Sunday Scribbles #31 - Bedtime Stories

Once upon a time, in a Land filled with instant gratification, there lived an Urban Princess. The Princess was due at the Ball the next morning, but the excitement of it left her mind racing at night.

Each evening, the Princess lay her petite head upon the pillow, yet sleep eluded her.

Surely, she thought, I have been hexed by that powerful witch of a Department Manager.

Surely, she lamented, it is the fault of the President, who wages war for barrels of oil.

Surely, her mind cried out in the darkened room, I can not sleep because it is a conspiracy of the Liberal Media and Dick Cheney to keep me awake for days on end so that my blurry eyes can not guide my fair hand on Election Day.

(In this Land, it was right and proper to blame everyone else for your shortcomings.)

As she gazed at her popcorn ceiling, vowing to have contractors come out and replaster it sometime before next Summer, a gentle glow filled the room. A large, near translucent green butterfly had gently floated in through her open window while she had been contemplating. It fluttered above her head, sweetly humming a tune.

"My, but aren't you a gaudy, CG-gauzy thing?" she cried, reaching for her slipper.

"Wait!" the butterfly pleaded, ducking behind a half-finished glass of rum on the rocks. "I am magical!"

The Princess gritted her teeth and calculated how much force would be needed in order to squash the insignificant bug without damaging her Ethan Allen Tuscany nightstand. "Magic, my ass!"

"Fair Urban Princess, it is true!" it said, skittering away from the glass and hiding behind an empty package of Unisom. "I can give you and your restless mind the sleep you need. So you can finally enjoy a restful night and a fresh start! So from the time your head hits the pillow until the second your alarm clock sounds, you're getting the peaceful sleep you need."

"Hmmm?" the Princess questioned, a bit intrigued.

"I am designed to give you a restful night's sleep. It not only helps most people fall asleep quickly, I help you stay asleep all night long with fewer interruptions and you will wake up refreshed. I will not lose my effectiveness over time as shown in a 6-month study. Additionally, I am approved for long-term use. That is what makes me unique."

The Princess scratched her chin and contemplated the fact that she was having a conversation with a green-glowing CG-animated butterfly.

"You can feel quite good about taking me," the butterfly added, sensing the close of a sale. "When you're about to go to bed, simply swallow me with a bit of water and get ready to enjoy a restful night's sleep."

"Oh, alright," the Princess said, grateful to have a bit of magic to usher her into slumber.

"Important Safety Information!" babbled the Butterfly suddenly, so quickly that it nearly sounded as though he were an Auctioneer in his larval stage, "I should only be taken immediately before bedtime. Be sure you have at least eight hours to devote to sleep before becoming active. You should not engage in any activity after taking me that requires complete alertness, such as driving a car or operating machinery. You should use extreme care when engaging in these activities the morning after taking me. Do not use alcohol while taking any sleep medicine. Most sleep medicines carry some risk of dependency. Do not use sleep medicines for extended periods without first talking to your doctor. Side effects may include unpleasant taste, headache, drowsiness and dizziness."

"Oh, alright!" moaned the Princess, too eager to capture a dream to bother with words that seemed as if spoken in fine print. "Shut up already and get in my mouth."

She quickly fell asleep moments later, and awoke feeling refreshed the next day. She dressed for the ball, jumped into her Mercedes ML320, and drove along the highway - only to realize that she was still partially asleep as her SUV kissed the guardrail and plummeted off a steep cliff.

The moral of this story: there is no magic pill that will solve all your problems. Treat the condition; do not simply medicate the symptom.

The End.




Read about other Bedtime Stories: Sunday Scribblings: #31

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Pharmaceuticals and Caribou

This sabbatical has taken much longer than expected, and I apologize to my regular readers for leaving them out in the cold. Thank you for all the warm email wishes. At least I feel good. I feel much better than I did the day before. To feel good (to feel well) is to feel alive.

