"The misuse of language induces evil in the soul." - Socrates

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

what we call 9.11 in Germany. Ninth of November that is.
Delayed post due to preceding abend.

With all the radio shows and TV features and docu-dramas preceding the 20th anniversary of The Wall breaking it became eminently clear that the wall fell due to a combination of stupidity , inefficiency and not willing to decide anything without a nod from the superiors.

The easing of getting travel permits was intended to start the next day : in an orderly German bureaucratic fashion. Somehow Mr Schabowsky who must have slept through the decision making process ( and knowing committees he has my deep felt sympathy for that ) answered that the border crossings were to be opened now and then. This mistake - as shown by the major WestGerman Networks who were watched by nearly everybody in EastGermany ( more reliable for one thing ) this made people actually go to the nearest border crossing and demand to be let through.

The armed men watching those crossings were surprised by the masses of people getting closer and tried to reach their superior - who after an long day of committee discussion was on his way home ( apparently without a mobile ) - and without orders the soldiers were afraid to shoot. And after a while started letting small numbers through.
It also seems that Moscow was not consulted about either the plan nor informed timely of the mistakes.

Anyway I watched German TV from the Dutch Hotel-Bed on the 9th to get a taste of all the Anniversary speeches and to watch for the falling of the domino rows. You see, someone had come up with the ide of setting up several thousand giant ( over 6 feet tall ) dominoes ( painted by children from all over the world left and right of the Brandenburg Gate and having them topple in a domino effect. One of the starters was Lech Walesa whose strike leading in Poland had arguably started the fall of the Soviet empire. The actual event was announced by the leading show master someone strictly without political or intellectual relevance but the best known entertainer. So instead of being a solemn moment it had all the flatness of an overblown gameshow. ( Think of Fox TV sponsoring Guinness record entry events for biggest Domino reaction )

But I digress. Part of the political news of the day was the new federal minister for planes trains and automobiles ,

err ministry for transport and infrastructure I mean,
remarked that after 20 years of pouring loads of money into the Easter states ( == the former East Germany ), it was now about time to put money into WestGermanys infrastructure : to refit rails and motorways. For that actually sensible idea he was vilified as trying to erect new walls on the Anniversary of the Wallbreaking.
I considered his incompetence in announcing his ideas entirely appropriate to commemorate the incompetence that cause the wall to come down.

Considering the bad that can be done by competent but evil or misguided people in powerful offices I am beginning to think we need to praise incompetence.
Incompetence brought the wall down, incompetence avoided a German Tian'anmen Square ( presumably it might have been Friedrichstrassen Massaker [freed-ritch-stra-zen-mass-acre*] - or Potsdammer Platz desaster ).
I suspect some of you will now join me in praising incompetence ( and will be thinking of their history )

*It would make a great documentary title though on Deutsche Welle TV or PBS

Edit:Yes I know there are other bits of German history that happened 9-11 certainly part of the reason the national holiday of united at last is NOT on November 9<span style="vertical-align: super; font-size: smaller; font-style: normal; >th</span></font> </span>

http://sailorjim.net/wordpress/?p=92

Every bloody night, down in the twenties.

Every bloody morning, deice the damn truck.

Every bloody day, up in the fifties.

Every bloody evening, rain.

Rince and repeat.

(I’m beginning, just beginning mind you, to remember … in a dim and distant sort of way … exactly why it was that Dian and I moved to the South.  Something about warmth.  I remember warmth.)

http://sailorjim.net/wordpress/?p=89

I woke up in a cold sweat, my mind reeling with budget meetings and toothpaste taste test results.  Gah!

I stumbled from my sodden bed and into a hot shower, shedding my pajamas only after the scalding water washed away the horror stench of private industry.  Science, real science, needs unlimited funds!  Mountains of money and little oversight, huge grants and few bean counters; how can one possible create miracles without million dollar budgets?  Hell, my failures cost more then most of my private industry associates budgets for their careers!

I adjusted the temperature a tad now that the nightmares were gone and tried to figure out just why I had reliving hell in an office all night?

Oh … yes.  The first day of human subject.  Starting the procedures.  Two super-powered people naming themselves after little known Greek demi-gods, another after the Norse god of speed, the most logical of the bunch settling for “Buzz”  (”Buzz” for pity sake!), and the last accepting a code name that sounded like an old Japaneses anime character, Uniman!

