This weekly roundup thread is intended for all culture war posts. 'Culture war' is vaguely defined, but it basically means controversial issues that fall along set tribal lines. Arguments over culture war issues generate a lot of heat and little light, and few deeply entrenched people ever change their minds. This thread is for voicing opinions and analyzing the state of the discussion while trying to optimize for light over heat.
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The Psychiatrist Goes To a Pub
Serendipity is a grossly underrated factor in life. I've been in Small Scottish Town for about 6 months now, and trawled the local bars about as many times.
Said Small Scottish Town has had a trajectory roughly representative of the whole. All the kids fled for the Big City at the first opportunity, the High Street had seen better days if not better highs. It was kept running mostly by pensioners, and middle-aged couples returning to their roots now that they wanted kids away from the hustle and bustle of urban life. It had about a ratio of 1:2000 bars per capita, down from a ratio of closer to 1:400 that was its absolute peak before Covid culled the herd. It was pure survival of the fittest, 27 bars brought down to four, or enough of the pensioners retired from drink by virtue of death. You can't buy a new set of clothes, but you sure can get still get drunk there. This is a story of how I did.
I've been a good little boy for the duration of my stay in Scotland, and very rarely has the desire to haunt the local watering holes overtaken me. I had a shitty day at work, and the weekend beckoned, so I decided to stop by and have a drink. Perhaps two or three, as the mood took me.
I wandered up to a new pub, notable only in that a pint of Tenet's was half a pound cheaper than the last one I visited. As I approached the doors, I was greeted by a gaggle of regulars who had clearly popped out for a smoke. Notable among them were a lady who was well past inebriated and into loud drunk territory, and a bald and well-built gentleman, who if slightly past peak bouncer age, wasn't at the point it was unbelievable.
There I came, lugging a backpack full of random junk, NHS ID card flapping in the wind. I was just about to walk through the doors, when the lady accosted me and demanded that I show her my ID before I could enter.
This was eyebrow raising to say the least, the last time I was carded was back when I was 16, but I'm nothing if not long-suffering. I was just about to produce my government issued residency permit, a fancy piece of plastic that proclaimed with holographic probity that I was an alien with temporary reprieve in the nation, when she guffawed, embraced me in a bear hug, and explained that she was having me on. I laughed, and said that it's been a good while since I was asked to show ID, my haircut must have done wonders.
Piss-takes are nothing unusual to me, and this town is isolated enough that it's avoided the transition of Britain into a Multicultural Nation, exotic would just about cover the handful of Polish expats and the odd Ukrainian refugee dwelling there. My color and complexion would scream not from around these parts regardless of whatever I said, and I didn't particularly care either way. I'm just here to do my job, and potentially have a stiff drink when it's done.
I went through, relishing the temporary warmth and refuge from the chill. A pint of Tennent's please, to keep me warm and comfy in a country where the sun had just about deigned to stay visible in the sky when the clock struck five.
I'd gotten halfway through my sorely needed drink when the lady who had had a laugh at my expense came in, and took her seat at the counter. She apologized for having me on, and when it was clear I'd handled it with good humor, began grilling me about who I was and what I was up to.
I was happy enough about answering her endless queries. I'd been there for about 6 months and change. I was working in the psychiatric department of the hospital twenty minutes away, and was just about finished with that placement. She expressed surprise at the knowledge I was a doctor, but was interrupted by a friend of hers, another middle-aged lady with as many piercings and tattoos as she had years on me.
It turned out that they all had the same bug-bear, namely the lack of doctors in the area. To translate further, a lack of GPs, the steadfast and underpaid bedrock on which the NHS stands. I commiserated with her, mentioning that I could certainly empathize with her, even with collegial congeniality and pulled strings, I had faced months long wait-times for my own medical concerns, and was aware that years was the norm when it came for waiting times for things that wouldn't kill you outright.
Some more explanation followed, as I explained that no, doctors are allowed to sneak away for a drink at the end of the week, especially as I wasn't on the on-call rota for this weekend.
This was met with hearty cheers, as an eminently sensible decision. I downed my first pint in pleasant company. I would have been content to watch the game show on the telly and nurse my drink, but the lady at the door decided to strike up further conversation. I had nothing better to do, with only time spent grinding textbooks waiting for me back at home.
Eventually, the conversation took unexpected turns. Tattoo Lady revealed that she was a born-again Christian, and expounded on her conviction that there was demonic influence running in the background, which compounded existing trauma and was a likely explanation for why several of her friends had been the victims of sexual violence. Not just once, but multiple times.
This was a heavy subject, to say the least. I wisely opted for not challenging her beliefs in favor of a quick treatise on Internal Family Systems, a psychological framework for explaining mental illness that I, quite truthfully, explained believed in literal demons, unacknowleged trauma and personality shards (for a more prosaic explanation) being culpable. She helpfully drew up a PDF of an ebook she'd been planning to read on the topic, and even more helpfully, explained that she hadn't read it yet, except for the cover blurb.
At this point, Bouncer Lady wanted to know more about me and what I was up to, I explained that I was a psychiatry trainee at the hospital further down the road. She began talking about her son, a Nurse Practitioner down in London, and how overworked the poor guy was, having to hold two bleeps at night. I commiserated, and said I hoped he was holding up well. She opened his Facebook profile, and showed a picture of him to me. I quite truthfully said he was a handsome guy, and that he took after his mum in that regard.
With the bottom of her glass now visible, she went on to confide in me that he was gay. I didn't visibly react, beyond an oh, but did go on to ask if that had been difficult for him, given he'd grown up in Small Town.
She said it had, though she and her family had been nothing but supportive. He'd been bullied quite badly in school, but had pulled through and was doing much better since he went to uni. She went on to complain that he no longer told her about the men he was seeing, especially since a solicitor boyfriend had rung her up when they'd broken up, and had threatened to commit suicide if he didn't come back to him. Then came an anaesthesist, who had sounded lovely, but had worried the lady sick when she fretted about him dosing her darling boy with all kinds of knockout drugs.
I really ought not to have brought up a recent news story about an anaesthesist who had gotten into deep shit after being caught pilfering sedatives from his hospital, for the purposes of getting it on with his girlfriend.
I did however, have the sense not to divulge what I knew enough of the gay lifestyle down south, especially the fact that party poppers and all kinds of other illicit substances were commonplace. I told her that I hadn't actually met any gay doctors since coming here, but she grumbled that it seemed to her that half of them batted for the other team, at least according to her son.
She told me about the flat he had gotten a killer deal on, in London, and asked me where I was staying in town. I told her that I was renting, and that I lived with X and Y, a couple, expecting them to be recognized since the town was small enough that everyone knew everyone else.
Her face shriveled up like a prune, like she'd bitten a lemon. "They're bad people! You need to move away!"
I expressed surprise. They'd been quite nice to me, and besides, I was moving in a month or so to the big city (by local standards).
She sounded relieved to hear that, but then went on to ask me about my rent. 700 pounds a month, I said.
And what did I get for that, she asked? The front half of the property?
Nope, just a room. A large bed, a now defunct mini-fridge, a closet and a TV the size of my palm that I'd never used. She gasped in shock, and went on to explain that at the price I was paying, I could have had a whole house! She began calling over to the other denizens of the rapidly filling bar, asking them if they agreed I was being ripped off. A chorus of ayes came back.