I would like to thank all the little people who made this wonderful event of "feeling good" possible, like Glaxo Smith Kline.

What an interesting topic. Alas, I shall not waste any effort to untangle the treacherous web of pharmaceutical manufacturers. I shall say that, in 2005, Old GSK's pharmaceutical sales accounted for 18.88 billion Pounds Sterling, with was roundly 86% of their total sales. 6.9 billion Pounds Sterling was their profit. Don't we all love those clever Brits? How about some shits and giggles? I found a conversion table: $33,883,192,823.84. "B" as in Billion dollars.

Billions. I think I will be sick. Excuse me whilst I go pop a pill. Never fear! It is a generic one, manufactured by Watson Pharmaceuticals, a humble little joint that provides us with generic formulas to better usurp funds from those tricky Brits at GSK. Watson does respectfully, and reports indicate that for the six months (ended June 30, 2006), total net revenue increased 12 percent to $917.6 million, as compared to $817.1 million for the first six months of 2005. Net income for the first six months of 2006 was $9.6 million, or $0.09 per basic and diluted share, as compared to net income of $79.1 million, or $0.67 per diluted share, for the same period of 2005.

Million. Much more soothing than Billion. I feel better scarfing my name-brand knock off poison now, knowing in soul that I am supporting good old American attitude. I shall now move to Canada to take advantage of the one thing our country can not seem to provide: socialized health care.

"Canada's health care system is a group of socialized health insurance plans that provides coverage to all Canadian citizens. It is publicly funded and administered on a provincial or territorial basis, within guidelines set by the federal government.

Under the health care system, individual citizens are provided preventative care and medical treatments from primary care physicians as well as access to hospitals, dental surgery and additional medical services. With a few exceptions, all citizens qualify for health coverage regardless of medical history, personal income, or standard of living."

Take that, GSK!

I have always wanted to live in Thunder Bay (that is in Ontario, dear readers), and dance upon the majestic shores as bald eagles and Peregrine falcons soar free over my head. I would, in all probably, dance myself off a damned rock and crack my skull on the ground, to be run over by a rogue caribou as I slip into unconsciousness. Not to worry, I will have free health care in Canada, and Watson makes generic hydrocodone to ease my pains.

I could save myself some trouble and move to England, another land of The Free Health Care System, but I'm deathly afraid of Routemaster double-decker buses. I know they were thinned out in the 1980's, but I just will not take the chance of walking near Trafalgar Square and having one jump out at me suddenly. People have been gruesomely mauled by Routemasters, and the 1208GMT 159 bus out of Marble Arch is know to be especially savage.

Aut? What are you on?

Please do not ask that again. You do know I that hate to share.

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Friday the 13th: the Muse Roams Blogland.

Happy Friday the 13th to all of you. Friday is my blogging day, where I can sit back and read catch up on everyone's week. I thought it would be nice to share some of my faviortes with you today:

I have just come back from Roadchick's Roadtrip, where I LMAO over her spewing pumpkin and Friday the 13th Follies. I'm down to the granny panties, but not desperate enough to do the Man Solution and turn things inside out (after first conducting a Sniff Test), at least as far as undergarments go. Better Half has brought only a few items up from the Dungeon Laundry Cell, so by my visual perspective of the upstairs closet, it would appear sniff tests might come into play this weekend. I'm certain (hoping, praying!) that there is more clean laundry downstairs.

Stopping by To Love, Honor and Dismay, I saw an interesting article concerning "How not to ask your husband for help." Thank God for Better Half. I may have to motivate him from time to time, but he is not ashamed of running a vacuum or using cleaning liquids. I did crack up over Dr. Andrew's interview on Basil's Blog.

Paris Parfait has delighted my sense once again, and her photograph of La Giralda Cathedral takes my breath away!

I was shocked to hear that someone I knew passed away this week. Although JerryALT and I didn't chat often, I loved his insight into the Jewish faith. David Shelton gave a wonderful tribute to him in his blog. David has ben working hard on his new book, The Rainbow Kingdom, and it is now available for preorders.

