In the halflight of dawn I saw a cloud

Resting quietly on the meadow.

It had tired of floating through the sky all night,

So I guessed,

And had gently come to earth for respite.

All was silent in this unsullied part of day.

I smiled at the peace of it, and sought to emulate

The cloud by spending the morning in bed.

Then rose thunderously a Calvinistic sun,

Beheld the indolence of this poor little cloud,

And punished its sloth by burning it away.

Hurriedly, I leapt up to begin the labors of the day.

There are certain Americans who will castigate Obama no matter what he does. The vast majority of these Obama-pummelers are middle-aged white men who cannot accept that Barack Obama is smarter than they are, has a better-looking wife (to say nothing of smarter) than they do, and has had more success than they’ve had. The final insult to these “real” Americans is—Obama is black. (He’s actually half white, but that fact seems to elude them.) Most of those who don’t like Obama are, of course, Republicans.

This dislike of Obama verges on a visceral hatred, inexplicable when the President’s personality is taken into consideration—by all accounts, the Pres is a nice guy. Now that the pre-election furor is in full gear, I fully expect the Obama-bashing to ramp up.

One of the ideas the GOP constantly tries to perpetuate is that Obama wants to redistribute income. The basis for this myth is that Obama is against the rich, maybe because he wants the rich to pay their fair share of taxes. Paul Krugman’s recent New York Times column “The GOP’s Uneven Playing Field” mentioned how Obama “invoked the spirit” of Teddy Roosevelt, something sure to piss the R’s off.

Well, it did, and I quote:

Mitt Romney, in particular, insisted that where Roosevelt believed that “government should level the playing field to create equal opportunities,” Obama believes that “government should create equal outcomes,” and that we should have a society where “everyone receives the same or similar rewards, regardless of education, effort and willingness to take risk.”

Unfortunately, Krugman’s sentence structure, while absolutely correct, is too complicated for most American adults.* Many will overlook the word “where,” and come away with the idea that Obama actually believes everyone should receive the same reward., instead of understanding that this is just Romney’s interpretation of what Obama believes. The concept of “same rewards etc.” is something that Romney (by all accounts, also a nice guy) and the GOP want you to believe.

In point of fact, Obama does not believe that everyone should receive the same reward regardless of their effort, and has never advanced this idea. But if people are richly rewarded for their effort, Obama wants them to pay taxes. Corporations, too, since we now know that corporations are people.

To return to the metaphor of “level playing field”: according to several sources, the expression came into vogue in the 70’s, probably from football/rugby/soccer. Even if you’ve never played football, it should be incandescently obvious that it’s easier to attack going downhill and harder to defend going uphill.  “Level playing field” simply means that the field (i.e. the set of rules) is the same for both sides. There is no intrinsic advantage to either team on a level playing field. Success is attained through a team’s effort, not an accident of topography.

Obama is not anti-business. However, he is for a level playing field, which means that everyone should have the same opportunity to make money, not that everyone should make the same money, as Republicans would have us believe. By extension, it means that the tax code should be just as fair to small business as it is to the big business; that if Joe Six-pack pays taxes, so should GE; that if Grandma has to pay a town water bill, the Mega-Meat Corporation should not be getting free water from the gummint to graze their stock or grow crops. On a level playing field, both Mega-Meat and Grandma would have to pay for their water, which is how it should be.

Equal opportunity never meant equal results. It means the chance to get equal results. It’s a simple concept. It takes ideological intent to misunderstand it.

* Footnote: Several years ago a businessman I know was in the delicate position of having to write/rewrite correspondence for a colleague because the (American born) man’s English was so poor despite being in a managerial position for a medium-sized company. I was horrified.

Michael Moore’s new autobiographical book Here Comes Trouble has a chapter about his experience at Michigan Boys State. Like Moore, I also was selected by my school to attend the annual session of Boys State.

Moore’s experience was interesting. Mine was one of the failures of the program. Oh, I learned about the workings of government all right, but unlike Moore, it put me into a half century long funk about politics from which I’ve emerged only recently. Looking back, I now realize that I had a naïve and romantic notion of how government worked.

According to the organization’s website, “Boys State is an educational program sponsored by the American Legion Departments across the country to help young men learn about government and how it works. Our motto is ‘Learn by Doing.’ The Boys State educational staff's goal is to facilitate the learning process by giving the citizens of Boys State an opportunity to govern themselves, and to run their own state.”