At this point, she was drunk enough that she began saying that I was clearly a student, like her son, and it was terrible I'd been taken advantage of in that manner. I tried to explain that while I'm a trainee, I actually am a fully qualified doctor and that I do, in fact, get paid. Not as much as I'd like, but I have little in the way of expenses. These words fell on deaf (and drunk) ears.
She began offering that I move in with her, she told me she had a large house with 5 empty bedrooms, and that it was a sheer waste to have them lie empty while I paid out my arsehole elsewhere for nothing. I said that was far too kind of her, but I was locked in anyway, and would have to move.
At this point, she had another half a pint down the gullet, and began elaborating on why my landlords were bad people. Did I know they were swingers?? Had they ever propositioned me??
I reacted by straightening up, a dozen things I'd paid no need to clicking into place in my head. But no, I said, I hadn't known, and I don't think they ever asked me to join in their bed!
She sniffed, saying she was surprised. Then she asked me if I was married. I said, not yet. No kids either? Not that I know of!
Well.. Her son might well be single and coming by soonish..
Uh.. I'm straight as an arrow, last time I checked. I told her that I appreciated the offer, but I'm sure I'd be lynched by all the girls in town who languished in a state of dejection after they'd found out he was gay. She still demanded I move in, as she felt personally affronted by the violation of Scottish Hospitality that my landlords had engaged in, preying on a foreigner who hadn't known better.
I told her I hadn't had much in the way of choices, as the only other listing on Spare Room had been a dingy attic room halfway to nowhere, for 550 pounds to boot. When weighed against the competition, I felt like 700 for a property closer to the center of town wasn't too much of an ask.
I'd been bought a round of drinks, and then bought one round for the table myself. I found myself palpating Tattoo Lady's nose after she complained it always felt congested, and asked her if she'd ever been checked for a deviated nasal septum. No, came the answer, but she had poked a hole in it by doing too much coke in her teens. The grass was greener and the coke was whiter back in the day, she sighed wistfully.
In those days, the stuff wasn't cut and didn't have a decent chance of killing you. Or leaving you K-holing when you'd hoped for a quick buzz. I agreed, and revealed sotto voce that I'd once done a bit of Bolivian Nose Candy in a nightclub bathroom. I'd already been challenged on if it was alright for me to drink and vape as a doctor, and this went by uncontested. Who hasn't had a dissolute youth?
The tattooed lady said she'd been clean for decades, and tried to keep the local kids straight, not that they'd listen. She then went on to talk about her struggles with bipolar disorder, and how she felt that she was often treated in a very dismissive way by women, with particular opprobrium for the typical nosy receptionist types who demanded to know more clinical details before begrudgingly doling out an appointment, just for the sake of gossip. Remember, this is a really small town. She went on to praise a few of the local doctors, though half of them had seemingly retired by the time I came into the picture. She bemoaned the fact that these days, nobody really had the time to talk, and I tried to explain that the NHS, in its wisdom, tries to screen aggressively in an effort to avoid being overwhelmed, and the higher you go, the less time you'll have with progressively more qualified people.
At about this point, I find out that the lady who just took over tending the bar works at the local medical practice. I ask her not to divulge my drinking habits, and she winks and say she won't tell if I don't. I go on to tell tall tales about how, when I'd visited the pub close to the nearest care home, I'd almost been confident that a few of the people drinking merrily were residents with dementia who really ought not to have been consuming alcohol alongside their meds. This was mostly an exaggeration, as the only confirmed sighting was a gentleman who had been seen as an outpatient with early dementia, and his meds were only cautioned when drinking.
I made more smalltalk, enjoying a rare opportunity to observe the locals in the natural environment. I even learned a few things about cultural norms, such as how in those parts, overt displays of affection had been considered unseemly until quite recently. One of the ladies complained about how her elderly father only replied with a gruff that's nice when she told him she loved him. A shame, but the younger generations were better about these things.
I preened internally at some rather effusive praise. I was told I was a model doctor, and that the ladies had gotten a "good vibe" off me from the start, and felt they could open up. I'm not sure how much of that was due to my usual politeness and ability to seem like I was intently hanging on to every word people tell me while my mind wanders, and how much of it was the beer. But I'll take what I can get.
The lady who had offered to take me in wouldn't let up. I asked if she had a partner, experience in these parts telling me it was a more polite approach as compared to assuming someone was married. She told me her husband was a darling and wouldn't say a word if she insisted. I politely reiterated that I'd be quite happy to pay, and any sum below 700 quid was fine by me. She wouldn't hear it. I insisted that she at least talk to the gentleman, and reconsider it when sober, but this hurt her pride, and she puffed up and told me that her word was her bond, regardless of blood-alcohol content. Her tattooed friend nodded reassuringly.
At this point, she insisted it was time to go home, though her friend cajoled her to stay for another round. I snuck in the opportunity to pay for it. In response, she perked up and said that even if I didn't pay a penny, I could cover drinks and make tea as a way of paying my way. I said I was more than happy to do the former, and already was, as a small token of appreciation for letting me know how badly I was being ripped off, but as to the latter, if she expected me to cook she'd better lower her standards and be ready for food poisoning.
She assured me I couldn't be that bad, could I?
At any rate, she said she was going home, and invited me to come with, so that I could scope out "my" room. I said that the gentlemanly thing to do would be to walk her home, and I would be happy to have a word with her husband if he was in.
Along the way, she stopped at a nearby convenience store and asked if I wanted anything to drink. I demurred, but she insisted on picking something, and I said I'll have whatever she's having. There was a bit of a faff at the counter as her phone's contactless payment app asked her to scan her face first, something she was too far gone to manage. I was about to pull up my own card when she figured something out, and I grabbed the bag loaded with wine and soft drinks. It was evident that cashiers were well accustomed to handling the drunk and rowdy, I asked if another Indian I'd met there still worked at the place, but was informed he'd moved to Spain. Lucky bugger.
We went the same route I'd normally take, her house was just a street over. It's a good thing I came along, because she was far from steady on her feet. Along the way, she said something that explained her distaste for my current hosts better than just her dislike of their lifestyle could. It turned out that my landlord's brother had knocked up her sister, and that her family had been embroiled in a lawsuit to establish paternity. This had been before quick and easy DNA testing, and they hadn't been able to win. The father's family had never accepted the kid, but he was older than me now and doing perfectly fine for himself. The rest of the walk was otherwise uneventful, barring her rehashing previous conversation while drunk to the gills.
We came to her property, which I must say is lovely. She let us in, and I was greeted by a small shih tzu, wagging its tail away as I scratched him under the chin. She called over and asked if liked dogs.
Love them, I said. And it's absolutely true, though my preference leans towards larger breeds. This one seemed nice, if yappy, and was happy to do laps around his mistress while she called it all kinds of incredibly derogatory names in a most endearing fashion.
She showed me around, introducing my putative sleeping space with the same enthusiasm as a stage magician or the show runner in a Monty Hall problem. It wasn't terrible, nary a goat nor a super car in sight. A little cramped, but for the price of free this beggar isn't choosy. I was offered the run of the place, though if my present habits are any precedent, I hardly come out of my room.