Honestly, why was I bestowing godlike powers on these people?  I mean, really … would it have been so bad to use military volunteers or even prisoners?  Well, maybe not prisoners; my sponsors had been very clear – and more than a little insulting – about the idea of taking men and women who were locked away for crimes against society and gifting them with invulnerably, much less any of the other powers.  I could see their point, of course, as well as the General’s point about not using military personnel.  (Though, in all honesty, I didn’t really see the problem.  Why would it matter which branch of the services the volunteers came from?  Why on Earth would the Marines care if the first super-powered individuals were Navy, or even Coast Guard?  It was all the same thing, wasn’t it?)

I dressed and drove to the campus still musing over how argumentative my test subjects had been over something as silly as names.  Personally, I wanted to simply name them A, B, C, D, and F.  In addition to simplifying the matter, I thought it sounded rather edgy or hip or whatever meant “delightful” these days.  My sponsors shot it down, however, on the grounds that their media experts thought it wouldn’t scan well, whatever that meant.

When I suggested the simple, yet elegant, idea during yesterday’s open debate, they responded with blank looks, silence, and a lone soft snicker.  Tom diplomatically asked how I intended to assign which letter to whom, in as much that it sounded a little like a rating system.  Then Chuck volunteered to be F, but only if he could fill in the blanks, and – bang -  they were off and running again over proper choices.

Well, now that they would be living, 24/7, at the labs, there would be less arguments and more work done!

The first problem was arranging for them to miss classes for the month it would take for the full procedure to run its course, but the winter break was starting in just a day or two, so that was less of a problem than it might have been.  None of the subjects were intending on going home during the break, habitually staying on campus anyway, so it was simply a matter of moving them into the labs for the duration.

Towards that end, I had the far end of the space, the one with the reinforced walls, turned into a barracks, complete with beds, desks, and showers.  I was rather grateful that Ms. Elder didn’t believe in any special treatment for women or it could have created a small difficulty. As it was, her statements to Wanda during her psych evaluation proved that she’d have no problem with either showering or bunking with her male teammates.

A few hours later, it was once again proven that A might equal B, but that didn’t necessarily mean that B equaled A.  How many times does a scientist have to relearn the simple truths of his craft … tsk.

Ms. Elder didn’t have any problem with the sleeping and bathing arrangement … her male teammates, however, were a different story.

Although he didn’t have a problem with sleeping in the same room as Barbara, provided proper sleepwear was mandatory, Tom drew the line at bathing with her.  While neither Frank nor Brad had any problem with either bathing or sleeping in the same room as Barbara, even if no sleepwear whatsoever was used, they expressed severe opinions about bathing and sleeping near each other … or any men, for that matter.   Tom didn’t mind showering or bunking with guys, thankfully, but confided in me that he thought that Chuck was a bit of a – ahem – man’s man, if you know what I mean, and wanted to be put on the furthest side of the room from him.

When I spoke to Chuck, he not only agreed to bathe and sleep with Barbara, but offered to soap her back if needed.  When, laughing, I mentioned that his offer, although it might not be welcomed by Barbara, would come as a great relief to Tom, he grinned happily and said that he’d be more than willing to soap whatever Tom needed, too.

We had the living area rebuilt into a suite with five separate bedrooms, each with their own small bathroom and shower, by that afternoon and everyone moved in by dinner.  The procedures would have to wait until the next day.

Two days behind schedule and I’d yet to stick anyone with a needle.

(I swear, the convicts were looking better every day.)

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

Delayed because I was away.

Here in Germany this is not a day to remember the veterans.
I don't know why . The end of war should be remembered by all. However unlike you other countries, we lost that war. As far as I'm concerned we should abolish our armed forced to make sure we never do that again.
On top of this : in those areas of Germany that do Carnival ( the catholic areas mostly )
11.11 11:11 is the opening of the 'season' that culminates about 3 months later on Rose-Monday and ends Ash-Wednesday. ( in 2010 February 17th )
so for the denizens of Cologne ( and Aachen and Dusseldorf and Bonn ) ( but not so much Hamburg, Kiel, Bremen, Lubeck, Rostock ) this date means costumed partying and drinking.
And to party on the anniversary of the end of war seems appropriate to me.