On that note, Michael sent me an autographed copy of his latest work, and I am working on a review of it for Amazon. If I can just get it completed, I will offer a copy to B&Noble. Michael's book can be found at your local book store, or you can order it here. I will publish my review here once it is completed. Michael also mailed me a copy of his article, Kidnapped in Iraq, which is the story of peace activist James Loney and his partner, Dan. This atricle was published in the August 29, 2006 edition of The Advocate.

Lori~Flower had me grinning as she shared that mother's never cease to mother, even after we have left our roaring twenties. My mother would have done the same. Actually, now that I think about it, Mum never fails to give good advice at least once per phone call.

The Benedict Notes, by AnnieElf, set my heart soaring - the return of the Latin Mass. It's about time! I am probably one of the few people who really enjoys Latin, and the greatest beauty is hearing an entire Mass in that tongue. Many Americans will scorn it, to be certain, but they hardly have a say in it, especially as most of them don't bother to even learn what the Mass is about. They sit quietly and recite prayers and have no clue as to what they are supposed to be thinking as they pray. It is my opinion that the average American Catholic is a pod. Can you tell that I have never been a Vatican II fan? Annie's other blog has a lovely haiku about a blackbird, which I promptly printed.

Darren Naish had an interview on the BBC news, which I missed. He also explores the controversial origins of the family dog, and our views are very similar on that subject.

Finally (for today at least) I ended my reading with Sunday Scribblings. This week's theme is #29 - If I could stop time. . . and I encourage all of you to check out their blog and post your own entry.

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My Apologies

I'm sorry I have not made much of an effort to keep up my blog this week. I will probably lose a few readers over that.

It has been a bad month for me physically. The month itself, and the environment around me, is epically beautiful however, and I managed to get a few pictures of the season before the leaves are snatched from the trees by the hands on winter. I'll try to get them posted tomorrow.

As I write this, the first snowflakes are falling outside!

Other than that, I have not been able to do much. My apologies to you.

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A Catfish Paprika Recipe Worthy of George Totin

What does one do with 4 pounds of fresh catfish? The packets were on sale yesterday, and for roughly $3, we would have the makings of a goof fish fry. We would have, that is, if Better Half wasn't too sore from doing yard work yesterday.

There are many things I can do well, but frying fish is not one of them. Better Half, the Southern Boy, can fry anything to perfection. He surely channels Paula Dean and Bobby Flay, if not Emeril. I woke up this morning anticipating spicy fried catfish and a side of winter squash.

Better Half woke up anticipating going back to bed.

What does one do with 4 pounds of fresh catfish? They improvise.

A family favorite in this house (handed down from my Father) is Chicken Paprika. It's a Hungarian dish, heavy on the paprika and sour cream; a true comfort food. I used to make this traditional dish every Father's Day, but since moving away from my parents, I have not bothered to whip up a batch (with the exception of their visit out here this past summer.) It is not that the recipe is difficult, or the ingredients too hard to come by. It simply reminds me of my Dad, and to make chicken paprika is to admit that it saddens me as he is not here in person to enjoy it with us. I have made the dish with chicken, beef and pork... and my mind pondered the possibilities of catfish. Would it work? Would it taste terrible? Could I add the squash to it? Oh, what the hell! Let's go.








Catfish Paprika Recipe
4 pounds fresh catfish, 1" cubes
1 yellow onion, diced small
1 Patty Pan squash, diced small
1 Tablespoon butter
Salt, to taste
Pepper, to taste (we use 1 tablespoon)
Paprika, ground, to taste (we use a whopping 1/8 cup or more!)
1 can low fat, no MSG chicken broth
1 cup sour cream

1 cup shell noodles, cooked

Melt butter on med-hi heat in a large skillet, then add diced onions, salt, pepper, and 1/2 the paprika. Cook until translucent. Add squash and fry for about 2 minutes, or until it begins to become tender. If things get too dry, you can add a tad more butter.