She produced a bottle of wine and began pouring us a glass each. I asked her where her husband was, and she said he was down the street, visiting his mother, who wasn't doing too well. She tried calling him, but he didn't pick up, so she ended up FaceTiming another woman.
A quick recap followed, and when she turned the phone over to me, I genuinely thought I was talking to her daughter and asked the same. She laughed, saying she was her best friend, but I could tell she was pleased. Accidental flattery will get you anywhere, I say.
She had some kind of role in the educational system, and expressed her frustration at the severe issues she ran into trying to get several kids assessed for learning difficulties. I mentioned that I had ADHD myself, and part of my interest in psychiatry arose from a desire to help out people in a similar boat. I explained that it had taken me three months to get assessed even with other medical professionals pulling strings out of collegiality, but that it dismayed me that kids could go years and grades without assessment and much needed help.
At this point, my would-be host asked if we'd like to step outside for a smoke. I accepted a cigarette, too drunk to particularly hold myself to my usual abstinence, and we went out into their large, but dimly lit garden. She had music playing, and I began to feel growing consternation as she began dancing with me, drawing my hand to her waist and then tugging it lower. She was drunk enough that I didn't face much issue in carefully avoiding it, and once cigarettes burned out, came back in her wake, making sure to close the doors and keep the draft out.
She excused herself, and ran to the toilet and proceeded to relieve herself with the door open. This was awkward, to say the least, and I settled for standing a good distance away and politely pretending I didn't hear her coughing either. I eventually got concerned enough that I asked if she was okay, and was told she was fine, it's just that cigarettes hadn't agreed with her.
She came out, properly dressed, thank god. She asked me if I'd like a coffee, and I agreed, but insisted on making it for the two of us. At this point in time, her phone rang, and I could hear her husband on the other end, saying he was walking home.
I'd just about finished up the coffee when he came in, heralded by the dog's barks, and didn't seem too surprised by my presence. I believe that at some point she'd mentioned that they'd had a guest over. I introduced myself, and he seemed like a decent sort, turning out to be a manager of several offshore oil rigs.
She revealed that she ran a wedding boutique, one I'd walked past while on my way to my last haircut. I take back what I said about purchasing clothing not being an option in Small Scottish Town, at least if you're a bride-to-be.
I apologized for the rather irregular situation, explaining that while I greatly appreciated the kindness his wife had offered me, I felt that I couldn't take advantage of her in her current state, and certainly not without running it by the other relevant stakeholder, her husband (the dog seemed pleased with my company). He seemed entirely fine with it, or at least was too polite to tell me to scram. I guess his wife did have a point about him going along with her suggestions.
His wife interrupted my excuses by saying that it was fine, she wasn't just bringing someone in from the street, was she?
I pointed out that she had, in fact, brought me in from the street. This was duly ignored as a mere technicality unworthy of undermining the spirit of her claim.
At any rate, I think I had been polite enough while trying to decline the offer, and said I'd give the two of them time to think it over. I assured them that there would be absolutely no hard feelings if they changed their mind, and I would probably figure something out in terms of a place to live regardless. If I'd been paying 700 a month for this long, it was clearly within my budget.
I walked back home, and that was that. I probably might take them up on it, assuming that the passage of time and the elimination of liquor doesn't prompt second thoughts on their end.
Inside, I was more than a tad bit thankful that four pints hadn't addled my senses, and that her husband hadn't walked in to find us in flagrante delicto, not that I had been interested.
Nice people, the Scots, and at their best when you and they have comparable amounts of alcohol in your system.
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Good morning everyone, I am once again returning to Hem and Haw about something I care about. In last months episode, I told you all to be like Davy Crockett. [https://www.themotte.org/post/1635/why-you-should-shoot-black-powder] In today's installment, I am going to do what my friends call "Clocking in as the VP of Finance" for Major League Baseball. We say this because we all love to moan and complain about what we would do to change the game like we are on the board of directors, even though we do not have any power to do so. I have loved the game of baseball since I was a small boy. I still play now as an adult - albeit poorly - but as long as I can, I always will. I am hoping in the next few minutes I can mostly get you to agree with the following opinions:
The Mound should be moved back
Strikeouts do suck actually
A return of .300+ hitters would be a good thing for baseball
Baseball traditionally hates change. Since the very beginning, people have fought, bitched, moaned, complained, and damned every single change to the game. Candy Cummings invented the Curveball throwing Oyster Shells with his friends down at the docks; hitters demanded its ban. Billy Hamilton reading the rulebook one night realized the ball was always in play and the next day simply ran to second base while the pitcher stood on the mound; people laughed and told him to return to first. Black men were told they simply could not cut it for years and years, now they occupy Cooperstown just like those from all other walks of life. My point being every time the game has a change proposed to it that ends up becoming something we can't imagine the game without, we still end up fighting it for years.
Bill James is a very smart man, I do not think anyone can discredit him for that. He came up with a very visionary system in the mid 1970's called Sabermetrics that challenged traditional baseball thinking to its core. Basically the tenets of his idea are that all points of the game of baseball can be quantified and an optimal strategy can be made to get a team to win games. His argument comes down to outs, outs are what is valuable in a game and it does not really matter how they are made as long as they are held onto for dear life. For years this idea was ignored. Of course there are ways an out matters! People would say putting the ball in play is all that matters - swing and put it in play. If you played baseball as a kid, you probably remember being taught that Striking out was basically the worst thing you could do. Central to Bill James' idea is that this is simply not true. It took a while, but about 25 years after He started writing about this, Major League Baseball was forced to take notice after the Oakland A's put this idea into practice and made a winning ballclub. I do think that the logic of get on base any way you can makes sense and it has been proven that it can win ballgames, but it has also created a brand of baseball that is just flat out boring to watch.
With the addition of Sabermetrics to baseball Professional players are being taught now that strikeouts don't matter, Walks are very important, hitting the ball hard if you do swing is all that matters. This has lead to a rise in what are called "Three true outcome" hitters. If you liked baseball as a kid but now think it is rather boring it is probably because you dislike these without realizing it. The three true outcomes are Walk, Strikeout, and Homerun. In the 1970s it was very rare to see a player like this; Dave Kingman is an example: Huge power, bad average. They were the exception, but now they have become the rule. It is normal, if not totally expected, for a player to hit .240 with 15 home runs a season now with 150+ strikeouts. If you go over baseball stats you will find dozens of guys just like this. Personally, I think this should go the way of the Dodo. You can't make them unlearn an idea obviously though so how do you go about fixing this? This is where my argument for the mound moving back comes from.
Recently there have been other changes to the game. If you have not watched in a while you may be surprised by the speed of a game now; they are about 50 mins shorter than before that's to the addition of a pitch clock. I am a true believer of the pitch clock. Some say that it has ruined the game (see above to see what people used to say) but in reality it is a return to normalcy. Over the last 30 years or so, another revelation a lot of clubs had was that with no clock there was nothing stopping the hitter or pitcher from setting the pace. This lead to players doing all sorts of things between pitches - nut scratch, play with batting gloves, walk in a circle - really just brutal to watch as a fan. I am so glad this is dead and buried - good riddance!
