inescapable as the gravitation of a black hole. And so, one comes to rely, resignedly, on the most unreasonable explanation at hand with the crooked inevitability of weighted dice.

I believed Pert Plus was making me lose my hair.

To this day I cannot be certain that I was guessed wrong. I bought a bottle of another shampoo at a chemist at the first chance I found. Within days there was no further loss of hair to speak of.

Do I really think a shampoo and conditioner tandem caused my hair loss?

No. It seems equally likely that an allergic reaction to turtles, a momentary alignment of the planets, or a series of malicious visits from a Burmese Nat caused hair to precipitate from my head.

Could the hair loss have come from the stress? Since I stopped losing the hair and seem to have regained some of it, I think it more likely.

Eighty-five percent of hair on a healthy human scalp is growing at any given time.* The other fifteen percent is dormant, or in the 'rest' phase.* Dormant hair is poised to fall out within three months, and knew hair will typically take its place.* When one is under stress, much more of his/her hair (up to 70%!) will enter the dormant phase.* Inevitably, all this hair gets the boot within three months. Provided all stressors are removed (and how likely is that by the way?), the hair will reappear within a year's time.*

I can't recall what incubus, if any, would have prompted such unusually high levels of stress some months before graduation. Perhaps it was the job-search or a series of mid-term exams. It's probably best for my present health that those stressors remain forgotten.

I likely won't know what made so much of my hair abandon me that summer, I'm thankful some of it stayed the course. I don't think Pert Plus had anything to do with the problem - but I'll tell you this - you won't get me to use it again!

The Purpose of Life

In the following 50 lines I'll explain (and then refute) the purpose of life, as I see it.

As one who tries to base his beliefs on evidence, I cannot *yet* accept the faith-fueled hypotheses that life exists for any profound intentions such as those that would be appointed to it by a supernatural force. Thus, aside from life's obvious proximate objective, to perpetuate itself, I can think of only one other objective that the biochemical process of life aspires to, and it is also a proximate objective.

In three words, it is this: to oppose entropy.

So that my rhetorical explanation will be as lucid as possible, I'll display it as numbered points:
(1) The total entropy (disorder) of the universe increases according to the second law of thermodynamics.
(2) Events which create entropy are driven to occur spontaneously (e.g. gasses expand, large molecules combust and splinter into smaller ones, buildings crumble, stars burst in supernovae).
(3) A life-form is constructed through a large number of highly ordered biological processes (e.g. a life-form is created when DNA begets RNA, which produces proteins that constitute cells).
(4) A life-form endeavors to bring order into the system around it (large molecules are made in cells, muscles allow the construction buildings, nerves - the authorship of books and the chemical transmutation of ore to iron).
(5) Life removes entropy from the universe, Quod Erat Demonstrandum.

Convinced? You shouldn't be. Now that I've built a case for entropy feeding life with a purpose, permit me to rip the very foundation of that argument to shreds.

Ask yourself: Do the achievements of life forms actually slow the increase in the total entropy of the universe? The very processes of respiration which endow biological entities with the energy to "create order" (which I defined as anything from the synthesis of complex molecules to the construction of tall buildings) themselves contribute entropy. In the case of flora, energy derived in photosynthesis emanates from fusion processes on the star, which also contribute to the increase in entropy of the universe.

Also, I'm also way off base using the term 'entropy' to describe macroscopic phenomenon. The second law of thermodynamics refers to entropy only as an increase in the number of accessed microstates for an individual molecule*, not a decline in the order of aggregates of material that could be found in building collapses or supernovae. So the whole argument is bunkum anyway.

From what we can see of the vast immutable space that constitutes the universe outside of this small, life-containing bubble, it seems that life has not constituted (and will not constitute) more than a modicum of influence on the events inside of it. In light of this understanding, it seems that propositions of any ultimate purposes for life itself are necessarily fruitless, silly undertakings. I promise to refrain from here out, and address much more specific dialectics.

The Post-Season

Should I ever deny I was addicted to NFL football, the following evidence will ultimately confound me.

I am in Dubai, in the United Arab Emirates, where the hotel's internet clicks along at a snail's pace. It is shortly after six in the morning local time - many hours before dawn, but I've been up for hours already listening to an internet radio broadcast of the NFL's divisional play-off games. My heart is racing as my New Orleans Saints trail the Philadelphia Eagles 21-13 at the half.

My knees are bouncing, my fists are clenched, I have a small seizure with every play small or large. What does this game have that keeps my heart on a leash?

My alarm sounded at 4:45 A.M, but I didn't feel tired at all. My mouth was watering, my adrenaline pumping. There was no chance I'd keep sleeping.

I had to ask myself... Why don't have this kind of passion for other things?!

I wish I could wake up for work with this sort of enabling energy - or find a hobby to shock me out of bed in the morning the way that this NFL play-off match-up does. I am afraid the reality might be that this habit has monopolized all of the nerves in the pleasure-sensing dopamine-circuit of my brain. I am hooked on football like a fish on a line.

