Skepticism.

"If someone paid me a million bucks to lose twenty pounds, I think I could do it."

I spoke those words tonight, but I wasn't sure that I believed them.

We Are Alone – a rumination.

First, a preface: Martin Seligman, a psychologist from the University of Pennsylvania, wrote the following (abridged) words as a response to The Edge Annual Question (http://www.edge.org/q2008/q08_print.html):

We Are Alone... [Carl Sagan and I.I. Shklovskii's] book [Intelligent Life in the Universe], as most readers know, estimates a handful of parameters necessary to intelligent life, such as the probability that an advanced technical civilization will in short order destroy itself and the number of "sol-like" stars in the galaxy. Their conclusion is that there are between 10,000 and two million advanced technical civilizations hereabouts. ... And this made the universe a less chilly place as well. What consolation! That homo sapiens might really partake of something larger, that there really might be numerous civilizations out there populated by more intelligent beings than we are, wiser because they had outlived the dangers of premature self-destruction.

... SETI (the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence) and its forerunners are almost forty years old. They scan the heavens for intelligent radio signals, with three million participants using their home computers to analyze the input. The result has been zilch.

... I now take the null hypothesis very seriously: that Sagan and Shklovskii were wrong: that the number of advanced technical civilizations in our galaxy is exactly one, that the number of advanced technical civilizations in the universe is exactly one.What is the implication of the possibility, mounting a bit every day, that we are alone in the universe? It reverses the millennial progression from a geocentric to a heliocentric to a Milky Way centered universe, back to, of all things, a geocentric universe. We are the solitary point of light in a darkness without end. It means that we are precious, infinitely so. It means that nuclear or environmental cataclysm is an infinitely worse fate than we thought.

It means that we have a job to do, a mission that will last all our ages to come: to seed and then to shepherd intelligent life beyond this pale blue dot.

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

We Are Alone

We Are Alone. There was a time when the universe contained endless hope, endless possibility; a time when we looked at every star and imagined a new intelligence, a different form of life coming from it to meet us. The Confederated Tribes of the Milky Way Galaxy sent probe after probe towards the twinkling future, scanned swath after swath of night sky, and all was met with silence. No response, no twittering on the other end of the line. We now know – we now believe – that we are indeed alone in this universe, that we have only each other, only the 200 intelligent species that evolved in the specialized radiation of the Milky Way Galaxy.

We are the solitary point of light in a darkness without end. It means that we are precious, infinitely so. It means that collapse of the galaxy is an infinitely worse fate than we thought.

It means that we have a job to do, a mission that will last all our ages to come...


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

We Are Alone. There was a time when the world contained endless hope, endless possibility; a time when we looked over every hill and imagined a new perspective, a different kind of people coming over to meet us. The Town of Newton sent pigeon after pigeon into the sunset, scanned horizon after horizon, and all was met with silence. No response, no flags waving from afar. We now know – we now believe – that we are indeed alone in this land, that we have only each other, only the 200 inhabitants that have lived in Newton.

We are the solitary point of light in a darkness without end. It means that we are precious, infinitely so. It means that the destruction of the town, by man's hand or by God's, is an infinitely worse fate than we thought.

It means that we have a job to do, a mission that will last all our ages to come...


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

I Am Alone. There was a time when the world contained endless hope, endless possibility; a time when I looked around every corner and imagined a new voice, a different person coming to meet me. I called out again and again, but was met with silence. No response, no open arms. I now know – I now believe – that I am indeed alone in this world, that I have only myself, only me, only this same person that I have been and will be.

I am the solitary point of light in a darkness without end. It means that I am precious, infinitely so. But is death any worse now than I thought?

And what, exactly, is my job?


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

In memory of Arthur C. Clarke, who died today at the age of 90.

Tales of a cynic, part two.

A few days later I saw an attractive young woman walk up to the same planter and sniff the flowers in the same manner, but I didn't think to myself "What a chump!" How unfair of me.

Driving to SXSW.

10pm, Tuesday. We are on the road. The rental van is crammed to the gills with gear, but we fit everything in, with breathing room, and twenty minutes in it is a comfortable ride.

Portland saw us off in style, too — we were warned ahead of time that the local music spotlight on KINK would be playing our new record for the first time, and sure enough, as we polished of the packing, Beth Clyman's voice called out our name and The Burden made its radio debut. We just stood there behind the van listening to our hard work. When it was over, Beth Clyman spoke our name again. "That was Scotland Barr & The Slow Drags, who are in Austin for the SXSW Music Festival. We wish the boys lots of luck on their show there..." That made us all feel pretty warm inside, and we pulled away from Zach's in high spirits. We agreed that it was a great way to begin the trip.