Add catfish to the pan, and stir fry for a few minutes, then add chicken broth and remaining paprika. Cook until catfish is done. Lower heat and add sour cream, a bit at a time, working it into the broth mixture. If you would like the sauce to be more hardy, you can thicken it with flour. Once sour cream is combined, add noodles. Your completed dish should have a medium pale orange color to it.

Enjoy! Share a hardy pot with friends and family.


I tired it... and I like it! The fish doesn't overpower, and the flavor blends well with the paprika and sour cream. Normally, this recipe would be done without squash (and you can substitute pork or chicken.) However, the squash added a bit of harvest aroma to it.

So here's to you, Dad! Wish you were here to savor Catfish Papikosh with us!

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Sunday Scribblings #28 - An Assignment

This Sunday Scribblings was a tough one, as I'm sort of homebound this week - thanks to my crappy body.

As I can not write about any people that I observe (and writing about Better Half becomes too mundane for some of my readers), I'll draw you into Bold's world.

The Autumn air has chilled, and the leaves prepare to slip their bonds. The sun dances through them, and the canopy of the tree becomes a stained glass church. It is here that Bold dwells, the summer and autumn of this, his first year, a true test of his stock.

Bold is a rugged thing, a burley thick-bodied American Tree Sparrow (Spizela arborea), masquerading among the Chipping sparrows. His red cap is eternally tussled, bits of feather sticking up at odd angles as he pecks frantically at the harvest seed in the hanging feeder. When I first laid eyes on him, earlier this year, I thought him perhaps sickly, as no healthy bird would run about with such a poorly preened coating. Yet he remained, steadfast against all odds, the mutant Tree-Chipping Sparrow skulking amidst his beautiful cousins. He never offered a humble chirp, but always chose to announce his presence with a rather throaty CHURP, accompanied by the strangest dancing displays. After closer observation, I believe he was either lost, or else the two different species mated to produce him. If 'o' is a typical Chipping sparrow, then Bold waddles in with 'O'... larger, rounder, louder, and much much bolder. He drives even the largest of Ravens from his territory.

For some weeks, I have lost track of our house wens, cardinals, and chipping sparrows. I have not heard the haunting cry of our mourning doves in quite a while. I have not been able to sit on my front porch to enjoy their community as it draws together each day in celebration of bountiful food and water. I have keep my eyes opened, hoping for some small sign that my freakish little bird was still about. Bold was my companion, and my inspiration to keep fighting, no matter how heavily stacked against me the odds are.

Yesterday graced us with a heavy downpour of rain. Better Half was about to start the mower, and I had patted my hair into place and had ventured outside to keep him company. The rains began almost immediately. I grabbed the container of seed, urging Better Half to at least get that feast set up for our friends, and then tore open the seed cake packets for the mesh feeders. A flash of lightening sent a few lurking Chipping sparrows racing for the protection of the canopy of our large tree... and in that flash, I saw Bold.

He stood firm in the tree, his head cocked to one side as he waited for Better Half to resupply the hanging feeder. Rain and thunder be damned, for Mother Nature herself would not drive him from his perch. I shouted to Better Half and pointed, crying "Oh look, there's Bold" as the poor man did his best to get food in place while being drenched by the storm. Unfortunately, Better Half could not see Bold through his rain streaked glasses.

Bold has changed in the past few weeks. He is even larger, and more bedraggled in feather. He is every bit as lively, however, and offered a singular CHURP in gratitude for the free meal. His is an unquenchable spirit; each passing day means another chance to profit from the last moments of summer. His robust form skittered from twig to twig, and he regarded me momentarily before ducking out of sight behind a particularly large clump of leaves. I have never been able to capture him on film, yet his enthusiasm for life is etched upon my heart.

