A very special place, burned to the ground. 💔

I read a piece in the NYT about how tRump presently is crushing his republican rivals. The article refers to a recent poll of republican voters, conducted, in part, to understand why so many of them still support this loser. A reply from one such voter caught my eye (emphasis mine)

“He might say mean things and make all the men cry because all the men are wearing your wife’s underpants and you can’t be a man anymore,” David Green, 69, a retail manager in Somersworth, N.H., said of Mr. Trump. “You got to be a little sissy and cry about everything. But at the end of the day, you want results. Donald Trump’s my guy. He’s proved it on a national level.”

My first impression was: he says this like it’s a bad thing (men wearing women’s panties). And then I read it again, more slowly: “your wife’s underpants?” Did he mean the underpants of the wife of the pollster he replied to, or did he mistakenly say your when what he really meant was their (wife’s underpants)? The latter makes more sense, because what I think Mr. Green may have meant is that married men who are brought to tears by the things tRump says, these men are wearers of women’s underthings, and as such are weak-minded, i.e. pantywaists, sissies, milquetoasts, pansies or cowards. And as such aren’t real men. But my question is, how is a husband’s enjoyment of donning a pair of his wife’s panties, to experience the luxurious feel of satin lace against his skin – amirite men! – inconsistent with demanding results of his elected leaders? You should try it for yourself Mr. Green! Sad!

“He’s touching me!”

That’s my good friend Jim and his family, surrounding HW, and Black Dog for scale, on the lawn at the new homestead. Again, the last time we’d seen them daughter Lily was one year old, Ike was minus one. But to hear us talk, you’d have thought it was only yesterday. Everyone seemed to enjoy lunch, and there was even time left for me and Jim to head to the beach for a craft beer, where he made good on our bet. As we drank we reminisced mightily. For instance, there was that Canadian bike tour, 1999 was it, where at the top of some hideous climb, I rolled up on my bike next to two elderly women taking in the grandeur of a massive emerald lake set against a backdrop of snow covered Rocky Mountain peaks. I’m talking a real postcard view here. Nearby, Jim and a few others noted my arrival, and just as they had, I said to the women (something like), “Excuse me, I heard there’s an awesome lake up here somewhere that I should see, could you point me to it?” Incredulous, one of the women raised a wrinkled finger and pointed, “Why sir, it’s right there.” Jim recalled he and the others busted a gut.

By the time Jim and I returned to the homestead it was time for the family to go catch their flight home. A couple hours later I get a text from Jim, “Uh, due to faulty coordination…etc etc, we missed our flight. Any chance we could return to casa de Nibbe and stay the night, we’ve been re-booked on another flight tomorrow?” Of course! Back they came, and by midnight everyone had settled in to their appointed sleeping quarters. Peace prevailed. The next morning HW and Shelly made waffles, which everyone (Chester too) enjoyed, except Jim, being he fasts until noon. Then we were all off to Vancouver to take in the market at Granville Island. We’d gotten another whole day to spend with our friends!

A silo wearing a man bag? That’s a first. I Googled it and discovered it took over 1400 cans of spray paint to finish all six silos. The artists were twin brothers from Sao Paulo. HW was creeped out at the site of it. I found it kinda novel, borderline nifty. Now this on the other hand…

…was full on creep factor for all of us. According to the adjacent description, the sculptor intended the boy to represent a “new generation of families moving forward,” or something like that. OK, sure, but couldn’t our “representative” be just as bold and forward-looking in a Speedo. For chrissake. If that had been a young girl in her birthday suit I imagine the artist may be in jail. Moving right along then…

We split up and took in some shopping, Gelatto eating (Stracciatella for me plz), and just strolling about the venue people watching. It was pretty crowded – parking was annoyingly difficult – and, I noted, our fellow market-goers were disproportionately Asian. Mainly Hong Kong Canadians? 🤷🏼‍♂️.

By mid-afternoon we’d had enough, hugs were exchanged and we promised ourselves we’d stay in touch and strive to get together more often in the years ahead. Old friends moving forward, feeling renewed! And fully clothed, thank you. 🤨

Whatya think? I find it perfect for its color and simplicity. And, of course, the rendition is so bespoke, handmade by my bride. It’s funny to me to hear people knock before entering, as if I’m a real doctor, the kind that helps people. There’s still a couple changes I’d like to make in my office. One is changing out the shoddy, Venetian blind for one of those cellular type shades with a center pull. And since I removed the utility lights from the ceiling, I want to put up a few of those faux wood beams, which I think will give it the vibe of a cerebral sanctuary, a place for pipe smoking and deep thoughts, think Churchill, Truman and Stalin dividing the spoils after WWII. Although I don’t permit smoking here (or Stalin). With that, other than an additional wall hanging or two, I’m ready to call it done. Over time I feel like I could get some good work done here, we’ll see.

