What is this site all about? Penetrating question. It's not a blog or tweet. Better check this link.
Whatever you do, keep checking this site. This site doesn't change as often as the Drudge Report or a bot-driven tweet, but often enough. I expect to be publishing new things all the time, until my personal Statute of Limitations for Octogenarians expires. Besides, catching and correcting typos and other boo-boos is ongoing. I just now fixed three more. You could find keeping tabs on whether I finally recognized and rectified your favorite erratum as exciting as Trump Tweets.
JUST ABOUT EVERYTHING HAS BEEN ADDED TO, REVISED, OR REWRITTEN. THIS IS ALMOST A NEW SITE, AS ONLY AN 88-YEAR-OLD COULD WRITE. BETTER CHECK EVERYTHING!
• SHORT SHRIFTS renamed: SHORT SHRIFTS / TWEETS Sunday Nov 19, 2017
• README, 1st page: first draft 2012; last revision, Thursday, November 19 2017 Link
• NEW ESSAY - WHADDAYA MEAN, INDESCRIBABLE?. Link
• Senior Moment 3 - brand spanking new. New entry Wednesday, Septeber 20, 2017 Link
• Cosmic Dust. Re. irreducible complexity of the EPA and the flagellum. Link
• Short Shrifts 7 -- brand new page! More and more Shrifts emerging! laltest 6, 2018 Link
• Short Shrifts 6. Friday, March 24, 2017 Link
• Daubs, Wednesday, Thursday February 8, 2018. Link
• Senior Moments 2, updated Thursday, March 9, 2017: Link
• Parkbench Platonic Dialog, Friday, October 14, 2016. Link
• "Black Hole Humor" (look for neo-mutant-humanist posthumanity). Tuesday, December 13, 2016. Link
• Artist's Statement, Tuesday, February 21, 2017, Link
YOU GOTTA BELIEVE IN ... YOURSELF? or, Upsy-daisy! January 2, 2017
Believe in himself, indeed O’Reilly does, in italics. Add Donald Trump, in spades. Quietly, humbly self confident they are not. These two are but the most recent talked-about examples of the core human craving for empowerment. This week they're crowing; next week one or both may be eating crow. But there’s always going to be a this-week’s chest thumper. Chest thumping will always be with us and is universal. It’s even metastasized to blueberries. Click here for more
THE SUPERANNUATED THINKER, OR, WHAT WAS I THINKING? September 28, 2017
A just-retired old man sits down one day and happens to ... set's him to thinking, hard, in a new way. Despite himself, and dragging his rickety feet, he finds himself .... Nowadays it's just too embarrassing, his being so, well, weird. You'll just have to read this to find what got the old codger so shook up. Click here
Apologies, profound apologies, to Rodin
I AM THE KING OF NORWAY
In this story the Dean of my med school was a woman, I'm pretty sure. But the way the story unfolded everything was necessarily dim. Flash appearances and disappearances of faceless characters and flashbacks were as fleeting, befuddling, and stroboscopic as in a modern TV documentary or a Freudian dream. Looking back, now that my brain is a little less muddled, the story is even fuzzier. But I'm pretty sure that it was a she, a faceless she, who somehow arranged for me to be King of Norway. Read More
MY RETROSPECTIVE EXHIBITION - OR, AN OCTOGENARIAN ARTIST'S STATEMENT, closest thing to my memoirs I'll ever write.
Commencing before I can remember, probably at birth, or before, my life in art was like breathing or like drooling Gerber Baby food, that natural. I simply just did it without ado much less an Artist’s Statement. In fact I’d never heard of the Statement until I was halfway through “my life in art,” halfway through life. Early in 2016 I was invited to hold an exhibition, "My 87-year Life in Art" at La Sierra University whence I had graduated (when it was naught but a small Bible College) in 1948. An Artist’s statement posted on the gallery wall is standard nowadays. I was required to write one. Likewise standard, tightly standard, the content of the Statement. So I churned out one that was inoffensive, uninformative, and as short as any piece I've ever written. The curator was satisfied but not old me. So I went home and for almost the whole of 2017 and into my 88th year belabored a second Statement, as elongated as the first was circumcised, as let-it-all-hang-out as the first was kosher, a substantial part being a nonstandard rant about .... Want to read more? click here
ACADEMIC FREEDOM STRIKES AGAIN!