I struggled with insomnia until early this morning, . I had left the bedroom window open, preferring the feel of the crisp night air. Better Half let the dogs out around 7 am, and closed the door, allowing me the luxury of a warm bed sans any dogs, cats or other humans. In the still morning air, I heard a particularly pleasing CHURP, and lifted the blinds just so. I lay quietly, allowing the early sunshine to warm the air, and my eyes gazed into the depths of the maple tree. The CHURP came again, and I spotted Bold on a limb. He shook himself, and glistening droplets flung out from his plumage. He cocked his head and stared at me from one gleaming black eye, and then ducked his head under his wing to nibble at some small itch. When his head emerged, his cap was just as scruffy as ever, and I smiled silently and thought of how tussled my own hair must look.

What was he thinking at that moment? Was he already dwelling upon the bird feeder below, or perhaps he was testing his resolve to migrate to some distant place? I do not know, in honestly, but it seemed to me that he had come up to the very top of the tree just to check in on me, for he stayed quite a while. I closed my eyes and lay back, warmed by the occasional song he offered in lullaby.

The sun climbed higher, and the bright light dragged me from my groggy state. I got up quietly and began to shut the blind - and there Bold sat, still in the same place. I whispered "Good morning, Bold" and offered him a nod. He scratched his head lazily with his leg, tearing several spent downy feathers from his neck and chest in the process, and then gave a final CHURP in return. It was the bit of peace that I needed, and it ushered me into a deep sleep.

As I write this, I hear a familiar song creeping in through the cracked window in the office. My heart soars.

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On Entropy, the Arrow of Time, and Anthropic bias

I am going to digress from my usual rambling to allow you a brief snapshot into what Better Half and I do while driving: we communicate. Talking is a lost art to many people. It is more than a method of conveying needs; it is the prime method whereupon we can convey thoughts, theory, and philosophical ideas. To dialog, to communicate what seems incommunicable, is divine.

This entire topic began when I purchased a cheap watch. I have owned many in my life, but seldom wear one. I tend to exist outside the ideals of the space-time continuum, as I ignore time as a dimension.


Huh?


(In physics, spacetime is a mathematical model that combines three-dimensional space and one-dimensional time into a single construct called the space-time continuum, in which time plays the role of the 4th dimension. According to Euclidean space perception, our universe has three dimensions of space, and one dimension of time. By combining space and time into a single manifold, physicists have significantly simplified a good deal of physical theory, as well as described in a more uniform way the workings of the universe at both the supergalactic and subatomic levels.)
Time is a strange thing. We can have a perception of the passage of time, as things move along in a sequence - the sun rises, and the sun also sets. This is what most think of when they hear the word "time" itself - the Time of Day/Night (and you don't even need to know who Isaac Newton is!)


I hold closer to Immanuel Kant's view of time: time is part of the fundamental intellectual structure (together with space and number) within which we sequence events, quantify the duration of events and the intervals between them, and compare the motions of objects. In this view, time does not refer to any kind of entity that "flows", that objects "move through", or that is a "container" for events.

 I simply couldn't care less when I wake up, when I go to bed, or when I eat breakfast. I do not keep a schedule that is set, as I set my own schedule and never seem to do things exactly the same from day to day. I lose track of time, not because I fail to pay attention to its passing, but because I have no need to bother with tracking it at all. Clocks assault my vision in just about every room, but how often have I bothered to actually glance at one simply for the desire to know what time of day it is? Hardly ever, unless my existence must suddenly grind itself back to a more mundane path due to the pressing need to coordinate my personal time with the synchronicity of the rest of the world (or to keep an appointment in time with a doctor or group.) Thus I exist, and thus Isaac Newton rolls over in his grave. Kant, I am sure, would applaud that there is at least one being who does not need to rely upon Newton's theories in order to maintain sanity. I am quite happy to exist without a schedule or the knowledge of "what time it is" right now.