On the right: Discs of hydrophobic wonder afloat on water (aka Olive Oil). Starchy legumes loom below, like shape-sorted stones in a river bed (aka White Beans). Extra credit if you can explain the magnification in the oil droplets 😉

A good friend and his family arrive here tomorrow. HW and I haven’t seen Jim & Shelly in ages, 2006 in Boston was the last time I think. They’re visiting candidate colleges in the area their daughter is interested in attending. Last time I saw her she’d just been born. Where has the time gone. Plus Jim lost a bet we’d made, so he owes me a beer. He and I have cycled hundreds of miles together, starting way back in the mid 90s. All of us will have a lot of catching up to do I imagine. I fear we won’t get to it all during their brief visit. I hope they all enjoy the white beans, pork tenderloin, tri-tip, and grilled veggies on tortillas we’re making for lunch. And a hummus plate for Lily!

Last week as our house guest sat in that same chair, Erythemis collocata came to rest on her shoulder. Did you know Dragonflies are expert hunters of mosquitos? Which may in part explain the near absence of said pests here. I was curious to know more, e.g. was this bug more often a winner or loser in the game of life, so I dialed up bard.google.com on my phone (Google’s implementation of an AI chat bot), uploaded this photo and submitted it along with the following prompt

Is the insect in the photo more often prey or predator?

This is what Bard responded with, verbatim

The insect in the photo is more often a predator. Dragonflies are predators, and they eat other insects. They are fast and agile fliers, and they have sharp jaws that they use to catch their prey. The white cloth in the photo is not a natural habitat for dragonflies, so it is likely that the dragonfly was sitting there after catching its prey.

However, it is possible that the dragonfly is not a predator in this case. If the dragonfly is a captive insect, it may have been placed on the white cloth by its owner. In this case, the dragonfly would not be a predator, but rather a pet.

Without more information, it is impossible to say for sure whether the dragonfly in the photo is a predator or not. However, the fact that it is sitting on a white cloth, which is not a natural habitat for dragonflies, suggests that it is more likely a predator.

OK, so most days your average Dragonfly is killing it, ridding the environment of pests, some of which pester us (humans), thus making our co-existence on this planet a textbook example of Mutualism – in a single act of predation the Dragonfly enjoys a snack and we’ve one less bloodsucker to swat.

Other times, it can go very badly for our Dragonfly

Oh, I almost forgot, the woodpecker! I’ve never in all my life seen a ‘pecker that large (no giggling). Right outside my office window, which is why the photo’s a tad blurry, I snapped it though glass. Probably a boy because if you zoom in enough you can barely see the red feathers on the cheek beneath the eye, the mark of a male woodpecker. He was pokin’ and probin’ at a hole in that abandoned cedar trunk, where on other days I’ve seen giant slugs emerge from.

We took Black Dog for a walk at a nearby lake, our first visit here. He’s pretty feeble lately, HW keeps a plastic box in the car that she deploys as a step to stage the drop from the back seat to the ground. Once he has all four on the ground, and he’s moving, he gets along OK. He’s only eight, going on nine, so not a pup, though the days of him tearing up a mountainside to chase ground squirrels, darting from one hole to another until he’s but a speck in the distance to our eyes, those days I’m afraid are behind him. And not that far behind him. Look at him less than a year ago. Still, the full measure of a dog is not to be found in stamina alone. Being in the company of a good dog day after day, it’s hard to explain the connection that develops. A one hundred fifty year old tree in a public square has grown up so well and for so long it can no longer support its own weight, succumbs to a disease and must be felled, and the townsfolk weep as though a legend has passed, the place of its rooting forever memorialized by a modest plaque and a handmade bench where posterity may sit and ponder how much that tree, a mere tree, had meant to generations of people back then. Resilience alone can sometimes be a feature deserving of our admiration.

I can’t help myself. I mean look at that photogenic Hydrangea in our front yard, and the iconic countenance of the Airedale. I spotted her at a beach-side watering hole where I sometimes stop for a craft beer while out cycling.