For me personally 11.11 has a different meaning on top of THAT ( and avoiding the city center and the raving drunk on that date ) : my girlfriend has birthday on that date ( and her twin too. )
And this year I went to the van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam - and saw those picture first time ( the reproductions are all shitty I know now ) and was swept away by them. 90 minutes left me kind of drunk : like a contact-high.

Reading all your posts on what 11.11 means for you though I did remember those 3 brothers who were drafted and died on the eastern front and who I never met. From what little I know I think they did not believe they were doing something making sense. ( the question of right or good may apply less for mere soldiering of drafted cannonfodder. [ war crimes are a different matter entirely - and officers too - but my brothers refused even to become NCOs ] ) My father did not serve in either WW my Grandfather died in 1900 ( and both would have gotten deferment if they had been called up ) As far as I know there has not been a volunteer in my direct family for 130 years.
In the abstract I can honor those who gave or risked their life to protect family, country and freedom. In practice I feel disconnected and likely will not join you in your remembrance.

http://xkcd.com/662/

Canned cat food for Nick and Nora, and chopped liver for Lis and me. (I bought it at the kosher deli -- I didn't make it.)

Pretty much, we all got gooshy cat food. The minute the cats smelled chopped liver, they went noses in the air, trying to find the delicious smell. Even after I put the chopped liver away.

http://sailorjim.net/wordpress/?p=87

Okay, maybe that was a bit abrupt.

The problem was that the story really wasn’t going anywhere.  Worse, it was going nowhere very slowly and fairly dully.  As the attending physician to the story, I had to make some tough decisions and – ultimately – it came down to my having to do a crapectomy … I had to remove the meaningless crap from the story.

Imagine my surprise to discover that there wasn’t anything left!

So it was a matter of the operation was a success, but the patient died.

This doesn’t mean that I’m not going to give it a second try.  I still feel that there’s a decent story in there somewhere; it just didn’t show up the first time around.  Of course, I may be wrong … what do you people think?

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

http://sailorjim.net/wordpress/?p=85

Sadly, they all died during the procedure (which was pretty ridiculous, now that I really think about it … I mean, c’mon!  Superpowers?  Feh!) and, although my federal patrons were able to cover up their deaths as being the result of their having missed a plane that blew up, making their deaths by gratuitously violent accidents ordained by a vengeful (and somewhat petulant) Death practically mandatory, it still was enough to make me realize that I’d really let winning a Nobel go to my head and give me illusions of grandeur.

We closed up shop and paid off all the techs (by which I mean they were all killed by that same agency) and now I work for Procter and Gamble, specializing in developing a tooth paste that can possibly lessen the chance of cavities by up to 0.0001 percent if used hourly.  Still, every once in awhile, as I sit in my lonely home and drink myself to bed, I can almost hear the ghosts of my “superteam” call out to me, still whining about the lame names they chose.

But a couple more fingers worth of good whiskey drowns them out completely.

The End

The best part of this product is the enthusiastic customer reviews!

http://sailorjim.net/wordpress/?p=83

I waited until they started to subside, then calmly asked which they were laughing at: the concept or the names?

Brad spread his hands and replied that both the names and the concept were ridiculous, but Barbara corrected him, stating that the concept was ridiculous … the names were merely ludicrous.

I explained that the names were the result of a rather cretinous public relations group who the government had hired and that more appropriate names could be considered, provided that no copyrights were violated.

Chuck snorted and exclaimed that the names were meaningless, since “superheroes” (and have I mentioned just how much I despise using finger gestures to indicate quotes?) were a physical and medical impossibility.  The others expressed agreement with his statement, Brad adding that he’d read several good papers on why the more popular comic book superheroes defied physics.

I waited for them to die down and pointed out that many of today’s realities were once considered to be physically impossible, so what made the idea of superheroes so ludicrous?  Perhaps it was the term, superhero?  Maybe it would be easier if they used the term “genetically enhanced” instead?

Tom frowned and asked me my full name.  I smiled and admitted that I was Dr. William Delacourt Aster, which – being a chemistry major – he recognized.  His frown deepened and he asked exactly what did I mean by “genetically enhanced?”

The rest of them, sensing a change in the moment, stopped yammering on about superheroes and looked at Tom.  Barbara asked him if he knew me and Tom replied that I’d won darn near every scientific award they was in chemistry, capped with a Nobel, but then pretty much dropped out of sight half a decade ago.

I simply sat there.