OK so I have covered a little prehistory and now you are up to speed as to why we are where we are today. Let's talk about why I think moving the mound back is a good idea.
Pitching has gotten more powerful as the years have gone by but especially so in the last 15 years. Pitchers are bigger and stronger than before. In the early days of baseball they had almost the same exact problem we have today. Pitchers threw underhand out of a box 50 feet from the plate, but in 1884 due to increasing pressure overhand pitching as you know it today was made legal. What basically happened was overnight the Pitcher went from an irrelevant part of the game to the most important man on the Diamond. If you want to see an example of how dramatic of a change this was let's look at a player and see how his numbers changed. Charlie Sweeney in 1883 (last underhand year) had a 3.13 ERA with 48 Strikeouts in 140-odd innings pitched - honestly, not bad numbers. In 1884 Charlie Sweeney had a 1.70 ERA with 337 Strikeouts in a little under 500 Innings pitched. He also set a record 19 strikeouts in a game that stood for over 100 years until it was beaten by Roger Clemens. Pitchers were simply outmatching all hitters they faced and in 1893 to help deal with this the mound was moved back 10 feet 6 inches to where it is today to give hitters a better chance; just a little more time to see the ball.
So ok yeah sure I know you are saying "these guys also fought at the battle of Gettysburg for spring training how hard could they have really been throwing?" Well the short answer is: we really don't know. The long answer is, probably about what you would see today at your local Varsity Highschool baseball game; right around the Mid 80s. This was probably true up through about the 1950s. Pitchers that were truly great threw in the 90s, even 100s, way back in the 1920s. Walter Johnson was measured throwing about 95; so was Bob Feller, and we all know about Nolan Ryan. So since the early days pitching was pretty constant and for years it stayed that way. But since about 2005 speeds have creeped and now the average fastball is about 94MPH. I think this tied in with our previous discussion about three true outcome hitters has created a perfect storm.
I think it is time we move the mound back another 10 feet, with the speeds pitchers are touching now these days it is to the point I think hitters are simply outmatched. We have been trending this way for the better part of 70 years, there has not been a .400 hitter since Ted Williams in 1941 and I don't think its because hitters are simply worse than he was; I think it is just because our players are starting to outgrow the confines of their current field. so lets go over some pro's and con's of what moving the mound back would do:
Wouldn't this just kill pitchers' fastballs and make every game a hit-a-thon?
I think this will definitely take some zip out of peoples fastballs sure, but you also have to think a pitchers big hammer curve will also then have another 10 feet to break. Think of how much more breaking stuff will be effective! I think it will let the pros get an extra half second to see and swing at a ball helping hitters sure but also probably working in favor of "stuff guys" as well giving them more real estate to work with. I think the cream always rises to the top and the best pitchers will still be the best pitchers, same with the hitters. I think this will just make offense a more common occurrence. Plus think if Vlad Guerrero Jr can hit .323 with 30 home runs while seeing 100 mph from 60 feet imagine what he could do from 70.
So Pitchers will stop striking guys out all the time?
Ideally, yes this is what moving the mound back should do. A return to the offense of the 1920s-1960s: stolen bases, high averages, this was a time when baseball players were household names. In fact, I bet if you asked a random person on the street they could probably name you one from that 40 years faster than they could one guy today.
Would this lead to more injuries?
This was the argument made as well for keeping the clock out but there has not been an uptick and everyone is still playing just fine.
All in all I will always love this game but I think it might be time to really think about addressing this and maybe making a step forward by taking about 10 steps back, also to this point if you are a I miss steroids guy im telling you man you don't miss steroids you miss offense!
I just found this place and it almost feels like an internet version of a toastmasters club which is kinda fun. I have a rather unexciting job that gives me hours to fill in the day so I figured I will spend the end of my shift here talking about a thing I am passionate about, and if I don't get chased out with Pitchforks maybe I'll do it again sometime. I did not grow up in an Outdoorsy household my Dad used to say he did enough sleeping outside in the Army before I was born so I suppose it is a little odd that from a young age I have always had an interest and passion for all things outdoors. Hunting, Fishing, Shooting, and camping are all things that I love. I am not particularly sure where it came from maybe I watched Jeremiah Johnson at too young of an age I am unsure.
Anyways the one I do know specifically for a fact where I learned it from is my passion for Antique firearms, as a teenager I was very active in the Boy Scouts and worked on the Rifle Range teaching merit badges every summer. The man who ran the range was a hobbyist with muzzle loaders and had a few Hawken rifles he built from kits. The thunderous whoosh and smoke a 50 cal Hawken makes was mesmerizing from the first time I saw it. He also cast his own bullets for it a concept I had never even thought was possible at 14 it amazed me that someone could make something like that themselves without the help of anyone else. He taught me everything one needed to get started, how to load, how to shoot, how to cast bullets, I was hooked then and there. A few years later I was able to pick up a 1861 Springfield rifle like those issued in the Civil War.
What I think the really satisfying part of shooting old firearms is that you really sort of are on your own. Yes there are a few places that may sell Burton Balls or Paper Cartridges still you will absolutely pay through the nose for them so if you are to shoot anything more than once a year on your birthday you better learn quickly how to do it yourself. I think it really forces you to get a better understanding for how efficient our modern world really is too, if I want to load and shoot 40 rounds in my musket it will take me the majority of a afternoon between melting lead, cutting paper, melting beeswax, and rolling them up to get them set. If you want to shoot your AR-15 you can grab two 20 round boxes and be on your way. Another thing about them is they will humble you and they will do it quickly it's about the only thing about an old muzzle-loader that is fast sure you might be able to stack rounds all day with a .270 at 150 yards but try it with a old caplock. I think this is fun because it forces you to really slow down and learn to become a better shooter there really is nothing like it I would say. Shooting them really does feel like bringing something back from the dead in a way. There was a time when the best of the best could muster 3 shots a minute on a man size target it almost seems like a tall tale anymore like Paul Bunyan but once upon a time it meant you were one of the deadliest in the world.
I regularly shoot matches with some of these old warhorses it normally does not lead to many laps in victory lane as I am simply outgunned but there is nothing more fun than taking a rifle last issued when Garfield was president out to the range, and who knows you might even have the occasional upset. I suppose I will close in saying that if you find yourself bored this weekend try and get out there and make some smoke I bet you'll like it.
The trip to the states was mostly uneventful, but I will document it here for posterity and to get my own head around it.
My wife and I decided to visit my hometown briefly to see my parents’ graves, and to let our boys experience a bit of where I am from, before there is no longer any reason to go back there. There barely is now, but that is another story. We left Japan on a mild but chilly Christmas day, arriving on Christmas night, and returned via Los Angeles on New Year’s Eve, though our arrival was such that in Japan on touchdown it was already January 2nd. So the day of January 1st we lost somewhere in the air. This is an account of that journey and the impressions that I got. Please opt out now if this sort of post is not your thing.
People don’t seem as fat as in previous visits. Admittedly we did not get out to Wal Mart, though Target still has the bizarre posters in the women’s clothing section that have women who are not just fairly overweight (at least by my standards), but deformed. By that I mean that at least one model had visible stretch marks and even scars from what appeared to be poorly healed abdominal injuries, possibly from a stab or bullet wound. I’m not kidding. I will admit that I just don’t get it. Compare that to your typical similar ad in Japan. In any case, apart from the advertisements, in the few restaurants we visited, people just weren’t as obese as I remember. Maybe semaglutide is doing its thing. All hail Ozempic.
