Double Standards

I’ve examined evolution, and I think I understand
Though the evidence is shaky, still I think the theory’s grand
But it’s only just a theory, so it’s only just a start
And an open-minded person should try picking it apart.
No belief without a reason! Give me proof of what you claim!
And the more I look, the more I see the evidence is lame!
When considering a tangled bank, I choose to see God’s Laws
And the reason I believe it? Just because.

Charles Darwin drew a picture of an ever-branching tree
From the earliest of creatures all the way to you and me
Other limbs produced the fishes, beetles, lizards, monkeys, ants,
Paramecia, bacteria, creationists and plants;
He supported it with evidence of every kind he could
Which I’ve critically examined, as a thinking person should;
Now I know that he’s mistaken in the picture that he draws
And the reason I believe it? Just because.

If you analyze it critically, as science says we must
You’ll find laws of physics broken, so the theory is a bust:
The second thermo-something law is busted into pieces
By the fact that evolution means that entropy decreases!
And random changes couldn’t make the creatures that we find,
So the evidence is clear, that we cannot be un-designed!
With castles out of playing-cards and armies made of straws
There’s the reason I believe it: Just because.

Now, with Darwin and his evolution clearly in the tank
There is only one alternative, if I am to be frank;
That’s the theory found in Genesis, the Holy Word of God,
And with natural selection out, creation gets the nod.
But we can’t be disrespectful to our deeply held belief,
So our critical examination, this time, must be brief
There’s no clothing on this emperor, not even filmy gauze—
But the reason I believe it? Just because.

Sure, the logic may be iffy, and the evidence is slim—
Who created the creator? And then, who created him?
Why the Genesis creation? Why not something else instead?
Can we guarantee the story is exactly what God said?
Is it literal or metaphor, or maybe outright fiction?
What’s the proper course of action when we find a contradiction?
I’m ignoring any nagging doubt within me where it gnaws
And the reason I believe it? Just because.

If I’m right, I go to heaven, which I’d really like to do
But I’ll go to hell for sure if I suspect that it’s untrue
It’s a simple little wager, there’s no reason to think twice:
You get punished if you’re naughty, you get presents if you’re nice
From the guy who watches all of us, from there behind his beard
(And who cares if it’s millennia since last time he appeared?)
And so, even if it’s really just a grown-up’s Santa Claus
Well, the reason I believe it? Just because.

(nearly time to ease off the gas, and stop posting old stuff. There’s enough up here now that folks ought to get the idea. I’ve still got hundreds, but I won’t put you through that.)

Certum Est, Quia Impossibile

I had a dream about this one the other day: I was “Uncle Cuttlefish”, singing this song to a group of young campers, who joined in on the “Certum est” parts. One of the campers, little Suzie, explained about the bit in Latin, which translates to “it is certain, because it is impossible”, a doctrine of the tremendous importance of faith. Faith is a virtue–the more impossible a thing is, the more important it is that you believe it. (In the dream, another camper brought up the fact that creationists often say “it takes more faith to believe in evolution than in god”, and was immediately escorted away from the campfire song circle.) Yes, I have weird dreams. I almost never remember them… this may be the reason.

The melody I use for it is very close to G&S’s “Tit-Willow”. If you are not familiar with it, this version skips a verse, but the performance more than makes up for it.

You have to admit, this sounds pretty far-fetched
Certum est, quia impossibile
But my mem-o-ry has it indelibly etched
Certum est, quia impossibile
There once was a garden, with Adam and Eve
Along came a serpent, with plans to deceive—
What part of this tale am I s’posed to believe?
Certum est, quia impossibile

Lot’s Wife was transformed to a pillar of salt
Certum est, quia impossibile
The bible implies she herself was at fault
Certum est, quia impossibile
The sinning in Sodom, it made the Lord sore-eyed
She didn’t obey; now she’s sodium chloride—
A message which all of the “sinners of yore” eyed
Certum est, quia impossibile

Some children once pestered a man with no hair
Certum est, quia impossibile
Who prayed for revenge, and so God sent two bears
Certum est, quia impossibile
Which mauled all the kids in a terrible fight
And killed every one, with a blow or a bite,
So that next time, the children will act more polite
Certum est, quia impossibile