Tom, talking slowly and hesitantly, asked me what I’d been working on since the Nobel.

I grinned at him and sat there.

Chuck whispered how he didn’t freaking believe it and the blood drained out of Barbara’s face and Brad simply stared at me.  Frank, true to his logical nature, repeated that superpowers were physically impossible.

I shrugged and replied that humans had lifted over five hundred pounds, ran close to twenty-five miles per hour, and leapt close to thirty foot … unaided.  With simple steroids, they’d exceeded all those goals, but – in many cases – damaged themselves doing so quite badly.  Why shouldn’t a competent scientist be able to come up with a process that permitted those unaided records to be shattered?  Perhaps even shattered so badly that the individual doing so would appear to be … superhuman?

It was Tom, naturally, who broke the stunned silence and asked what powers could I … what powers were …

I gave them all a sunny smile and announced that I knew how to bestow super strength, speed, invulnerability, and flight!

We all sat there for almost a full minute in total silence, listening to the daycare overhead and thinking whatever thoughts came to mind.  Barbara finally asked what I meant by flight?  Did I mean like – and she shot a fierce glance around the room before continuing – like “Up, Up, and Away!?

I lectured for fifteen minute about bio-electric fields in nature, gravity, telekinesis, and then noticed that none of them, not even the inestimable Mr. Marshall, were following me.  I stopped, apologized for going all teacher on them, then asked them – as a group – if any of them happened to know exactly how bees managed to fly?

Chuck cleared his throat and said that he’d heard that the laws of aerodynamics prove that bees shouldn’t be able to fly, because it doesn’t have the capacity – as far as wing size or beats per second – to achieve flight with the degree of wing loading (their weight divided by the area of the wing) necessary.  Barbara stared at him and asked how the bee managed, then?  He shrugged and said that he’d always assumed it was because nobody had ever explained it all to the bee.

I smiled and informed them that I knew how bees flew … so trust me, okay?  All of them were going to be super strong, with Tom and Barbara specializing in power; super fast, with Frank being our speed specialist; and about to fly, with Brad being the flying specialist.  Rock, Rockette, Wind, and Air; I pointed at each while naming them.

Chuck cleared his throat, again, and I explained that he was going to be the control member, the generalist in the group of specialists.  He would be stronger than anyone, except Rock or Rockette, faster than anyone, except Wind, and be able to fly better than anyone, except Air.  Uniman.

They spent a moment passing around a couple of looks, then Barbara exclaimed that she’d be damned before she’d be known as Rockette!  She hadn’t spent her entire life proving that she was as good as any man, and better than most, just to be labeled as some sort of high-kicking dancer!

Brad pointed out that Air was a stupid name for somebody who could fly and Frank agreed, adding that Wind was pretty dumb, too, since the two names could be traded at will between them.  Chuck pointed out that uni, used as a prefix, meant one … if he was supposed to be all of them rolled into one, then Omniman would be better … but that he could live with You-da-man.

We spent the rest of the day arguing names, calling out for lunch when appropriate, and trying to come up with something that everyone could live with.  (Even Tom wasn’t too happy, saying that Rock would bring up Rock Hudson … and we all knew about Rock Hudson, right?)  Eventually, we had to put Brad on a computer with the list of names that each preferred, in order of preference, to check them against copyrighted names for comic book characters.  (I explained the legal problems involved with trying to use some name already owned and how the government might be able to create superheroes, but there were limits to the miracles it could perform.)

In the end, Tom would be known as Cratos (after the Greek demi-god of strength) and Barbara – not to be outdone – chose the code name of Bia (the Greek personification of force).  Frank, a little ticked off that almost all the various names he liked were already taken, settled on Zoran (after the Norse god of speed).  Brad’s first choice, Buzz, was cleared, so he was happy, too.

Which left Chuck and his preferred code name of Chuck.  After the other four berated him for a solid hour, he turned to me for a ruling.

I shrugged and pointed out that a code name was to go with the costume he’d be wearing, which included a mask, to conceal his true identity from both the media, the general public, and from anyone who’d want to try and control them through their loved ones … same as the comics.  So, perhaps, using your own first name wasn’t all that good an idea, huh?

He moped for awhile (I don’t believe it was due to not using his given name as much as it was that he’d have to shun publicity), but then readopted Uniman as his official pseudonym.