So the fatness seemed reduced. Trimmed. My southern home state was overcast and gray and the trees dun-colored the whole time we were there. Not even southern gothic, more like something out of Steinbeck, enough to drive any sane person in-. Generally the weather was not as warm as I remember this time of year, though by no means freezing, with temperatures in the 50s (F). All in all it felt like something out of the film version of The Road, without the roving bands of cannibals. Maybe if I had driven to Gadsden.
Drivers drove fast. I was given a big black Chevy Tahoe by Hertz because they had no SUVs. The Chevrolet Tahoe is a large vehicle with controls in the form of a dial you twist from R to P to D to N. There is no gearshift on the column or floor. Is this a normal thing now? Dials and buttons. At least there was a steering wheel and the gas and brake pedals were as expected. It is also a large vehicle, at least for me. I felt like I was driving a computerized and de-weaponized tank. But drive it I did.
From the airport I drove us a half hour or so to my aunt’s. She scolded me for not phoning her from the airport. At her home were pictures from my past, and baubles on the shelf that I remember having been at my grandmother’s house when I was a boy. My aunt is old and frail and said she fell and can’t lift her arm above around here. She had some devilled eggs and cold ham for us, both dishes that I hate and would rather be shot than eat. I said we weren’t hungry, which was a lie. I dislike lying but apparently I am willing to do it. The next morning I made us all pancakes from some batter my aunt had, to which you just add water—no milk or eggs or anything, just water then you pour it onto butter on a hot skillet and flip, and there are your pancakes. I felt like I was eating something Captain Kirk might eat on the Enterprise. She put bacon into her oven on some sort of special grease-catching pan. “It’s healthier this way,” she said, though I have never wanted or expected bacon to have any health benefits, nor have I cared if it did. Because it’s bacon, ffs. She cooked it to hell and back and if you held up a piece it stood erect like a long, fried pig crackling instead of the floppy bacon I am now familiar with in Japan. I crunched and swallowed it down anyway. Her coffee machine had no filter. “I ran out,” she said. Somehow we made coffee anyway, but it was decaf, because of her heart. Outside she has a dog, a rescue mutt that will bite you if you offer it your hand. I heard but did not see it. Somehow she feeds it. It dislikes her boyfriend, whom her crazy daughter dislikes. I want to shake the daughter, my cousin, until, as they say, she comes to her senses. My aunt is 82 and has a boyfriend. What sort of derangement would want to deprive her of this?
The next day we said bye to my aunt and hugged her, and I drove an hour to my hometown through the overcast gray depressing weather. “Is that a dead deer?” asked my wife. It was, on the side of the road. There would be more than one, as well as other, less identifiable roadkill, but she stopped asking after the first time. Some of the road signs on the way were different, the towns having shrunk or others grown so that the relevant placenames people presumably want to turn off the exit to had changed. Once I arrived, the roads that I used to know well seem to have been diverted at key points. In one instance I was going in the opposite direction from where I had intended, on a road I thought I was familiar with. The best restaurants of my youth were all closed forever, but there seemed to be more Mexican places. The indoor mall from my childhood looked as if it had been bombed out. The new indoor mall from my teenage years we did not visit. But there is an outdoor area with lots of shops and a Planet Fitness and a large Barnes & Noble and Panera and some ramen shop called FUKU ramen, a name which amuses me. This outdoor mall-type place seems to be the new place people go. I had a poor meal at a diner there, though the mashed potatoes were good. I used my phone’s GPS to find at least one address in my own hometown, something I never used to have to do. The university is still quite striking, and the stadium has reached gargantuan proportions, though, from what I understand, college football is now fucked.
One general point of interest was that we did not have any particularly bad interactions with service personnel, which is usually something that happens almost immediately upon landing, if not in the cabin of the plane, once we have switched to an American carrier. No, this time everyone was pleasant and even efficient. Possibly because of the time of year. I was called “baby” by the first woman I interacted with at a coffee shop, but this possibly because I put on my friendly affect in my southern accent (though this was in LAX), which seemed to cause her to warm to me. I don’t mind this familiarity and in fact I welcome it. In Japan I’m treated with smiles and fawning courtesy, but as often as not this is complete tatemae and can give one a feeling of being in an episode of The Twilight Zone. Assuming anyone here knows what the hell that even means. It can be weird, that’s my point. In the US there’s more of an authenticity—I don’t expect the woman behind the counter to lend me money or ask me to dinner at her house, but I know that should I say something off-script, her reaction will be genuine. I do not know if I am getting my point across clearly. My southern cadence is also coming out.
At one point my youngest son, who had seen something on Youtube about Papa John’s (the pizza place), asked if we could get a pizza there. I said sure. It was raining and I was already tired of driving us everywhere, but there on the corner was a Papa John’s so I pulled over. I walked in and immediately saw the sign: “No walk-in orders. Online or phone only.” I asked the bespectacled, tired-looking dishwater blonde woman if that meant I could not order there. She affirmed that this was true. Playing along with this bizarre policy, I walked outside and tried to make a call. For some reason my phone wasn’t working, so my oldest son got out of the car with his iPhone, which was, and I tried to go online and order through the website. Due to the Japanese phone settings possibly, the phone would not take us to the web location we wanted. I tried calling again, and this time was met with a computerized voice instructing me to press 3. Which I did. Then it hung up on me. This story is far longer but the gist is we did not get the Papa John’s pizza.
We stayed at a friend’s house, which he now rents. Back in the day he lived in the house, and in fact it is the house in which he (a priest) married my wife and me. Now the house is professionally decorated, with original art, and, on some flat surfaces, three stacked books upon which fake plants sit. I did not like this touch—books are for reading or for being on shelves, not for supporting fake plants. But the beds were nice, and it was of course generous of him to offer us the stay.
We visited my best friend, and his father and large family for their Christmas to-do. His father is 92, and far more jovial than I remember from my youth. “Take your boys in there to my trophy room,” he suggested. I did. There were many deer antlers on the wall--racks, he called them--and a scoped rifle in a glass case. I do not know what kind of rifle. There was a bunch of food including a tray of buttered corn kernels and what I seem to remember being a tray of meatballs, which seems odd, but none of us ate because our times were all messed up still. I was offered a Miller Lite in a can and drank it gratefully even though I was about to drive us all to the airport. Because hey, such behavior is legal there. My friend’s son showed us pictures on his phone of various dead animals that he had killed over the years. In one there was a giant wild boar on the back of a truckbed, which he kept calling a pig. I was told there was a wild black bear somewhere in Alabama that was caught on some security camera in city limits. “What happened to it?” I asked. No one seemed to know.
