Sick Transit

Meia and I got back last weekend from a two-week trip to Spain, my first time outside of North America since living in Seville from age 6 to 12. My rambling thoughts are after the jump.

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A brief personal essay is below the fold. I apologize for the lapses into purple prose, but it’s difficult to write well about transcendence. It requires the soul of a poet. If I have a little bit of a poet’s soul, it’s definitely not the part where the talent lies. Which is kind of what this piece is about.

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I was a loner in college. Partly this was due to my religion—I couldn’t develop close friendships with classmates, since non-Jehovah’s Witnesses were considered “bad association”—and partly to my lack of social skills, which made me a bit of a misfit even with my co-religionists. Through the lonely years in my teens when I was home-schooled, the Internet had been my primary social outlet. I participated in a couple of Usenet groups, geeky and somewhat twisted places whose members have probably moved on to 4chan, or wherever the interesting people at 4chan went when it was overrun by idiots.*

When I discovered the world of online Witness boards during my first year of college, it was a revelation. I could use the Internet—the medium that allowed me to hide my awkwardness and insecurity—to meet people whom I wasn’t religiously barred from close contact with. I left the first board I joined, because of excessive doctrinal laxity (they allowed a thread questioning the prohibition on blood transfusions); but over a year later, I found a more orthodox site; and in a few months, friends that I made there invited me to co-found our own board: The JW Zone. (Or sometimes, Z0ne.)

The Zone was many things to me. It was an experiment in incremental freedom—an attempt to loosen some of the religion’s more arbitrary restrictions on speech, thought, and behavior, without challenging the fundamental orthodoxies of the faith. It was also a chance to exercise a little bit of the power that, as a successful student of rule and doctrine, and the son of a prominent local elder, felt almost like a birthright. But above all, it was a welcoming social circle, the end of a long search for a place where I fit in.

Since we were spread all over the country, most of our interactions were online; but every few months we would gather in the hometown of one of our group, for a few days of surprisingly non-boozy college-kid (even though most were above college age) fun. As people’s flights were spread throughout the day, our parting-day ritual was going back and forth to the airport, the entire group sticking together, making a party out of whatever we did.

At one airport, I think it may have been Sacramento, we had time to kill between one trip and the next, so we wandered around the airport aimlessly. Finally, we ended up at the Meditation Room—a bland little chapel of padded chairs, blank walls, and not much else.

Luckily, no one was meditating, so the Meditation Room became our rec room. We talked and joked; we paid mock homage to each other; and someone was baptized with a Sprite bottle. Perhaps some traveler came by who wanted to use the room, and was chased away by our noise; I certainly hope not.

But although I am a quiet person, with that group I was not afraid to be loud. Probably we were obnoxious, but I didn’t worry about that. Certainly we were juvenile, but it felt okay.

Our little group changed over time, as people grew, romances happened, couples married, and hearts were broken. When I left the faith, the rules on former believers mandated a clean break. My friends also felt deceived that I had hid my apostasy for months. So the friendships ended with feelings of betrayal all around. A few folks were kind enough to at least say goodbye.

I’ve made good friends since then, and will hopefully make many more in my life. One of those friends said to me the other day that laughter and play are what make life truly beautiful. I wouldn’t quite phrase it that way—I don’t think they are sufficient conditions. But they are necessary. And so when I think of friendships past, I miss the Meditation Room.

*Or so I’ve gathered. I don’t really follow boards now, so no offense intended to any 4chan-ers out there, except for the dumbasses who hacked my wife’s DeviantArt account.

This has bugged me throughout the inauguration coverage. I’m glad to have an answer, even if the answer is basically “stop being such a goddamn nerd.”

Another one that is too good to pass up:

We don’t call it “consciousness raising” when we explain why you ought to be able to shoot up while selling your kidney to a sex worker, but that’s what it is.

Froma Kerry Howley, via Julian Sanchez.

The chicken feet are sold at Chinese Wal-Marts (among other places) which in China are upscale and appreciated for their high quality American goods.

From Tabarrok.

The chicken feet are sold at Chinese Wal-Marts (among other places) which in China are upscale and appreciated for their high quality American goods.

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I realize that price discrimination is economically rational, and allows airlines to deliver lower prices overall. However, this type of thing still boggles me:

Yes, you read that correctly. Once you fly into New York, Delta will pay you $70 to fly on to Pittsurgh.

I agree with the argument (don’t ban Playboy from army PX’s) of this Corner post, but I’ve got to say that the closing line is priceless:

Whatever Judeo-Christian values we choose to practice and live among here at home, in peace, we are better off not feminizing or Christianizing the military any more than we can avoid.