The two revolts for Academic Freedom herein reviewed actually happened at two real and still virtually parochial universities, nice campuses, both nearly or over a century old. But I think it unnecessary, even unseemly, to name the universities. That’s because for my present purposes the two Academic Freedom revolts, and where they happened, are but informative examples of a threatening climate change upon the face of the planet, a climate change not only on our campuses but our culture, our civilization, and thus best thought of as allegorical. But even though both revolts came to light on, and were inflamed by, the web, which transcends them from the literal into the allegorical, the actual links will be given.
Back in 2009 educatetruth.com appeared online to fan a little breeze over a peculiarly fragrant petunia – theistic creation/evolution – being furtively nurtured in the Department of Biology hothouse at a certain west coast university, an institution that, as a seedling, had been rooted upon Genesis 1.
Inasmuch as one of the principals was a scientist (medical), a hematopathologist, who had also intensely studied the evolution-creation conflict and concluded that the weight of evidence is for Creationism, I expected attention would center on the validity of creation, and also on whether deviation therefrom should be tolerated at a Bible-based institution. As it turned out the heaviest attention was not on heresy but Academic Freedom. Galileo was cited. READ MORE
I am settled on a park bench, soothed by the susurrous summer background hum of bulrushes in the pond and dragonflies on lily pads, many muffled iPod ear buds and – am I imagining it? -- fingers being dragged across a thousand iPads. Professor Plagno, a tenured Platonist with more than a dash of agnosticism, which he espouses possessively, has just strolled up, right on time. Bowing, he says, “Greetings, Dr. Wes, my dear Loma Linda University physician old-time Seventh-day Adventist gormless Genesis-1 creationist.”
“I’m always honored.” says I, making room for him on the bench. “Shall we continue our dialog as Plato and Socrates, or go with Abbott and Costello this time?”
PREFACE, why and whence cometh these dialogs: Preface
FIRST DIALOG Platonic Friendship
SECOND DIALOG Platonic Emanations
THIRD DIALOG May The Form Be With You!
FOURTH DIALOG Prove it!
FIFTH DIALOG Cusp
SIXTH DIALOG Platonic Endship
NOTE: clicking the above links will take you to pages on THIS site. All six of the dialogs are also separately published together at a separate web site especially for these dialogs: http://www.parkbench.Platonicdialogs.com/index.html (click)
• In accordance with FCC, NSE, EPA, FDA, NFA, DNA, UFO regulations, be it known that this e-facility is a vaguely owned subsidiary of Al-Geezera, Inc, and is closely monitored by Smart Cremation, Inc.
• Latest hearing-aided failure of communication:
SHE: "I just came back from getting cat food."
ME:"...from GETTING TATTOOED?"
• I'm so old I remember when we jokingly referred to women as of the "female persuasion." Now it turns out that that was the most prescient thing I ever said! Good sign for a politically correct rest room.
• To be a mad-dog or a lap-dog, that is the question (if you're a dog or a general).
• You're not surprised the photographer is being sued for virtual sexual harassment or is it sexism? He didn't retouch her enough.
• Anything carried to its logical conclusion is... you wouldn't want to go there, buddy!
• My favorite desert is lemon harangue pie. In your face. Let’s do lunch.
• To have the gift of gab or the gift of garb, that is the question.
• I'm so old I remember when men sought wisdom. Now, smarts. Don't suppose a wisePhone would sell.
• He that sows wild quotes reaps the wind.