In Houston on layover, we were stuck on the tarmac. For eight hours. Again, I am not kidding. Apparently, there was lightning in the vicinity and every time there is a lightning strike, takeoff is delayed 8 minutes. Or something like that. There was a very pretty Mexican girl in a red sweater and jeans next to me who apparently also spoke French. We talked several times over the eight hours, though I did not try to pursue extended conversation. In my younger, unmarried years, I would have. They deplaned us once, then re-planed us. They kept delaying us with excuses, and apologies. At one point the crew was replaced with a new crew, who were mildly more smiley. A very tattooed man with his cat in a cat carrier sat a few rows in front of me, but opted out of the flight when they offered, and left the plane, delaying us further. One woman was forcibly ejected for acting out, and we watched her storm out the plane door, to a fate I can only guess (staying in Houston is a good bet). Eight hours is a damn long time to sit in a plane that isn’t moving, especially when there isn’t even a terrorist with a gun or bomb keeping you there. Anyway we eventually took off (to applause, which I led) and got to LA. When I disembarked, the Mexican girl had gone ahead of me and was standing at the gate waiting for her boyfriend, and when I tried to catch her eye in hopes that maybe there would be a smile of recognition, she did not look at me. Women are interesting creatures and I love them.
In LA because of the 8-hour arrival delay when we were dropped at the Remote Rental Car place it was dark and there was no one there. Metro buses and cars whizzed by dispassionately. When I called the company I got a machine. My wife kept saying it was cold. I called our hotel, and they suggested an Uber, which we ordered, and took us about 30 minutes. The driver, a guy named Marvin, did not speak except in low murmurs but he got us where we wanted to go. We ate at Denny’s beside the hotel and I had the best burger I have had in years there. The waitress brought me a small carafe of coffee and I had four servings in a very satisfying heavy white mug, despite the hour (it was now 11:15 pm). The hotel itself was shabbier than in the photos when I had booked it, and you could look at the carpets and tell thousands of people had trod over them, probably with dirty ass shoes. But the room was roomy and the beds comfortable and the shower powerful and hot. The staff were all very friendly and helpful and female.
The next day across the street to the hotel we saw our first crazy homeless person, a man in what appeared to be velvet overalls who kept screaming at something. My sons were very interested, like whale-watchers who see their first sounding. I managed a refund from the rental and got yet another Uber (driver: Luis, born in Portugal, spent many years on fishing boats) to drive us to a new agency, where we were given a mini-Van, with more dials and buttons.
In LA we did Universal Studios. The backlot tour featured lots of old movies my sons had never seen, and the driver touted television shows I have never watched. The Harry Potter ride is the same as the one in Universal Studios Japan, but Hermione speaks English in the Hollywood version. The Jurassic World ride is splashy and made me colder than I already was. In the provided photo I have my hoodie up and am looking off camera. The lines were painfully long. I ate a hot dog and my sons had tacos with carne asada where the meat to my taste was rather gamey. When I considered buying a Griffindor necktie my wife made several comments that caused me to reconsider not only buying the tie (I did not) but also my maturity level and general life choices. We ate at Bubba Gump shrimp where the gumbo was good though my wife found it overly salty. The table next to us celebrated the birthday of a boy who had long frilly hair and whose brother was extremely ugly and also had poofy hair. Someday perhaps they will identify as female, though perhaps by then the world will refuse to acknowledge this. We were not assigned one waiter but several, which seemed odd. They all introduced themselves by name so I called them by these names, which my son thought was rude of me. My wife had a margarita at every restaurant that served them. The best, she announced, was the pineapple jalapeño one, which I tasted and it was cold and strong.
I drove us by El Coyote, the last restaurant Sharon Tate visited before she was brutally murdered in 1969 by Tex Watson and his crazy cohort. I had planned to go in and eat there, but it seemed ghoulish and I suddenly had a change of heart. I’ve always had a thing for Sharon Tate. We drove up to the Griffith Observatory which reminded me but no one else of Rebel Without a Cause. Natalie Wood died before she reached the age I am now. I remember the morning when I discovered she died—Good Morning America or whatever was announcing it as I got ready for school. I was 13, and it rattled me greatly that she was gone. I still suspect Wagner had something to do with it, that fucker. We had, at last, In and Out burgers, which I had always wanted to try. The fries were underwhelming but the burgers were fine. We walked on the Santa Monica pier which was full of foreigners speaking non-English but was otherwise exactly how I remembered it. I taught my sons the smell of marijuana, which we smelled on a continual basis the entire time we were in LA. I took a photo of Mark Hamill’s star on the walk of fame, a photo I will probably never look at again. Some guy in a terribly put together Chewbacca get-up walked past us. I bought a bright red MAGA hat off a guy on the street for my Harris-supporting friend back in Japan, because I am an asshole. When I told the guy selling the hats this, he threw in a flag of Kamala Harris for free. The man selling the hats was black, and fist-bumped me as I left. Sometimes I love America to the point I feel like weeping. I wish other Americans did. Or maybe my testosterone is waning in my age.
We heard many languages in LA. Many women had far too much plastic surgery, which, for me, is any at all. In one of many lines we stood in, a girl behind us was probably one of the most exquisitely beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen in person. Blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect teeth, a natural, unaffected beauty. She wore some sort of sweater and black yoga pants and sneakers and was with her aunt, probably. I am sometimes reminded in moments like this that really pretty blonde women have an amazing power at that age (mid-20s probably) that will fade eventually, but is mighty when and while they have it. A gift from God. What must it be like in Scandinavia, where blondes are a dime a dozen? Anyway they’d all be taller than me there. On the KTLA news the announcers were also strikingly pretty, but in a too done-up way. Like if you saw them in reality you’d think Wow you spent a lot of time getting ready. At the Lakers/Cavaliers game the Lakers lost, but Austin Reaves sunk 32 points. He looked average height from our seat but is 6’5”. My sons were happy to watch Lebron James and Rui Hachimura. Beers cost 22 dollars. Damn right I bought one.
We saw no celebrities, though my sons thought they saw a famous Japanese person in a donut shop. Speaking of doughnut shops my wife had her first “Hot Now” Krispy Kreme in my hometown. She said it was the best doughnut she had ever had and was outraged that they did not have these in Japan (the hot now versions). I remember a time before they had the Hot Now sign and you just sometimes got freshly made ones. I grew up with a Krispy Kreme next to my elementary school and used to go watch the doughnuts move on the conveyor belt through the glaze. They’re good with hot coffee and very, very sweet. I remember eating a few at a time when younger but couldn’t eat more than one now without feeling diabetes set in.
My parents graves were clean, and the gravestone legible and newish, with both their names and everything filled in. It was, again, an overcast day the day we went, but the small town had only changed slightly--many of the old two-story beautiful homes were still there, probably inherited and for some reason still maintained. I hadn’t bought any flowers as everywhere was still closed on December 26th. So I just stood there. I always wondered and dreaded, before they died, what it would be like when my parents were gone, and now I can’t help thinking that my own sons will have to lose their parents as well, meaning me, me and my wife, who hopefully will outlive me by many years. I wish for a quick death, sudden, shocking maybe but without the long drawn out heaving and gasping that was the fate of my own parents, whom I judge in my adult mind but unquestionably still loved. We are all so careless with one another, really.
There is more to this, but I’m not going to write it. Thanks for getting this far.
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In preparation for reading Trump's executive orders, I started reading Biden's. I think I just finished the backlog.
My goal in this report and subsequent reports is to get at concrete actions that are happening in government, rather than the emotional reactions and grandiose rhetoric on either side of the media. I'm looking for significant actions with long-term consequences which are under-reported along my axis of interests: competence in government, environmental regulation, science funding policy, AI, and other existential threats.