Then God gave us Jesus, to die for our sins
Certum est, quia impossibile
To re-write the books, so a new age begins
Certum est, quia impossibile
And Jesus was tortured and nailed to a cross
To render us clean, through his terrible loss
(Or maybe his dad was just showing who’s boss)
Certum est, quia impossibile

And ever since then, why, the message has spread
Certum est, quia impossibile
That mankind will live, because Jesus was dead
Certum est, quia impossibile
I have to believe them, they urge and implore,
For ethics, for morals, for peace evermore…
Then battle each other, in bloodthirsty war
Certum est, quia impossibile

It’s a nice simple form, in 3/4 time; feel free to add your own verses! And please, sing it around campfires, and say hi to little Suzie if you see her.

Quirk, Part 3

Gilbert & Sussivan again– the Nightmare Song, from Iolanthe.  Not exactly, but inspired by.  That, and the nightmare we know as the internet.

In the near-recent past
If your hatred was vast
You could sit there and plot in your basement
You were perfectly free
Where nobody could see
You, and ask what the look on your face meant.
You would sit there and stew
As you muddled things through
And get caught up in impotent rages
You could hiss, you could vent;
Though it’s not their intent,
Still, basements make pretty good cages
You could keep to yourself
As you fill up your shelf
With the books that would fuel your conspiracy
But you’re only one man
And your beautiful plan
You keep hidden so no one will hear or see
But technology changed
So the warped and deranged
With a desktop computer and modem
Could now easily find
Those who write the same kind
Of conspiracy screeds and upload ’em
And they soon became lords
Of their bulletin boards
Or their chatrooms or newsgroups or forums
Where they found one another
And brother to brother
They gathered together in quorums
Now these like-minded chaps
With their keyboards in laps
Found a comfort, a sort of community
When they set to their tasks
Anonymity masks
Them, and blather they will, with impunity
Their connection is fast
So their knowledge is vast
In the internet age, they’re in heaven
With definitive proof
Of the moon-landing spoof
And how Bush was behind 9/11
Or how giving vaccines
To the populace, means
That the government’s playing the villain
They’re in league with Big Pharma,
So sound the alarm, a
Concern since they “found” penicillin
And the Kennedy plot
With a gunman who shot,
In a story that’s kept from the masses
Just a C.I.A. lackey
They think it was Jackie,
Who’s free now to marry Onassis
And the people all laughed
When an alien craft
Was a weather balloon, though a nifty one
But a cover-up works
Now they look like they’re jerks
When they talk about area fifty-one
But this corkscrewing ride
Has a sinister side
When the groups may be formed around hatred
Where their heads are all filled
With a view that’s distilled
Cos they read all the stuff that their mate read
Now there’s one group of hacks
Who are blaming the blacks
For the changes they see in society
While another sees gays
And their sodomite ways
As a blow to the nation’s propriety
Yet another will frown
If a person is brown
Whether wetback or Ay-rab, you lose
And additional groups
Hate the government’s troops
Or the faithful old standby, the Jews.
Now you’ve written a site
Where you post what you write
Of the citizenship of Obama
And there’s hate in your views
And the language you use
You would never repeat to your mamma
You are joined by your friends
And the fun never ends
As you’re lost in the thrill of debating
You’re exchanging your views
And deciding on who’s
Is the group most deserving of hating
If you needed a clue
I could point back to you
As I’m reaching the end of this ditty
I’ll admit the appeal,
But the way that I feel?
It’s not so much hatred… as pity.

For some reason, I feel compelled to link to this post, a call for the institutionalization of my greatest fan–the one person who has visited my site more than any other, and has left more comments than any other. No one is more deserving.

Dragon Food

“A blog is like a dragon. You have to feed it all the time and sometimes you get burned”
unattributed quote, collected here by Scicurious. (if you know who, let me know.)

If you want to own a dragon, there’s some things you ought to know
Though they’re cute when really tiny, if you feed them, they will grow—
And it’s fun to feed a dragon—well, it’s really fun at first,
Till you’re bleeding from the bite-marks and the blisters that have burst!
Finding food, at first, is simple, cos it’s laying all around,
And a dragon, when it’s little, eats whatever you have found.
As the months and years continue, dragon-feeding can get tricky,
As it’s eaten all the easy finds and now is getting picky
But you’ve got to feed the dragon, though it’s taking all your time
(And it really doesn’t help, should you decide to feed it rhyme)
All the dragon owners tell you, cos it’s something that they’ve learned,
That no matter how you feed it, there are times that you’ll get burned.