 Hence, I shrug at time. I am chronologically challenged, meaning that the time arrow does affect me mentally (although I do age) yet I see all things as relevant. I balk at the evidence of time's passing, for it means nothing. I am not immortal, yet my mortality is not hinged upon moving forward in time or in time's stagnation (for if time stagnates, then nothing moves forward, and the only option is to find out why, or hold on as we surf the event horizon and the effects of reverse of time back to the black hole of Antioch. Never mind. You had to be there - 19 years ago - in the singularity of that moment, for that joke to hit home as humor.)

 Huh?

 Alright. I'll try to explain (and will borrow, heavily, from other sources!)

Entropy is the only quantity in the physical sciences that "picks" a particular direction for time, sometimes called an arrow of time. As we go "forward" in time, the Second Law of Thermodynamics tells us that the entropy of an isolated system can only increase or remain the same; it cannot decrease. Hence, from one perspective, entropy measurement is thought of as a kind of clock (think of Newton.)

In the natural sciences, time’s arrow, or arrow of time as it is also known, is a term used to distinguish a direction of time on a four-dimensional relativistic map of the world - which can be determined by a study of organizations of atoms, molecules, and bodies. \

The thermodynamic arrow of time is provided by the Second Law of Thermodynamics, which says that in an isolated system entropy will only increase with time; it will not decrease with time. Entropy can be thought of as a measure of disorder; thus the Second Law implies that time is asymmetrical with respect to the amount of order in an isolated system: as time increases, a system will always become more disordered. This asymmetry can be used empirically to distinguish between future and past. (I won't delve into Chaos Theory here.)

The Second Law does not hold with strict universality: any system can fluctuate to a state of lower entropy (see the Poincaré recurrence theorem). However, the Second Law seems accurately to describe the overall trend in real systems toward higher entropy.

Certain subatomic interactions involving the weak nuclear force violate the conservation of parity, but only very rarely. According to the CPT Theorem, this means they should also be time irreversible, and so establish an arrow of time. Such processes should be responsible for matter creation in the early universe. To me, in my daily life, time follows that pathway perfectly. I can not undo what has been done. I can not reverse time to change things that would later become a pinnacle by which I gain the desire to change so that the pinnacle does not take place, therefore changing my own timeline infinitely as that pinnacle is reshaped and reformed with each attempt to rid myself of it (and should I remove it I remove the desire to return to that point in time, thereby it does happen... or does it? Parallel universes explode, and Mickey Mouse does the Mashed Potato on Elvis' grave.)

This arrow is not linked to any other arrow by any proposed mechanism, and if it would have pointed to the opposite time direction, the only difference would have been that our universe would be made of anti-matter rather than from matter. More accurately, the definitions of matter and anti-matter would just be reversed. Does it matter? Not to me, but that is because I am just weird. It effects me, as I can not escape the clutches of time itself.

 That parity is broken so rarely means that this arrow only "barely" points in one direction, setting it apart from the other arrows whose direction is much more obvious.

 Quantum evolution is governed by the Schrödinger equation, which is time-symmetric, and by wave function collapse, which is time irreversible. As the mechanism of wave function collapse is still obscure, it's not known how this arrow links to the others. While at the microscopic level, collapse seems to show no favor to increasing or decreasing entropy, some believe there is a bias which shows up on macroscopic scales as the thermodynamic arrow. According to the theory of quantum decoherence, and assuming that the wave function collapse is merely apparent, the quantum arrow of time is a consequence of the thermodynamic arrow of time. Geeks everywhere are wondering if I would touch up "the cat". I won't. I don't believe it exists, and I walk through it. I won't let anthropic bias hinder me.

 HUH??!