This means I will skip a lot of the rhetoric. If something is very likely to be challenged in court, I will note that and then wait for the courts to have their say.
Outgoing executive actions of the Biden administration
January 14, 2025: Proclamation 10881 "Establishment of the Chuckwalla National Monument"
This Proclamation goes on for five print pages about the history of a region in "southeastern California, where the Mojave and Colorado Deserts intersect," then declares (under the Antiquities Act) that the "objects" described in these pages need to be protected, "to ensure the preservation, restoration, and protection of the objects of scientific and historic interest identified above and to advance renewable energy in Development Focus Areas (DFAs)".
The area to be protected is five claims totaling 624,270 acres, between Joshua Tree National Park and Chocolate Mountain Aerial Gunnery Range.
I don't know anything about this region, but skipping all the rhetoric, the plain text of the Proclamation doesn't make sense to me. In my mind, either you preserve an area, or you develop it, but not both. Preserving "to advance renewable energy" is weird, unless this is the watershed for a hydroelectric dam.
January 15, 2025: Executive order 14141 "Advancing United States Leadership in Artificial Intelligence Infrastructure"
This executive order has eleven sections on more than 20 print pages, so I will summarize each section as a unit.
Section one: Preamble: "This order sets our Nation on the path to ensure that future frontier AI can, and will, continue to be built here in the United States."
Section two: Policy: Agencies should support AI development for national security and economic leadership, and energy development for such, as long as it doesn't raise energy prices. (How can using more energy not raise energy prices?)
Section three: Defines terms. Not too many surprises here, except that fossil fuel power with 90% permanent carbon capture falls under the definition of "clean energy."
Section four: (1) Three sites on Federal land will be leased to AI data centers and their supporting energy infrastructure by 2027. This section defines consideration and process for the Secretary of the Interior to do so, announcing sites by March 31, 2025, soliciting bids by June 30, 2025. (2) Five regions will be designated as "geothermal regions" for power generation and "thermal storage." A program for streamlining geothermal projects on federal land will be established by July 2025. (3) Construction of AI infrastructure is to begin by Jan 1, 2026 with full-capacity operation by December 31, 2027. This seems like slow timelines for AI. (4) These sites are to be secured within one year.
Section five: This whole section is about how the DoE should work with states to report on the impact of data centers on consumer energy prices. I predict this will slow AI development.
Section six: Requires electrical transmission providers to let the Federal government know about their remaining and planned capacity, and makes arrangements for agencies to power the three AI data centers of Section four. This is a good thing insofar as it is seeking to find underused infrastructure for placement of data centers. On the other hand, isn't this what price signals are for, and isn't it dangerous to have all this information in a single place which will undoubtedly be hacked by China?
Section seven: Requires agencies to do all the permitting quickly. Ex. EPA review is 30 days.
Section eight: Instructs the Secretary of Energy to include frontier AI data centers in its previously-scheduled nationwide energy and transmission needs analyses. Instructs agencies to who make infrastructure loans to inform the developers who win bids for AI related infrastructure on Federal land about loan and loan guarantee opportunities.
Section nine: (1) Plans to make a plan for promoting development of nuclear power. (2) Mandates a report on supply chain risks for data center components. (3) Develops model contracts for distributed energy. (4) Evaluate existing nationwide permits to see if they can be used for AI data center construction, and write new ones.[?] (5) Hold a voluntary "grand challenge" for power efficiency, computational efficiency, and water efficiency in data centers.
Section ten: Coordinate with geopolitical allies to build "trusted AI infrastructure" abroad.
Section eleven: Don't violate existing laws while doing any of this.
January 15, 2025: Executive order 14142 "Taking Additional Steps With Respect to the Situation in Syria"
This Executive Order (EO) modifies a 2019 (Trump) EO which declared a National Emergency in order to seize assets of individuals who had "directly or indirectly engaged in" "actions or policies that further threaten the peace, security, stability, or territorial integrity of Syria", but limited to "Turkish officials" who had sought to "obstruction, disruption, or prevention of a ceasefire in northern Syria".
Biden's EO strikes language which keeps it narrow to "in particular the recent actions by the Government of Turkey to conduct a military offensive into northeast Syria," and removes all clauses limiting enforcement to representatives of Turkey.
I read this seeking to allow sanctions on non-Turks who threaten the stability of Syria. Maybe Syrians, maybe Isrealis?
January 14, 2025: Notice 2025-01312. "Continuation of the National Emergency With Respect to the Situation in the West Bank"
This notice extends the national emergency of a previous executive order for one year, until Feb. 1, 2026. The previous executive order appears to sanction people involved in supporting violence in the West Bank, and prevents them from immigrating from the US. Not sure if it referrs to Israeli settlers or members of the Palestinian Authority.
January 15, 2025: "Continuation of the National Emergency With Respect to the Widespread Humanitarian Crisis in Afghanistan and the Potential for a Deepening Economic Collapse in Afghanistan"
The administration issues a declaration to extend a previous national emergency by one year. This national emergency allows freezing the assets of "Da Afghanistan Bank" held by US financial institutions, to keep the Taliban from using these assets.
Given that the asset freeze has been in place since February 11, 2022, this isn't a big deal.
January 16, 2025: Executive Order 14143 "Providing for the Appointment of Alumni of AmeriCorps to the Competitive Service".
This EO gives Americorps alumni with 1700 or more hours of service a fast-track to Federal employment, by making them elligible for "Non-Competitive Eligibility", for one year following their service. This gets them out of merit-based competition in federal hiring. This affects a population of about 80,000 people.
January 16, 2025: Executive Order 14144 "Strengthening and Promoting Innovation in the Nation's Cybersecurity"
This EO has a lot of parts, and each section was likely written by a team of subject-matter experts. There is no way I can do it justice.
Section two requires Federal contract software providers to submit "machine-readable secure software development attestations; high-level artifacts to validate those attestations; and a list of the providers' Federal Civilian Executive Branch (FCEB) agency software customers." It also provides that the government establish "practical and effective" security practices to require when it procures software," and implement "supply chain risk management programs" into their own enterprise software.
Section three requires federal agencies to implement security practices used in industry, then goes into protections (encryption) for the civil space system and space ground systems.
Section four requires "strong identity authentication and encryption using modern, standardized, and commercially available algorithms and protocols", including Border Gateway router security, Route Origin Authorizations, and DNS traffic encryption. I'm skeptical of digital identity documents, but if they were more privacy-preserving than physical documents that would be impressive.
Section five seeks to "Combat cybercrime and fraud" by requiring the implementation and use of "mobile driver's licenses", "remote digital identity verification using digital identity documents" which can be used on any "standards-compliant hardware." The focus seems to be on public benefit programs. Thankfully, there are provisions for "do not enable ... surveil and track presentation of the digital identity document" and "ensuring only the minimum information required for a transaction."
Section six directs DARPA to open a program using AI for cyber defense, and for other agencies to implement the program within a year or so.
Section seven is about making sure that IT systems introduced by agencies can be audited for security compliance. Mostly transparency and automatic attestation.
Section eight is about securing national security systems.