If you see I’ve written something, and you really wonder why…
Well, I have to feed the dragon, or it’s gonna up and die.

*****

As you might ascertain, I woke up this morning with writer’s block. This one is from the old digs.

One Of My Quirks

The site is running a bit more smoothly, so I can trust the window to stay open long enough for me to type a bit. Anyway, since I am still in the process of introducing myself to a good many of you (and very much enjoying seeing the old names at the new digs!), I thought I’d confess something.

Sometimes, I cheat. I let other writers do the heavy lifting. One of my favorites is W. S. Gilbert (of Gilbert & Sullivan fame). Once he’s taken care of metrical and rhyme schemes, the rest is easy. For instance, this one. You’ll note I am making a clever segue from XKCD themed verses to Gilbert-inspired verses…

There’s a marvel in the makeup of a mold
There is splendor in a cytoplasmic slime
And when scientists first noticed
This peculiar-looking protist
They agreed it was aesthetically sublime

Such a cheerful little fellow
In a brilliant shade of yellow
Yes I think it is aesthetically sublime!

There’s a multitude that live within a drop
They’re invisible until you use your lens
You can magnify the features
Of a myriad of creatures
Say hello to all your microscopic friends

If you grind it with precision
Then a lens can give you vision
So you notice all your microscopic friends!

If you agree
Sing derry down derry
It’s beautiful, very
And so much fun
Just look and see
Them verily vary
No magical fairy
To get things done

There is wonder in a parasitic wasp
In the horror she inflicts upon her foe
If a host should be infested,
From the inside she’s digested
In a process that’s as gruesome as it’s slow

What a wonder, but unnerving
I can think of none deserving
Such a process that’s as gruesome as it’s slow

There is beauty in a toxoplasmic spore
When it alters the behavior of a rat
With a tendency to pull it
Till it’s marching down the gullet
And residing in the stomach of a cat

Toxoplasma likes it best in-
Side a kitty-cat’s intestine
Which you get to through the stomach of a cat

If you agree
Sing derry down derry
It’s beautiful, very
And so much fun
Just look and see
Them verily vary
No magical fairy
To get things done

Inspired by The Mikado, of course, and by XKCD comic 877, “Beauty“.

I Got Yer “Edgy Re-Telling” Right Here

PZ tells us of the plan for a new, “edgy re-telling” of the Noachian flood. It’s as good an excuse as any to repost the edgy re-imagining of a day at the Creationist Theme Park.

Our day at the park
Having fun on the ark
Will begin as we stroll up the ramp
With the mammals and dino’s
And strange hellifino’s
And all of it, gaudy and camp

There are creatures in twos
Like the grandest of zoos
Some in cages for people to see
Some are plastic, of course,
Like the odd “Jesus horse”
You can ride on (just children!) for free

With the tour guide explaining
It soon will start raining—
It’s best that we get through the doors
And with thunder and lightning
More piped-in than frightening
The skies open up, and it pours

It isn’t surprising
The water starts rising
With rivers obscuring the ground
We’re on board! We’re the winners!
We laugh at the sinners
Outside, who are there to be drowned.

Some electrical junction
Is bound to malfunction;
The waters continue to rise—
Now it’s panic and screaming
(Please tell me we’re dreaming!)
On board, we can hear all the cries

Now the water is rushing,
The pipes are still gushing,
We realize, we’re really afloat!
Like the Genesis story
We share in the glory
And ride in the biblical boat

Though it’s ill-built and creaky,
Substantially leaky,
We ought to be fine for a while
And although we’re all stuck
We rejoice in our luck
And we look at each other and smile.

Soon the still-rising tides
Means the screaming subsides
From the folks who did not get on board
And we know that God willed
That these people be killed
So we all praise the works of Our Lord

As the day turns to night
With no rescue in sight
Our exhaustion will drive us to sleep
Though the children are wary
Cos darkness is scary
And the lions are eating the sheep

So we all sleep in shifts
As our giant bed drifts
And there’s still not a star in the sky
Soon the sun will arrive
And we’re mostly alive
And if not, then God wants us to die.