Go Saints!

Global Warming: Inhofe Out

Today NPR reports that Senator James Inhofe (R, Oklahoma), Chair of the Senate's Committee on Environment and Public Works, is giving up his gavel following the democrats appropriation of the majority. For those who still believe global warming is a giant hoax, this is really bad news.

Inhofe, who has led the committee since republicans took control of the senate in 2002, has been an outspoken advocate of evidence disputing the hypothesis that the world is getting warmer as a result of carbon-dioxide emissions and rampant deforestation. He has called this hypothesis, which he distrusts so immensely: "A great hoax perpetrated on the American people."

If you've seen the movie Thank You for Smoking, you are familiar with the type of work Inhofe has done these past four years. He insists the evidence of scientists is inconclusive in order to stall legislation that would hurt the oil & gas industry - which incidentally provides more campaign funding to Inhofe than to any other Senator in the United States (with the possible exception of John Cornyn (R, Texas)). In his own words Inhofe is insisting "on sound science," a seemingly respectable pursuit - albeit an impossible one.

A scientific hypothesis is, by its very nature, unprovable. A hypothesis can be supported or substantiated, and subsequently earn widespread credibility. But a hypothesis is just a working assumption which must concede to disproving evidence should it appear in future experimentation.

To stall policy while waiting for proof could stall policy indefinitely.

Here I must point out: it is one thing for scientists to reserve judgement ad infinitum, but another entirely for legislators to mull over evidence for centuries. The term given to lengthy study in science is 'investigation.' In congress, it's dubbed 'polemics.'

I'd like to be as objective as possible in my treatment of individuals on this site. To this end, I will try to assume that all human beings are well intentioned. Thus, I credit Inhofe for his judicious scrutiny of evidence and general consideration for the merits of many opinions. But I'll say flatly: I just do not see the same benefit to political inaction.

Politicians are supposed to be decision makers! Which is to say that they are effectually hired guessers. Confident guessing is part of the job!

In case you think Inhofe waits patiently for evidence in all matters, consider his reasons for the U.S. backing the Israeli state: "I believe very strongly that we ought to support Israel; that it has a right to the land. This is the most important reason: Because God said so. As I said a minute ago, look it up in the book of Genesis. It is right up there on the desk."

First I want to know how a Christian bible has infiltrated the Senate floor. Second, I wonder what sound science Inhofe has studied to cite the English translation of an ancient manuscript as a literal transcription of this god (of allegedly supreme credibility). Finally, I want to know why Inhofe's god has dominion over policy of the secular United States government. I wonder if Inhofe is familiar with more recent text: The U.S. Constitution.

According to Establishment Clause of the First Ammendment: "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion." So much for the actionability of the word of God.

If you've read Al Gore's book or seen his 2006 film, An Inconvenient Truth, as Inhofe has, I think you've seen compelling evidence that the earth is baking. While we can't prove the global warming hypothesis, the theory is widely credited.

The evidence is in! Inhofe's out! It's time for the committee to start acting!

A Tear in the Canvas

Let me paint the scene:

It's a gorgeous, Saturday morning in San Francisco. I'm sitting on a park bench by the bay with a cup of coffee, a lox and cream-cheese bagel, and an enthralling book. I watch a light wind blow ornate kites over the heads of delighted toddlers. Alcatraz, The Golden Gate Bridge, and the hills of Marin County form a panorama beyond the choppy sea as boats sail in the marina. A crew of men around my age are outfitted with flags playing football on the green while dog-walkers, bikers, and tandems of joggers pass by. From the distance, I hear the muted trumpet of an ocean-liner approaching the harbor. Occasional susurruses of laughter escape from a bunch of sailors by the docks, who are packing in their rigs.

I smile. Such beauty!

I'm still in my reverie as I meander up Fillmore Street, by the Marina school - its marble facade glistening in the afternoon sun. The land beneath my feet is the rubble of the great quake from 1906. I marvel that the stately houses around me are built on ash and mortar bulldozed into the sea. Tragedy decomposed into such splendor!

Just then a bicyclist at the intersection stops abruptly. A black sedan following too closely nudges his rear tire. The cyclist dismounts, removes his helmet, and kicks the grill of the car as the demure lady behind the wheel mimes frightened apologies. Obscenities echo off of the walls of surrounding buildings like the bursts of firecrackers. People stare. "She hit me!" shouts the pedestrian, scanning the sidewalks for support, and finding only aghast onlookers with open jaws. "I've got to teach this woman a lesson!" Remounting his bike the cyclist plants himself in front of the car at the intersection, refusing to budge. Within seconds, horns blare, but the impetuous cyclist remains motionless. The woman in the car sighs and rests her head on the window, exasperated.

At last - a tear in the canvas.