When I arrived at Boys State, I had aspirations of running for “governor.” I also had some support. But there was a faction from Lansing (the state capital) that hit the ground running. I had the innocent notion that we would design and conduct political campaigns once we arrived at the conference, only to discover that the hotshots from Lansing already had their candidate picked, the campaign set up, posters printed, handouts ready, and the caucus organized by the time they hit Boys State. Us naïfs from the rest of the state stood like saplings in the path of an avalanche.

On the evening of the second night I was visited by two large delegates from the Lansing contingent. Anticipating the Godfather movies of the 70’s, we reasoned together. It was pointed out to me that by throwing my support behind the Lansing candidate, I might have a post in his cabinet. Running against the Lansing candidate, on the other hand, was discouraged. They didn’t actually threaten me. They just told me I really didn’t want to do that.

It was an educational evening.

I vaguely remember the Lansing candidate winning in a landslide. That lad has probably gone on to great success in the world as befits someone who had a handle on How Things Work at such an early age. In retrospect I have to admire the initiative and organization (with the exception of the goon squad). I felt at the time that the kid bent what I understood to be the rules, but as life has taught ever since, they remember that you won, not how you won. Just ask George Bush.

I was too much of an idealist at the time to be unaffected by the experience. It soured me on politics for the rest of my life. The perspective of later years has caused me to regret that deeply. Politics in the general sense is the “debate or conflict among individuals or parties having or hoping to achieve power,” and it is inherent in every human endeavor, even in groups as small as two people (aka a “relationship”). Things would have been a lot easier if I had learned that a lot earlier.

I have also learned that some people play by the rules, and some don’t. And some people do neither and make up new rules instead. How successfully you deal with people depends on how rapidly you recognize which group they belong to.

In addition to the usual insightful commentary (aka ranting and raving), my blog has included short pieces of fiction for the past couple of years. I have just compiled the stories into a collection titled “Ye Gods!. It will be available in bookstores by the end of February. An e-book version will come out about a month later.

“Ye Gods!”  1. exclamation of surprise   2. collection of short stories ranging from dark whimsy to scathing satire

Warning: this collection contains occasional wry humor, biting political commentary, social criticism, and dire prognostication. Side effects include but are not limited to: laughter, head shaking, and 3 AM epiphanies. Occasional tears have been reported.        

Characters are taken from various pantheons (Zeus, Shiva), classical literature/mythology (Icarus), history (Custer), and real life (Bigfoot, space aliens).

This collection is intended to relieve the symptoms of boredom and ennui. It may be taken straight or with a grain of salt. Store in brightly lit areas such as beside a comfortable chair or on a bedside table.

More announcing: The Shining Man’s Wife, the sequel to my novel Frank, will be out later in 2012. Daughters of the World, the final book of the St. Francis trilogy, is scheduled to appear next year.

***

2011 is a year many of us would like to forget. I’d like to extend profound sympathy to all those treated unkindly by 2011: victims of economic misfortune, victims of predators, victims of stupidity, and victims of the political hatred that has characterized much of the year. It is my hope that the world’s genpop will recall the vestigial traces of their professed but unexercised creeds in order to make 2012 better. May the New Year actually be happy!

Last year I worked for a while in a hardware store to research a story I was planning. I had never worked retail before so the job was an eye-opener—a lot of retail work is poorly paid drudgery. The experience certainly raised my respect and sympathy levels for retail workers.

I also learned about shoplifters. The store was well set-up for surveillance with wide uncluttered aisles, clear sight lines, and cameras, but there still was theft. I can only imagine what a crowded clothing store must suffer in losses.

Predictably, shoplifting has increased in these tough times. Added is the seasonal spike in the curve when people treat themselves to a little something for Christmas. Stores are packed, clerks are busy, and surveillance systems are overtaxed.

In our modern society, shoplifting seems to be a socially acceptable form of stealing based on the surprising number of people who do it or have done it. According to the National Association for Shoplifting prevention (NASP, www.shopliftingprevention.org), 1 in 11 Americans shoplift. I suspect this statistic reflects habitual shoplifters—the percentage of people who have done it at some point in their lives is apt to be much higher.