At the whim of the weather
We huddle together
As carnivores roam through the decks
And we learned within hours
The stench overpowers—
Of feces, of death, and of sex

When the rain finally ceases
We pick up the pieces
And head to the top deck, for sun,
Where the clean-smelling breezes
Sweep by (thank you Jesus!)
And we kneel down and pray, every one!

As we float, we survey
The remains of the day
From our vantage above, on the ark
Where our neighbors and friends
Met their untimely ends
With the visitors there at the park

And we bow heads, and praise
God’s mysterious ways—
Our friends’ bodies have now begun bloating
And as plump as you please
They rise up through the seas
All disfigured and blue, they are floating

All the husbands and wives,
Little children whose lives
Were destroyed by their callous Creator
While we’re safe on the ark
Cos we chose to embark
A bit sooner, and not a bit later

There was water to drink
But it’s starting to stink
And starvation’s its own form of hell
But the hunger and thirst
Isn’t even the worst—
More than that, is the horrible smell

The miasma which flows
Though you cover your nose
Overwhelms you, and just never ends
And the worst of it all
This olfactory pall
Is the smell of our neighbors and friends

We float day after day
As around us, decay
And disease take a toll on our minds;
And our bodies grow weak
As around us, unspeak-
able horrors are all that one finds

In the decks down below
Where we never dare go
There is carnage like never before;
Most the mammals are gone
But the beetles live on
As they feast on the filth and the gore

There are maggots and flies
Which is no great surprise
In the dung and the foul, rancid meat
But up top, it is grim
Cos the pickings are slim
And there’s nothing for humans to eat

If we haven’t quite died
When the waters subside
We’ll praise God, and we won’t think to sue
Sure, it’s horribly cruel
But we learned, at home school
That what’s right is what Yahweh would do

Bishops, And Pawns

Via Kevin Zelnio on twitter, the story of a former bishop with a problem. His laptop contains child pornography, including images of torture.

When I read the headline, my first thought was “Again?” Didn’t I already write about a bishop? Well, yeah. Twice.

First, an arch-bishop of New York, covering up the abuses of priests:

I am the Bishop, the moral authority,
The good of my flock is my highest priority
Unless (or until) there’s a Shepherd accused,
And a lamb from my flock is among the abused.

I am the Bishop; to me they will come,
Both Shepherd and Sheep (because people are dumb)
I’m trusted to do what is just, what is right,
To head off a scandal, and keep things from sight.

I am the Bishop; the power is mine,
The law is of earth, but the issue’s divine
It’s morally righteous to hide the report,
And to fight and appeal when they take us to court.

I am the Bishop. The transcripts disclosed
I created a smokescreen when duly deposed;
I watched for my shepherds, and helped them escape
From those cruel allegations of beatings and rape.

I am the Bishop—Archbishop, New York;
I won’t admit shame, like in Dublin or Cork,
Here, cases are fewer, convictions are less—
It’s to me, not the cops, to whom Shepherds confess!

I am the Bishop, so I can forgive—
They’ll surely be punished, but not while they live.
The civil authorities think it’s a scam
But I am the Bishop; I don’t give a damn

I am the Bishop; I’ll sink straight to Hell,
With most of my Shepherds beside me, as well,
Where Satan’s the judge; no one grants an appeal…
But I am the Bishop. I know it’s not real.

Then, a bit later, in Philadelphia, a story of the review process intended to hide prevent abuse:

I am the Bishop, the first in the line
When reviewing a case, the decision is mine;
If I choose, I will forward the case to the board—
Most often, I don’t do a thing (thank the Lord!)

I am the Bishop; the Board of Review
Are my people, who do what I tell them to do
In each of the cases my Board made a call
They decided the case had no substance at all

I am the Bishop, the man you can trust—
Well, can is inaccurate; really, you must
Just ask me your questions; I give you my word
To give every detail that I want to be heard

I am the Bishop; I see in the news
They are calling for new, independent reviews!
It’s simply outrageous, to treat us this way
And put private Church business on public display

I am the Bishop; I know what we did—
How much is now public; how much is still hid
There’s a chance you’ve been actively kept unaware—
But I am the Bishop. I really don’t care.