Section nine amends a previous executive order, enabling sanctions on foreign hackers and cybersecurity threatening entities named by the Secretary of the Treasury or Secretary of State.
This is an extremely technical EO, and I have no doubt it was written by several teams of specialists. This also means it is almost impossible for the layperson to evaluate. Implementation will take years, with many sequences of delays built in for agencies to develop and implement processes.
January 16, 2025: Memorandum: "Orderly Implementation of the Air Toxics Standards for Ethylene Oxide Commercial Sterilizers"
Ethylene Oxide is used to sterilize medical devices, but it also known to cause cancer when in the air. This Memorandum establishes a process for considering requests for exemptions to new EPA rules on EtO release.
Whether this is good or bad seems like it will depend on the implementation. The deadline for the process development here is two years.
January 15, 2025: Memorandum: "Extending and Expanding Eligibility for Deferred Enforced Departure for Certain Hong Kong Residents"
"I have determined that it is in the foreign policy interest of the United States to defer for 24 months the removal of any Hong Kong resident, regardless of country of birth, who is present in the United States on the date of this memorandum, except for those [who have returned to the PRC or been convited of crimes.]" This seems like a good thing.
January 19, 2025: Executive Order 14145 "Helping Left-Behind Communities Make a Comeback"
This executive order directs several agencies to coordinate to support local economic development and make it easier to find resources about economic development programs which may be useful to "covered communities", which are defined as "economically distressed" regions, "Community Disaster Resiliency Zones", rural communities, and regions served by existing regional development programs.
This doesn't look controversial at all, unless the communities in question are selected in a partisan manner.
January 19, 2025: Executive Order 14146 "Partial Revocation of Executive Order 13961"
This is a very short but cryptic executive order. "Sections 1, 3, 4, 5, and 7 of Executive Order 13961 of December 7, 2020 (Governance and Integration of Federal Mission Resilience), are hereby revoked."
Executive order 13961 is about continuity of the US government during emergencies. Section 1 establishes "the policy of the United States to maintain comprehensive and effective continuity programs that ensure national security and the preservation of government structure under the United States Constitution," and mandates that agencies must be able to continuously perform "National Essential Functions": mostly security, defense, health, and emergency services. Sections 3, 4, 5, and 7 establish a "Federal Mission Resilience Executive Committee".
I'm very confused. It looks like Section 2 (not revoked) defines the Federal Mission Resilience Strategy, and is untouched. So this EO is abolishing an Executive Committee.
While searching around to try to figure out what was going on, my search for Strategy document of Section two revealed a January 20 2025 Trump EO "Organization of the National Security Council and Subcommittees" which defines a National Security Council.
I'm going to guess this was some kind of parting shot by the Biden Admin, and it doesn't really matter because Trump's day 1 EOs overwrote it. But this last one leaves me just very very confused.
There has been some recent usage of AI that has garnered a lot of controversy
- (top level comment) https://www.themotte.org/post/1657/culture-war-roundup-for-the-week/293580?context=8#context
- (top level comment, but now deleted post) https://www.themotte.org/post/1657/culture-war-roundup-for-the-week/292693?context=8#context
- (response to the deleted top level comment) https://www.themotte.org/post/1657/culture-war-roundup-for-the-week/292999?context=8#context
There were multiple different highlighted moderator responses where we weighed in with different opinions
- (@amadan) https://www.themotte.org/post/1657/culture-war-roundup-for-the-week/293601?context=8#context
- (@netstack) https://www.themotte.org/post/1657/culture-war-roundup-for-the-week/293094?context=8#context
- (@netstack) https://www.themotte.org/post/1657/culture-war-roundup-for-the-week/293068?context=8#context
- (@self_made_human) https://www.themotte.org/post/1657/culture-war-roundup-for-the-week/293159?context=8#context
- (@cjet79) https://www.themotte.org/post/1657/culture-war-roundup-for-the-week/292776?context=8#context
The mods have been discussing this in our internal chat. We've landed on some shared ideas, but there are also some differences left to iron out. We'd like to open up the discussion to everyone to make sure we are in line with general sentiments. Please keep this discussion civil.
Some shared thoughts among the mods:
- No retroactive punishments. The users linked above that used AI will not have any form of mod sanctions. We didn't have a rule, so they didn't break it. And I thought in all cases it was good that they were honest and up front about the AI usage. Do not personally attack them, follow the normal rules of courtesy.
- AI generated content should be labelled as such.
- The user posting AI generated content is responsible for that content.
- AI generated content seems ripe for different types of abuse and we are likely to be overly sensitive to such abuses.
The areas of disagreement among the mods:
- How AI generated content can be displayed. (off site links only, or quoted just like any other speaker)
- What AI usage implies for the conversation.
- Whether a specific rule change is needed to make our new understanding clear.
Edit 1 Another point of general agreement among the mods was that talking about AI is fine. There would be no sort of topic ban of any kind. This rule discussion is more about how AI is used on themotte.
This isn't a large question. Because of the users we have here, I think we could all benefit from short sharp tips to edit our own words.
In this topic, can you provide advice on how to curate yourself when you throw words in speech and on 'paper'.
Links to 'speechcraft' sources are appreciated.
I'll start:
- Take a second to think about how someone else would hear your words if they were you. (rule 0)
- Curate and cut your words before you throw them.
- "Brevity is the soul of wit" - Hamlet - Shakespeare.
Do you have a dumb question that you're kind of embarrassed to ask in the main thread? Is there something you're just not sure about?
This is your opportunity to ask questions. No question too simple or too silly.
Culture war topics are accepted, and proposals for a better intro post are appreciated.
Be advised: this thread is not for serious in-depth discussion of weighty topics (we have a link for that), this thread is not for anything Culture War related. This thread is for Fun. You got jokes? Share 'em. You got silly questions? Ask 'em.
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Post your project, your progress from last week, and what you hope to accomplish this week.
If you want to be pinged with a reminder asking about your project, let me know, and I'll harass you each week until you cancel the service
The Wednesday Wellness threads are meant to encourage users to ask for and provide advice and motivation to improve their lives. It isn't intended as a 'containment thread' and any content which could go here could instead be posted in its own thread. You could post:
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Requests for advice and / or encouragement. On basically any topic and for any scale of problem.
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Updates to let us know how you are doing. This provides valuable feedback on past advice / encouragement and will hopefully make people feel a little more motivated to follow through. If you want to be reminded to post your update, see the post titled 'update reminders', below.
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Advice. This can be in response to a request for advice or just something that you think could be generally useful for many people here.
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Encouragement. Probably best directed at specific users, but if you feel like just encouraging people in general I don't think anyone is going to object. I don't think I really need to say this, but just to be clear; encouragement should have a generally positive tone and not shame people (if people feel that shame might be an effective tool for motivating people, please discuss this so we can form a group consensus on how to use it rather than just trying it).
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Shaming.
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Posting links that could be summarized as 'Boo outgroup!' Basically, if your content is 'Can you believe what Those People did this week?' then you should either refrain from posting, or do some very patient work to contextualize and/or steel-man the relevant viewpoint.
In general, you should argue to understand, not to win. This thread is not territory to be claimed by one group or another; indeed, the aim is to have many different viewpoints represented here. Thus, we also ask that you follow some guidelines:
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