• I'm so old I remember when if somebody said to me "I've got your back," I'd tell them to please get off it.
• I'm so old I remember when news was released. Now without exception it's leaked. So our fake news needs diapers?
• To be or not to be, what does it matter? That -- That's the question now, after thoroughly postmodern Hillary.
• Aged executives may retain token respect, even a token office. But no clout.
• The push to make disbelief of Global Warming illegal is proving more sustainable than the push against illegal aliens
• Sustainable the planet may turn out not to be, but a tattoo is.
• It's so sad, so very sad that Caitlyn Brucia Jenner can never experience the miracle of an abortion.
• Old doctors never die, they just sit in young doctor's waiting rooms (take it from me).
• Total free care for everybody includes free contraceptives and abortions, even for nuns. That's a start, but it won't be truly comprehensive until it includes free iphones for everybody waiting forever in the ER to finally be seen by a doctor.
WHADDAYA MEAN, INDESCRIBABLE?
A young hotshot doctor is now very old, stone deaf, fearful – and at last learns what he hadn’t learned at the world’s largest and most prestigious hospitals. READ MORE...
Children yakking screeching in the park,
I used to hate it grating my youngish ear.
HiFi stereo booming hellishly blaring
I would for hours sit and resolutely hear.
Now my deafened ears and aged heart
Delight in children’s laughs and shrieks.
My pricey audio gear I never go near.
I think I shall never see
A long-haired implanted tranny
Who endured tons of surgery
Just to be a sweet old granny
BACK TO YOU, BARBIE
It’s not news that TV news is anything but.
It’s a totally filtered extreme make-over,
Wigged and rigged, reassembled, re-boxed,
All the issues and wrinkles equally botoxed.
Calamity, corruption, pot and Republican pratfalls
All are chirped by waxen Barbie Dolls
Into e-tweaked Pantone pink-toned iPods.
All were polished at Madame Tussauds.
OPPOSITE ENDS OF THE HALL
I’ve driven by the place, driving the freeway, but never stopped, never been inside. Driving fast, I glance over at the sprawling complex of buildings. The main tower appears to be two or three times taller than my old hospital, but it can’t have halls as long as the ones where I used to make rounds. I see no grounds at all. Instead, two or three huge parking structures where the lovely grounds used to be. No zoo. But what I’m really seeing are two anxious families of dear old gentlemen, each at the end of his life – one group seems to be armed -- positioned at opposite ends of an endless hall. READ MORE...
Last night we were watching a TV nature program on flowers. Jasmine, sweat pea, bleeding heart. A fully spread red rose. The orchids, oh, the orchids! All the zoomings-in on petal and bract, spathe and spadix; quivering pistils and arrays of prongs, threads, fibrils, tendrils arched or erect, packets and finials powdery or wet with nectar, hidden and cloaked or flaunted. Petals: textures as leathery as a saddle or as translucent as her peignoir; suggestive, private, sensuous…forbidden. Beards, ruffles, frills; fractals and fugues, confounding or merry and playful. Colors deadeningly intense defeating the digital color gamut, or only hinted by the the delicacy of a dream. Passion flowers and primroses, orchids and daisies; nasturtiums and rhododendron. Astilbes. Hollyhock. Bugbane, bee-wort. Suddenly the narrator stopped and blurted that old question: “Why are flowers so beautiful?” READ MORE...
For thirty years we lived in Ohio in the middle of a dense woods, with a horde of raccoons, but for the first five or ten years we didn’t know it. We had our suspicions. Sonja did, anyway. In retrospect – for the rest of our lives we’ll be rethinking and feeling it – we sensed they’re out there, in the trees, way up there. Up there in the trees, mostly hidden in the maple leaves -- that cluster of odd caterpillar balls in the crotches of limbs – what is it? Why do we feel we are being spied on?
Then en mass they descended, as often hind-first as headfirst, from the trees. READ MORE...