I smiled and repeated their names back to them – Cratos and Bia, Zoran, Buzz, and Uniman – to be sure I had them right for the official report to my patrons.  I congratulated them and told them that, since the day was just about up, that we’d start the processes tomorrow and, that with any luck, the Protectors would soon be on the job!

Which, of course, started a new argument about the name of the team.  It was well after midnight before I finally finished my official report and went to bed.

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

Here Dead We Lie

Here dead we lie
Because we did not choose
To live and shame the land
From which we sprung.

Life, to be sure,
Is nothing much to lose,
But young men think it is,
And we were young.

-- A. E. Housman

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

A video about the awesomeness of CMU-Q's BotBall program, which was started by my good friend Leland, and is now run by my good friend and colleague Mohamed.

And, even if you're not interested in robots or Mohamed, American viewers may enjoy watching it just to get an idea of what high school students in Qatar are like (or what the CMU building here looks like!).

http://xkcd.com/661/

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

http://sailorjim.net/wordpress/?p=81

So I was dreaming that I was playing a computer game, just putting my character through his paces and trying to finally beat the damn thing.  (A golf game, if you must know.  My father liked to play golf, so it like I’m connecting on some level.)

Suddenly, out of the friggin’ blue, I think, “I sure hope he didn’t have anything else planned for today.”

Like I was feeling guilty that I was taking my little character away from some other pursuit to play a round of golf, right?

Man, that’d be all sorts of fucked up, wouldn’t it?  I mean, what if – on some level of reality – these silly ass games are real?  What if, whenever we’re not actively playing the things, all the various characters can stand down and get some rest, actually have a life?  Then here we come along, all hot to play our new game, and their life goes to hell in a handcart while we’re having our great times.

Hell, their only hope is to hold on and survive until we become bored with the game, huh?

(I gotta stop eating oyster sandwiches before bed … )

Recommended: "Shepherds Whistle While They Work And Brains Process Sounds As Language," at http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2005/01/050106112603.htm .

Observations:

Bill Smith, PhD says, "Call me Bill."

Bill Smith, MD says, "Call me Dr. Smith."

This would suggest that having an MD increases one's sense of superiority. One could argue for the prestige, expense of medical school, more rigorous classwork and clinical experience despite lack of scientific research design skills, HOWEVER:

Bill Smith, MD, PhD, says, "Call me Bill."

It would appear, then, that the award of PhD in fact attenuates a sense of superiority.

More research is needed.

http://sailorjim.net/wordpress/?p=71

Yes, five out of literally hundreds of test subjects.  The vast majority were rejected out of hand when their chemical make-up didn’t respond correctly to the compound we introduced into their blood, of course.  Call it something like 85 percent of the tested.

Of the remaining 15 percent, many were rejected due to either physical or mental incompatibility.  Daniel checked each subject carefully for physical defects (such as excessive hearing or eyesight loss) or possible difficulties (if they seemed to be a tad arthritic or overweight), while Wanda was carefully testing for any obvious or possible psychological disqualifications.  To be on the safe side, I instructed them to be very picky, extremely picky, and disqualify for the slightest imperfections.  (One guy was otherwise perfect, but was color blind, while another was just a tad overly religious … like I said, extremely picky.)

The actually number of absolutely perfect test subjects that were approved were eight, but I winnowed it down after submitting the names for background investigations.  One had a brother who was kill in action, one had occasional brushes with the law as a child, and the third’s parents were known associates of Ed Begley Jr. … in short, all three had possible emotional difficulties that disqualified them for powers.

The five that remained were perfect, in and out.

Tom Marshall was a straight A student, majoring in chemistry, and a track star from his high school days.  (He had been offered a track scholarship, but had declined on the grounds that athletics might distract him from his studies.)  He was six-five, two hundred pounds, and looked like he belonged in a comic book.

Frank Castal was a second generation American with no ties back to his native Ecuador.  He was a chess maven and an Arts major who hoped to be a professional graphic artist one day.  Six foot even and two-ten, he walked through the testing wearing shorts and a tank top, causing Wanda to add the personal note “Wowie!” to his folder.

Brad Stein was somewhat of a local legend on campus from his odd trait of free climbing the outside of all the campus buildings for relaxation … with the universities permission, I should add.  He was the youngest son of Hershel Stein … yes, that Hershel Stein, the one who owns most of the state … and, therefor, could have gotten away with murder.  Instead, he limited himself to a relatively harmless hobby as a form of stress relief.  In addition to being a human fly, he excelled in his chosen major of Computer Science and routinely donated the desk top computers he built to test theories to various charities in the area.