 "Anthropic bias" is a term coined by the philosopher Nick Bostrom, as an expression for the bias arising when "your evidence is biased by observation selection effects". This is, basically an extreme generalization of the confirmation bias and the cognitive bias, involving not only mind-set, memory and methodology, but the whole way in which one sees oneself as an entity investigating an environment. As the etymology of the term suggests (from the Greek word for "human being") Bostrom's main claim could be reduced to saying that being a human being itself constitutes a bias for, and consequently a hindrance to, objective observation. In my own pondering, I tend to take things from different perspectives, and I often forget that I am approaching things as a human being. I escape the bounds and limitations of time and space, disregard biological necessities, and "lose track" of time as a whole. I spend hours probing a forming hypothesis, testing it to see if it would withstand the beatings necessary to become theory. I cease to the be entity, and become that which I study, bit by bit, on a mental scale. I leave the realm of hard science and embrace philosophy, but science remains my grounding point as the laws of mathematics must always be applied.
Bostrom suggests a way out using what amounts to quasi-empirical methods, and I enjoy embracing his philosophy. In his book Anthropic Bias: observation selection effects in science and philosophy, Bostrom explores the implications of these for "polling, cosmology (how many universes are there?), evolution theory (how improbable was the evolution of intelligent life on our planet?), the problem of time's arrow (can it be given a thermodynamic explanation?), game theoretic problems with imperfect recall (how to model them?), traffic analysis (why is the "next lane" faster?)."

 It has been suggested that the whole idea of an anthropic bias is irrefutable. How could a criticism, presumably made by a human being, against the theory of anthropic biases be conceived? If it is not possible to review it critically, the whole theory becomes a will-o'-the-wisp without any practical consequences for our human lives here on Earth. I can tell you that existing the way I do when I'm on a mental tangent is harmful, as the "real life" things that are critical are often ignored. To remove oneself, one must remove one's self. To remove one's self, one neglects others. Few people can so totally remove themselves and remain sane. Perhaps that is an indication that I am insane, yet do we base sanity upon how an individual reacts to his environment, or do we base it on that individuals ability to grasp reality? Even on a "tangent", I assure that I grasp reality for what it is. I simply choose to ignore that which is not immediately essential for me to complete by reasoning.

 Another problem with the theory purporting the existence of a general anthropic bias, is that it sounds self-referentially inconsistent — If Nick Bostrom is a human being, and the anthropic principle is valid, then his observations will be biased; the anthropic principle is an observation made by Nick Bostrom; hence, either (α) Nick Bostrom is not a human being (or alternatively, knowledge of the anthropic principle was supernaturally revealed to him), or (β) the anthropic principle is itself anthropically biased, or (γ) at least one observation made by a human being (e.g. N.B.'s observation of the anthropic bias) is not biased (γ is a counterexample of the general anthropic principle, and all three alternatives (α, β, and γ) point to Bostrom's theory being poorly conceived.

 Needless to say, this entire line of thinking stems from a conversation between Better Half and myself, whereupon we dialoged concerning what terminology would best apply to me as far as my attunement to time is concerned. Am I chronologically challenged, in regards to my complete ignorance of the actual time of day? Am I entropically hindered, as I throw the 4th dimension out the window on a daily basis? Perhaps we are socially challenged, Better Half and I. Perhaps other spouses discuss the kids, or groceries, or shoes? Perhaps they dwell upon stupid, mundane matters such as what to eat next Friday? Perhaps the only thing holding them together is the daily events that bind them, and their relationship goes stagnate as they attempt to keep cohesive as a pair by interjecting commentaries about how they think things should be when the sun rises? I don't know. Better Half and I have always had the ability to remove ourselves from the "mate" prospect, male and female, in order to explore the scientific and philosophical nature of things as a combined mind. That, dear readers, is why I married him. Time destroys, breaks down mountains and turns seas into deserts.


In time, relationships based solely upon sexual fulfillment fall by the wayside. When I chose Better Half, it was for his mind as well as his body. As we age, and as the arrow of time reminds us that we are indeed mortal, we will lose our bodies to the ravages of time, yet we have a bond that will keep cohesive for as long as our minds hold out. For those that are curious - I exist in a world that does not reply upon time, and my thread of connectivity to the real world is held by a being that is content to obey the laws of time: hence, I am grounded.

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