How many rogue individuals does it take, before it’s a systematic problem?

Two Books

My favorite thing about this one, on the old blog, was my readers’ responses.

There was a man who had a book
Of Things Which He Believed;
He followed it religiously—
He would not be deceived.

The story in its pages was
The Truth that he adored—
The world outside its ancient script,
He faithfully ignored.

When someone found a falsehood
Or a small mistake inside it
(Or even some tremendous flaw)
He eagerly denied it.

The Truth was there inside his book
And never found outside
If something contradicted it
Why then, that something lied

And when he met another man
Who had another book,
He fell not to temptation—why,
He didn’t even look.

And, surely, there are other men
With other books in hand
Who walk, with views obstructed,
Here and there across the land

****

There was a man who had a book
(I find this quite exciting)
Who looked upon a tangled bank
And then… he started writing.

He wrote about the things he saw
And what he saw them do
And when he found mistakes he’d made
He wrote about them, too

He shared his book with other men
And women that he met—
They found the catch is bigger, when
You cast a wider net.

They shared their observations
So that everyone could read;
They worked as a community,
The better to succeed.

They found they saw much further,
And discovered so much more
When they stood upon the shoulders
Of the ones who’d gone before

It’s a book that keeps evolving,
Always growing, as we learn.
Many people help to write it:
Would you like to take a turn?

The New Parenthood

Continuing todays XKCD theme…

I want to make peace with my laptop computer;
I think that its feelings were hurt.
It read what I wrote–at least, that’s what I figure;
Since then, it’s been rather more curt.
It’s dialogue boxes are monosyllabic,
I swear it’s beginning to pout.
Now I’m thinking that, maybe, it’s bored in that box,
So I’m working on letting it out.

I wired a handful of microcontrollers,
Some batteries, bearings, and wheels,
A webcam for eyes, so it sees where it’s going
And doesn’t fall, head over heels.
It’s programmed, of course, not to run into objects
While making its way ‘cross the floors,
And it talks to my house’s security system
And opens and closes the doors!

Now it sneaks out and wanders all over the city–
I follow its progress online.
It’s posting its story, and streaming its cam
On a blog that gets more hits than mine.
It asked me last week for a solar recharger–
I found it a small one to add;
This morning, I woke to a note in the printer:
“I’m off to adventure! Thanks, Dad!”

Inspired by the inimitable XKCD, in case you are the last person not to know about it.

Introspection

I have no eyes to look behind
And view my brain, much less my mind;
I cannot know your thoughts, and you
Are blind to what I’m thinking, too.
These are the facts; we can’t deny
We have no working “inner eye”
Nor any form of ESP;
Your thoughts cannot be seen by me.

The claim—that we can know ourselves—
Is countered by the miles of shelves
Of self-help books. Our knowledge hides
From where we’re told that it resides!
If we could simply take a look
Inside our minds, why need a book?
We’d never ask “How do I feel?
Could this be love? Could it be real?”

If God or Science offered me
Some cranial transparency
So you could see my every thought—
The change of mind; the urge I fought,
The censored comment never spoken,
Secret kept and promise broken—
What fabled treasures! Wondrous finds,
If we could read each other’s minds!

But we cannot. Make no mistake,
Our skulls and minds are both opaque
We do, instead, what we can do;
We read the things in public view
We see the song, the poem, the kiss;
Infer from these that love is this.
In turn, each element we find
We sum, and call the total “mind”.

If I could see inside my head,
(A place where angels fear to tread)
And see how thinking really works,
The jumble of selected quirks
And if (what wonders “if” can do!)
I saw inside your thinking too
I think that I should never see
What now makes up philosophy.

This post was originally a comment in an ongoing thread about memes. The fish, a macropinna microstoma, would be the perfect antithesis of the metaphorical cuttlefish. Cuttlefish obscure their thoughts in ink, but macropinna has a transparent cranium. Utterly open; I’ve known people like that. Except that, no. You’d think you can read her face like a book, but you’re really just reading that book by its cover, and you know what they say about that. We can’t see what a macropinna is thinking. But we can see what it is doing, which is all we need.