Barbara Elder was our lone female finalist.  Six-two, one-eighty, and the reason we washed out several young men who were close to her in line, all of whom either tripped over chairs, walked into doors/walls, or ignored Wanda and Daniel to blindly follow Ms. Elder wherever she went.  She was on the woman’s basketball team, the woman’s tennis team, the woman’s baseball team … and routinely terrorized the male versions of all those teams by taking on their best men and beating them.  There wasn’t a man on campus who could take her in a game of one-on-one, out play her on a tennis court, or come close to touching her fast ball.  She also had been on the Dean’s List every semester since arriving.

Finally, as if to prove that even Nature has a sense of humor, we had Chuck.  Chuck Nabori, Artist!  (That’s the way he introduced himself to everyone and you could hear the capital and exclamation mark.)  Chuck was, like the rest, in excellent physical condition and possessed an excellent intellect … however, he also seemed to think of himself as a “work in progress.”  Most of his available skin surface was either tattooed or pierced, or both.  From the neck down, it was about a 90/10 ratio of tattoo to piercing and the exact opposite from the neck up.  (No, that wasn’t a guess, either.  When Daniel first met Chuck, he told him that he was going to perform “a brief physical exam,” meaning that he was going to assure himself that everything worked okay.  Chuck had his kit off in under a second.)  Oh, and horns.  Chuck had horns erupting out of his forehead.  I wasn’t sure how he managed that particular trick, but they were about an inch long, curved, and came straight out.

I’d tentatively scheduled Frank Castal as our resident speedster, Tom Marshall and Barbara Elder as his and her all around Earthbound powerhouses, Brad Stein as our flying specialist, and Chuck Nabori as … as … Okay, I had no idea what I was going to do with Chuck, but Fate had provided five test subjects and I’d be damned if I was going to take a pass on a good candidate simply because I thought he was a freak.  Wanda wrote that he was possibly the single most sane and centered individual she’d every tested, so who was I to say otherwise?

The list of powers I was reasonably sure I could produce provided no inspiration.  Strength, Speed, Flight, and Invulnerability.  All five would be fast, strong, able to fly, and invulnerable, but where  – hmmm, yes, that sounded good.  Where the others would have specialties (powers that were magnified, with certain losses in other areas), Chuck wouldn’t be anything in particular, a utility infielder of sorts.  I’d give him equal helpings of all the possible powers.  He’d be fast, but not as fast as Frank; he’d be strong, but only about half as strong as either Tom or Barbara; he would fly, but nowhere as well as Brad.

That decided, I faxed my report to my government contact, put my notebooks aside with a happy sigh of contentment, and got ready for bed.  Tomorrow would begin the next level of evolution in the human race and I’d be at the … wait.  I stopped for a minute and walked back out to my calendar.  I was forgetting something.  I checked the schedule carefully, then pulled my notebook back out and double checked my notes.

Huh … well, whatever it was would no doubt come to me before long.  I turned the lights out and went to bed.

The next morning, bright and early, all five of our finalists showed up on time and were waiting for me in the lounge.  All had something to drink, all had already signed agreements and releases and anything else the government lawyers could think of to prevent possible lawsuits, and all …

Tom, taking the lead naturally, asked exactly what would they be doing for their pay?

Ah … that’s what I forgot to do, then.  Tell the test subjects what we were testing for … well, why not …

I sat down with them and explained exactly what I intended to do, how it would effect them (both if successful and if not), and finished with possible code names that had been selected for each of them, faxed to me just that morning; Rock, Rockette, Wind, Air, and Uniman (pronounced “You da man,” for some asinine reason).  I waited for them to ask the expected questions, raise the expected objections, or make the expected philosophic arguments.

I didn’t expect the laughter.

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

I recall that at some point Jake wrote a song entitled something like "The Joke's On You" about needing to laugh at yourself if you want to laugh at the world.  Lines included "God's idea of slapstick is to slap you with a stick," "Your lover can be quite a riot/ if you learn to giggle quiet," and something about if you want the right to laugh, you have to do so "when the one slipping on the banana peel is you."  I've searched my stacks and cannot locate it.  Any help?