For many, shoplifting is similar to cheating on tax returns or ripping off insurance companies with fraudulent claims—it’s the revenge of the little person against the big faceless corporation. The “revenge” is nothing but a rationalization to cloak the fact that shoplifting, tax cheating, and insurance fraud are just different forms of stealing, a crime punishable in some parts of the world by cutting the thief’s hand off.

Shoplifting damages not only the robbed merchant, but also society as a whole. This is the intellectual leap that many people do not take because it requires thinking more than 18.5 seconds into the future. The NASP website lists the following points:

•  The higher prices consumers must pay to cover the losses from theft.
• The inconvenience and invasiveness of security measures to consumers when shopping in stores.
• The loss of community jobs when stores are forced to close.
• The loss of local and state sales tax revenue resulting in higher taxes for everyone.
• The added burden on the police and the courts.
• The added financial and emotional hardship placed on families resulting from the arrest of a parent or child.
• The corruption of our youth and our future, when dishonesty is not effectively addressed at its most fundamental level.

Surprisingly, professional shoplifters are a small minority. Also surprisingly, there is no shoplifter profile. Men and women steal in equal numbers. Young and old steal. Interestingly (and also surprisingly), more adults steal than teens.

According to another website, www.preventshopliftingloss.com, only 3% of shoplifters steal as a for-profit enterprise, meaning that the other 97% steal for other reasons, such as personal or social pressure (“Caitlin has, one. I need one, too” or “We gotta keep up with the Joneses”). Another little-publicized reason is the rush that shoplifters feel when they get away with it. This rush is apparently so potent that it rises to the level of addiction, making it very difficult for some people to stop.

Some more interesting facts: shoplifters themselves say they get caught only once in 48 tries and are turned in only half the time. This means that punishment comes only 1 in a 100 times. Those are pretty good odds.

Stores are gearing up for the Christmas season in several ways. Heightened security is one of them. Top items on shoplifter wish lists according to Adweek: steaks (yes, frozen steaks!!), expensive liquor, and electric tools.

Getting back to the adrenaline rush of shoplifting, I can state from personal experience that it doesn’t hit everyone. As a teenager, I once shoplifted a 45 (a record, not a gun). Like a typical teenager, I don’t know why I did it. I had enough money to buy the record. I agonized about my theft for two days before finally sneaking it back onto the store’s shelf. My relief rivaled any shoplifting rush.

That little episode started me on an unrelenting road to populism. As chance would have it, the day after I returned the record, my father happened to be reading the local paper’s account of a shoplifter caught in the act. He then pointedly lectured to me on the interconnectedness of things, how the act of stealing hurt not only the store, but also society as a whole because everyone else would have to pay a little more to cover the store’s shoplifting loss. I say “pointedly” because he was taking a moment to teach, unaware that life had already taught the lesson. At least, I don’t think he knew. Who knows with parents? They always know more than they let on.

Near the end of life it is customary to look back, to conduct a personal exit interview, so to speak. Some do this to remember the events that made them. Others spend wakeful nights reviewing the mistakes they have made and wonder where they’d be, had they not made them. Personally, I tend to alternate between the two.

One of my many life mistakes was not reading Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre in my formative years. I dimly remember an eleventh grade reading assignment that gave us choices between several novels. I went to the library and paged through the assigned choices. I decided against Jane Eyre, deeming it Victorian chick lit (this term hadn’t been invented then but it describes what I felt). I don’t even remember the book I wound up choosing.

In a belated effort to correct some earlier oversights, I have finally gotten around to reading Jane Eyre. What a read! And what a ride!

The novel has been called many things—a Bildungsroman (generally translated as a “coming of age novel”), a romance, and a social critique with Gothic horror story elements.

Jane Eyre is a book everyone should have read at some point—the earlier in life the better. There are a couple of caveats, however. Modern sensibilities will need to adjust to the excruciatingly minute examination of faces and people. Victorians were judgmental, often basing their thinking on what we would regard unreliable superficialities.

Modern readers will also have to contend with what might be called a florid wordiness. The nineteenth century seldom used one word when ten would do. In those days there were no cinemas, TV, Internet, or video games, so the main source of entertainment was conversation,  and it was carried on at a level rarely reached today.

If allowances can be made for those two qualities, Jane Eyre is every bit as much of a page-turner as any thriller written today. Anyone wanting to learn about empowerment should take Jane Eyre as a role model. Her steel and self-reliance in the face of lifelong adversity is matchless.