10 hours in. It is closing in on 8am. We are driving south through Sacramento. We just stopped at my parents' house in Davis for bathroom, breakfast, and a few hugs. Definitely a step up from IHOP. The sun is up for the first time on our trip, and it's easy to forget that we still have 1800 miles to cover.

20 hours in. We are a half a mile into Arizona, making record time. I drove the leg from Bakersfield to here, and I'm finally fading, so Bryan has taken over. I don't know how much I've slept in the van, but I can only get it in mini increments. I hope that changes and I don't show up in Austin bleary-eyed and Zombie-like.

30 hours in. Ciudad Juarez sparkles to our right, sprawling along most of the southern horizon. To our left is comparatively black; I think El Paso ended a while ago. I can't say for sure, as I was asleep. I think we have all figured out, or grown accustomed to, the slight contortions needed to curl up comfortably in the back seat. It's almost 4am now, and I've been able to sleep on and off since 9pm when we left Phoenix, stomachs full of Mexican food.

The hostess spoke decent English, but the waitress spoke Spanish to us as a default, and we did our pitiful best to reply. Scot is just recently returned from a month in Ecuador, so he was pretty comfortable ordering. Bryan stuck to words on the menu — "uno burro pollo" — and Zach, in his unapologetically Zach style, didn't bother trying. "I'll have the three enchilada plate, please," he said. She understood fine.

I had barely decided. "Uno burro pollo... wait, no [head shake, hand waive] uno burro verde, um, et un taco pollo, por favor."

She repeated my order back to me, I think.

"Oui, merci." I said yes, thank you, in the foreign language I'm used to, and blushed as I realized. "Uh, si, gracias." She didn't give me any confused or dirty looks, but I felt like an ass.

38 hours in. We pull up to our host's house in north Austin. Texas is WIDE. Everything is flattened out – the geological features of Nevada, Utah, Arizona, or Idaho are much more pronounced. The vegetation is slightly different, with thicker chaparral in the most arid places – not much open sand – and low oaks and other deciduous trees elsewhere. Houses are spaced far apart, across wide lawns and streets. Many Texans speak like their geography.

We stumble out of the van, joints creaking. The music festival is already raging in downtown Austin, and despite my weariness, I can't wait to join the throng.

Complaint.

Darn it, you guys! Blogging takes so much time!

I'm on a diet.

Especially since I've been laid up tending to my sore knees and unable to play squash, but even before that, I've been trying to eat more healthily. I've been eating out much less frequently, and trying my best to get enough fruits and vegetables. Bananas, apples, zucchini, eggplant, broccoli, all part of a fair and balanced diet. Most recently I have returned to eating salads – simple enough – just some lettuce, maybe some tomato, cashews, and a light dressing. I like Annie's raspberry vinaigrette dressing, but I ran out about a week ago and was stealing my housemates' inferior Sesame Vinaigrette or Ranch (blech) dressings. Then I realized (because it takes me several days to put two and two together to make four) that I could just mix some vinegar and oil in my Annie's bottle. I tossed in a dollop of blackberry jam for flavor, and shook it up. It was really good. The concoction lasted for a few days. At the end of that time, the thickest bits of blackberry were still in the bottle with some remaining oil and vinegar, and they glopped out onto my salad. It was then that I realized:

I'm putting jam on lettuce.

Tales of a cynic, part one.

Today I saw a man walking down the street – no, he was strolling down the street – and he came up to a planter with a large flowering plant in it, and he leaned over and put his nose in the flowers and smelled them, and I thought to myself, "What a chump!"

My old blog.

Oh, I missed you, old blog. No posts in February! I thought about you a lot, and meant to write, really I did, but it just never happened, and now look, it's March. Well, I'll make it up to you. I'll be on the road for most of March, with a lot of van time and nothing much to do but type type type. I promise, I won't neglect you again. Not for a few months anyway...

I thought about blogging today from Oregon City High School, where I spent 20 minutes accompanying (two different students) and five hours chilling between time slots. Oregon City High School is in an immense building. There are nine different wings, lettered A-I. They have two basketball courts, one of which is on the second floor (!) of the building. They have a beautiful concert hall and excellent music facilities. The major rooms (Gymnasium, Principal's Office) have their names printed in English, Spanish, and Cyrillic (I assume it was Russian, but I can't be sure). According to Wikipedia, over 2200 students attend the school. These students have access to a coffee shop next to the cafeteria, an ATM, and a store where you can buy school related items. I didn't.