Because the real reason for being realistic about soliders’ sexuality is not that they have human needs just like the rest of us… it’s that the anti-sex values of Christianity can’t be allowed to trump the patriarchal values of the military.

(Via Drum)

This is the captcha that Facebook just gave me:

Considering that this guy barely held on to his House seat last year, I sure as hell hope he’s not headed for the Governor’s mansion.

Meia and I got back on Saturday from a cruise to Alaska on the Diamond Princess. I’ve written up a couple of notes which might be of interest to anyone planning a similar vacation.

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I just called Napster to cancel my membership (I decided to try them because Rhapsody doesn’t support Vista x64, but I don’t like their UI and their selection was limited) and I have to say, the experience was unexpectedly good.

First I went to my account management screen to cancel. They make you call a phone number to cancel, and I figured “oh no, here we go, they’re going to try and make this a PITA for me.” But it actually took me only two prompts through a menu to get in the queue for a CSR; less then two minutes on hold to actually talk to someone; and the guy briefly asked me why I was cancelling, offered me a free month of service if I stayed, and then gave me a reference number. Completely easy and painless.

I wish I could actually be more positive about the msuic service, but at least I’ll leave with a positive impression of Napster because of this.

Via Intel Dump, an excellent video from a Guardian reporter embedded with US troops in Iraq. It has some disturbing imagery, but the main thing it conveys is the day-to-day grind of danger and fear that wears down both Americans and Iraqis.

My new synonym for ‘full of crap’: “singularly ill-founded.”

There’s an interesting correspondence between Kevin Drum’s Blog for Choice post and Matt Yeglesias’, especially the comments at the latter.

Kevin quotes LizardBreath at Unfogged, who writes about having an abortion, not because a pregnancy would be catastrophic in her life, but because, as a 24-year-old who did not yet have a stable career or long-term relationship, she was simply not ready for a kid. As Kevin says:

Paying obeisance to the view that abortion is an overwhelming emotional and moral decision is politically useful, and as such it may be helpful in keeping abortion legal. … In the long run, the pro-choice movement would probably be a lot better off if we laid off the guilt and simply acknowledged instead that early and mid-term fetuses aren’t sentient and women should be able to freely choose whether they want to bring theirs to term. The world would be a better place.

Matt Yglesias does exactly that, writing:

Since fetuses lack the cognitive functions that are constitutive of moral personhood, it’s not wrong to kill them. One can introduce some additional complications into the equation but it’s basically that simple.

The strongest response in comments was from Anderson:

This glib “cognitive function” stuff may work for philosophy majors (tho not all of ‘em, me being one), but when I saw my baby’s first ultrasounds, his cognitive function vel non didn’t make a helluva lotta difference to me.

As you might infer, I am less interested than I used to be on the opinions of young, single, childless people on abortion. I might as well listen to 8-year-olds who think kissing is “icky” for my opinions on sexual intercourse.

Naturally, others commenters tore into him, and he worked hard to point out that he is pro-choice and feminist. But there was clearly a visceral emotional reaction in his initial comments, and it’s one that’s shared by a lot of people. It’s the evolutionary instinct of parenting kicking in, producing a strong sense of attachment to something that would otherwise be an inconvenient parasite. (And thank Nature for that sense of attachment, of course; without it, most of us wouldn’t be here.)

It would be interesting to see what LizardBreath would respond to that. (Her abortion was 12 years ago, and she’s since had two children.) But I think that us young, childless people need to accept that, for a lot of parents, the question will never be as emotionally simple as it seems to us. Even our own feelings–not necessary our rational opinions, but our emotional perceptions–are likely to change if we have kids.

Conversely, parents like Anderson need to recognize that they may have a big evolutionary blind-spot, rather than a reasonable moral intuition. Instead of dismissing the experience of everyone who has not been inducted into the cult of procreation, they need to accept that the feeling that an unexpectedly pregnant woman has towards her embryo is just as real and valid as the feeling that they had towards their unborn child.

Via Tyler Cowen, an interesting paper (co-authored by Sudhir Venkatesh, the analyst of the underground economy whom Steven Levitt made famous in Freakonomics) about what happened in New York when the Giuliani administration cracked down on street prostitution.

Unsurprisingly, a great deal of prostitution moved indoors, to clubs, brothels, private homes, etc. This was a good thing: indoor prostitutes are immensely less likely to be addicted to drugs or alcohol, and significantly less likely to be subject to theft or violence.