         The meeting of the Galactic Federation Council had gone smoothly so far, but the General knew acrimony would soon set in. It was a given that the Environmental faction of the Council would oppose the General’s choice of location to test the Federation’s latest weapon.

The military needed to know how the weapon’s use would affect objects in proximity to the target, the General had argued. Simply blasting a solitary body in the interstellar void would not produce the necessary data. The test range had to include a star system with planets.

The system the General’s team had selected consisted of a middle-aged yellow dwarf star with eight planets orbiting in more or less the same plane. The system was also relatively isolated—no other systems within two parsecs. The chosen system was by far the most ideal test range his researchers had turned up. But there was a problem—the system did have one intelligent species.

         The General finished his presentation, retracted his eyestalks, and deformed into his resting place. There was a flurry of movement. Sounds of every conceivable pitch and timbre filled the Great Hall as the Council reacted. The leader of the Enviros, a unimorph like himself, signaled his intent to respond. The Enviros—may their accursed pseudopods lack rigidity at the Mating Moment—categorically resisted any measure that threatened any life form, no matter how primitive.

The Enviro leader formed a cylinder to elevate (the General noted the flabbiness of his shape with disdain). He began. “It is the responsibility of advanced species to nurture those that are still becoming. The Federation has always done this. It is the main corollary to the principle that all life is precious.”

         Eyes, eyestalks, and sensory organs of every description turned toward the General to hear his response. The head of the Federation’s military rose in a tightly formed, perfectly symmetrical cylinder and said, “I would remind the Councilor of the long struggle we fought with the Nanobites, the vicious bacterial scourge of Rigel IV. What was so damn precious about them? If we had not discovered the dematerializer, we might well have lost the war.”

         Thanks to the Federation’s new weapon, there was now no more Rigel IV, and smaller versions of the dematerializer had effectively wiped out the remaining Nanobite colonies.

         Eyestalks etc. swiveled back toward the Enviro Councilor. “That was a different matter,” he said. “I concede the General’s point that enemy species are not precious. I was referring to our constitutional duty to life forms that either are presently intelligent or on the way to sentience.”

         “Councilor,” the General responded, “it is a long established scientific fact that sentience is strictly a matter of accident. Sentience is not inevitable. Some species develop it, some don’t.” The General’s mien assumed a rictus that indicated humor was to follow. “I couldn’t help but notice that my esteemed colleague enjoyed the crilla served at lunch today, despite knowing that the tiny beasts might one day become intelligent.”

         Eyestalks etc. swung back to the Enviro Councilor for his response. The Enviro extended two pseudopods and let them droop, the unimorph expression of regret. “Unfortunately, the system the General has selected for his test range contains several species that are already crudely sentient. One species actually qualifies as intelligent.”

         “The species in question has no advanced technology,” the General replied. “It hasn’t even discovered interstellar propulsion.”

         “That is not a criterion,” the Enviro pointed out. “There are several Federation member species that have no technology because they do not need it. Their mental powers are that advanced.” He nodded in the direction of the Council President, a mentis, a pyramid-shaped being whose mental powers could replicate any feat of technology.

         The Enviro leader had a point. The General could feel the battle slipping away and resorted to the plan he had hoped to avoid because of its costs. He asked, “I understand my colleague’s concern, but I would remind the Council again of the importance of this new weapon. What if we resettle the species in question? My legal attaché informs me that there are several precedents for this. As a matter of fact, one of the species in the target system was itself a product of relocation.”

         No Council member wanted to appear soft in the wake of the near-debacle of the Nanobite War. Even the Enviro faction had backed the campaign against the vicious life form. The Enviro leader asked the mentis for a short review of the precedents the General had referenced. The President obliged, and after a tedious recitation of ten precedents the Enviros were finally satisfied.

The faction’s leader formed again and said, “Thank you, President. But please note that the species in each of the cited precedents voluntarily agreed to be resettled. There were no forced relocations. Therefore I propose the following: if the species agrees to be relocated, then I propose that the General’s request be granted. If the species does not agree, then the General will unfortunately have to continue his search.”

         The General’s hearts sank.  Most species have a powerful bond to their home planet and seldom relocate voluntarily. Odds were that his proposal would fail. Oh well, the universe was large. He’d find a suitable test range.