The upshot of these improved working conditions is that more prostitutes are willing to consider sex work as a career, rather than as a way of making ends meet in an emergency. Workers interviewed by the authors say that the autonomy, flexibility and pay are all far superior to their legal work options (usually in the service industry).

There are problems, however. Because of the illegality and stigma of their work, prostitutes are isolated from social networks and from the legal economy. It is difficult for them to switch to other employment if they want to. And they are still disproportionately subject to violence and other crime.

The authors do not address legalization, except in a brief footnote. While legalization would not be a panacea, it would clearly address all of those issues. (The authors note that legalization in Amsterdam increased the divide between legitimate indoor prostitutes and those working outdoors, who are often also substance-addicted. However, they also state that helping street workers is a much more achievable task for social service agencies.) Legalization would bring sex workers into the legitimate economy; allow them to openly create trade associations for mutual support; and provide them police and court protection.

Cowen provocatively titles his post, “should we keep prostitutes on the streets?” The obvious answer, however, is just the opposite. We should not heighten the perils of prostitution in a futile attempt to discourage it; rather, we need to mitigate its ills by working towards carefully regulated legalization.

Andrew Sullivan needs to stop obsessing over Mitt Romney’s underwear.

(Seriously. It’s none of our f*cking business.)

After a tragic construction accident this week in which a Microsoft patent lawyer was killed in his condo by a toppled tower crane, the Seattle Post-Intelligencer is reporting that the crane operator has a long rap sheet, including drug use.

Of course, as the article acknowledges, there’s no evidence yet that the accident was the operator’s fault. Even more importantly, the man’s last drug conviction was six years ago, after which he successfully completed a treatment program. Yet the article, for some reason, feels compelled to mention that last year, he was tried for–and acquitted of–a sex crime. What possible relevance could that have to his crane-operating skills?

Finally, the article ends with a list of “gaps in safety controls”, of which the first is: “The state does not require drug tests before crane operators are hired.” This despite the operator’s employer specifically stating: “We do drug testing here at the company.”

There is, as yet, no evidence that the operator was at fault. Even if he was, there is, as yet, no evidence that he was under the influence of drugs. And if he was, then mandatory drug testing clearly would not have prevented this tragedy, since his employer already implemented it. Yet somehow, the P-I is so convinced that drugs were the problem, that it wants to implement a state regularion that would not have even helped. Where’s the logic in that?

I just got home last night from my first personal trip to the East Coast since moving away from New York in 2003. Meia and I spent nine days in New York, Connecticut, Massachussets, and Rhode Island, seeing sights and visiting family. Meia will undoubtedly post a journal and some pix, but I can’t resist sharing a few tips and wags.

Akdeniz Turkish Cuisine near the Theater District not only has excellent food (try the Sultan’s Delight: chunks of tender lamb on a puree of eggplant and flour), but also the most amazingly efficient service I have ever seen. If you are looking for a lesiurely dinner this is not the place to go; but if you’re worried about making an 8:00 curtain, you will be very happy when your entree appears less than a minute after you finish the first course.

Norma’s at Le Parker Meridien, on the other hand, is a waste of your hard-earned cash. Our omelette fillings were dry and overcooked, toast was cold, and the service was mediocre. A $70 (for two people) breakfast ought to be beyond good; this didn’t even match my neighborhood bistro.

Meia had not been up the Empire State Building before, so we went. It’s an obligatory part of a visit to New York, at least once, and I can’t recommend skipping it. But the hard sell for extra items (in addition to the basic observatory tickets, which are already $14 per adult) is unceasing from the moment you enter the building. They even have a dedicated hawker preaching the virtues of the audio tour to the captive audience in line for tickets. The experience felt like it had been designed by a marketing department on crack. I recall nothing like it the last time I went, in ‘02.

To my surprise, some of the best potato salad I’ve ever had was not in New York, but at the Wheat Market deli in Chester, CT. Similarily, I did not stop at the Strand in New York, but Wellfleet Oyster on Cape Cod has a used book store that is more interesting than even most in large cities.

The Rhode Island School of Design Museum is small, but eclectic and well-selected. As one of their rotating exhibits, they mounted a capsule history of 20th-century Western art–a task so broad that a more distinguished museum would likely disdain the idea–entirely from their own collection, and did a solid job of it. The tiny but beautiful textile collection is also well worth seeing.

Finally, a tip to New York’s new AirTrain, which conveniently connects JFK to the subway, and a wag to the designers of Terminal 3, who failed to observe the basic niceties of pedestrian passage or clear signage. I am safely and happily home, but no thanks to those unnamed architects.