         The General, the Enviro leader, and three at-large Council members were appointed to the Committee formed to negotiate with the species in question. The Committee took a small hyperspace jumper to the General’s proposed target and beamed up several members of the species (mammals, that is, beings who incredibly bore their young in an internal sack).

The mammals were initially delighted to learn of other life forms in the universe (something they had long suspected). However, when the Federation’s real agenda was revealed, the mammals were shocked and retreated to caucus among themselves. They returned with a barrage of questions about the relocation process, the proposed new home, and how many of them would actually be relocated. The Committee assured them that all willing members of their species would be accommodated and gave a hologram presentation of their new home, a close match selected from a catalogue of habitable but as yet uninhabited planets.

         The mammals caucused again, and then reconvened. To the Committee’s utter astonishment, the mammals agreed to the relocation with enthusiasm, but requested time to canvass their population. Within two revolutions of their planet, the mammals reported back, saying that their people had voted overwhelmingly in favor of relocation.

***

         The Federation command vessel popped out of hyperspace into normal space. A cruiser equipped with the new test weapon appeared alongside, followed in quick succession by three ships bearing technicians, scientists, and observers.

After shaking off the hyperdrive hangover, the General allowed himself a brief moment of celebration. All told, things had gone well. The Council had approved his proposal, relations with the Enviro faction had actually gotten a little better, and the relocation of the mammals had gone much more smoothly than expected.

He extended an eyestalk to peer at the target, a pretty blue sphere with white hydrogen-oxygen vapor drifting through its atmosphere. The scientists had suggested dematerializing the mammal’s home planet first, just to spare the few who chose to remain the unpleasant sight of the other planets in the system winking out one by one.

He ordered the engineering team to ready the new Federation weapon, a cannon version of the dematerializer. Instead of dropping a bomb on the target, the new weapon fired a ray, permitting much more precise targeting.

The General glanced at the ship’s chronometer. It was time. He gave the signal and watched as the system’s third planet vanished.

***

         At the same time their old world was being dematerialized, the transplanted mammals were happily exploring their new planet. Its three moons would take some getting used to, but all in all, it was a far more pleasant world than they had imagined. It was actually a big improvement over the one they had left. There was only one predator to fear, but the huge reptile was so slow and stupid that evasion was easy.

Better, there was no belligerent land-dwelling species to foul the clean water with the explosions of incessant warfare and the detritus of their society.

Better yet, there were no nets to occasionally sweep them up as collateral fodder.

Best of all, the fish were delicious and plentiful.

The dolphins were very happy.

Author’s note: this story was inspired by the marvelous opening number in the movie version of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

Last night I had a visit from my paternal grandfather. I was surprised to see him, seeing as how he died in 1967. He was my favorite grandparent, kindly and full of stories. He looked just as I remembered him—wiry build, thick shock of white hair, face lined with wrinkles.

John D. (Jack) Elder was a systems engineer for the old Michigan Central Railroad and was stationed in my hometown of Niles, Michigan. In his college days he was the shortstop on the Penn State baseball team. He was also the starting quarterback on the Penn State football team in 1902 and 1903. That is what occasioned his visit.

The old man eased himself gingerly into the recliner next to my desk. “Steve, what in hell is going on at my alma mater?” he inquired delicately.

“I’m not sure, Grandpa,” I replied. “All I know is what I see on TV and read in the papers.”

“How reliable is that?”

“Like back in the day. The slant of the news depends on the slant of the newscaster.”

“Some things don’t change,” he observed. “Anyway, there have always been men who have buggered boys. What I don’t understand is how it was handled—by both the guy who reported it and my school. In my day we would have tarred and feathered the bugger and run him out of town on a rail.”

“That’s called rushing to judgment nowadays, Grandpa,” I replied. “I think quite a few people would approve of your approach, but things have changed. We protect the rights of the accused as zealously as the rights of the victim, even when we think the accused doesn’t deserve to have these rights. Lawyers have become extremely powerful. They instill mortal terror in people.”  

“Sounds more like social cowardice to me. So, it took twelve years to report it?”

“Apparently. A lot of people are asking that same question.”

The old man hoisted himself out of the chair, every joint popping, and parted with, “Frankly, son, I’m glad I was long gone before this happened. It’s very disappointing.”

With that, he faded back into the safety of eternity. I am now almost as old as my grandfather was when he died. I’ve thought about his words all day. I think I understand how he feels. I mean, about the ‘glad to be gone’ part.