…

Do you fear an artificial intelligence (AI) may soon go rogue and pose an existential threat to humanity? I do not. Hmm, curious. On your view, are there biological intelligence(s) (BI) that exist today (e.g. certain groups of other humans) antagonistic to your interests and values? Yes, of course. Are these BIs spreading disinformation? Some of them, yes. Is this getting worse? Are you kidding – ever heard of Twitter?! OK, so would it be fair to conclude that if one of these BIs which you believe is “misaligned” with your interests and values, and is accelerating the spread of disinformation and hate, were to become augmented with (come to posses) weapons of mass destruction (say), could it pose an existential risk to you and others of like mind? Absolutely – people all over the world, not just in this country, who share my values and interests are murdered with alarming frequency by BIs with misaligned values using traditional weaponry. I see, so if a biological intelligence may evolve to become antagonistic to your interests and values, and come to pose an existential risk to you, why not an artificial intelligence? For the same reason apples are not oranges. Don’t get me wrong, I have no doubt an augmented AI could be trained to kill me and others. In fact, you don’t need an AI for that, we have stupid drones that do our killing for us now. But no AI now, or ever, will come to posses human values or interests^*. In-silico computer programs (regardless of sophistication) are not human brains. The two are different things entirely. So it’s a categorical error of sorts to say the interests or values of an AI may become misaligned with the values and interests of a BI. If you must fear a current or future threat to your existence, you would be wise to focus on the clear and present danger posed by misaligned BIs, not AIs. Hmm, curious. So are you in the camp of people who believe that AI, far from posing a future threat to humanity, instead presents opportunity? Short answer, yes!

* Or for that matter the values and interests of other BIs. The notion that an AI may evolve to dis-value, or become misaligned toward the simple pleasure of a Raven’s flop and roll down a snowbank – play for play’s sake – I think is but one example of what the linked essay above alludes to as superstitious hand-waving.

We took in a market experience at a local farm. HW wanted eggs but they’d sold out minutes before we arrived. Ok, but what the heck we thought, let’s wander about and see what else is here. Not like we have anything pressing to do today. We visited the pigs in slop. I feel uneasy by the complete asymmetrical advantage we hold over the pigs, especially how we leverage that advantage to guide their fate. The barbarity but necessity (I suppose) of the electrified wire between us. The same asymmetry is observed at the goat pen, although here the minder of the goats invites us to reach down and pet them, if we want. I do so want, so I reach over the feeble fence fabric, which is nothing like the hardened security at the pig pen, and run my finger along the fur hair over the bridge of her (?) nose. I do wonder sometimes at my irreducible urge to pet animals. And what, if anything, the goat wonders when it feels my touch. Look into those eyes and tell me there’s nothing meaningful behind them. We’re told human touch is beneficial, maybe even critical, for the proper mental health development of human neonates, why not goats, too? Away from the animal areas I snapped a photo of several evanescent, globular forms slow moving in air. Pretty sure, anyway. Or maybe I should’ve passed on the free samples at the mycology tent?

Back at home the dusty red roses in our front garden have begun to express their flowers. Why the extravagance? Depends on who you ask. Ask an evolutionary biologist and the boilerplate answer will be something like: The flower’s allure draws the attention of pollinators (e.g. bees), who are a critical catalyst for making more rose plants. I find that reason unimaginative, if not also droll. The rose plant appears in the fossil record about 35 million years ago, and for about the past five thousand years has been under human-guided cultivation, which no doubt involved, in part, selective breeding for bigger, more beautiful flowers. The purpose of this extravagance is not to serve the rose’s reproductive interest; the purpose was beauty for beauty’s sake. “OK, but what about the ancestral rose smarty pants, it’s not like Valentines Day is 35 million years old.” Gee, do we know anything about how the flowers looked on the ancestral rose, flowers don’t fossilize well. Maybe they were tiny, bland, gray and droopy blooms, unattractive to all but the most desperate of bees. Who can say for sure?

Shortly after rose admiration – or was it before 🤔 – breakfast was ready! HW does it again. As I dug in, my thoughts drifted back to the pigs and the unfortunate asymmetry of our brief co-existence on this planet, and so I was grateful not to discover ham inside my omelette.

A good friend of ours (Dale) died last week. In his sleep we think, hopefully. He succumbed to the ravages of Alzheimer’s disease. Dale was a medical oncologist for many years practicing in Anchorage. He retired from that work about five years ago, but in keeping with his own best advice – “Never stop working!” he’d admonish us when the conversation turned to us retiring – he continued to work as an MD at a senior center. After his diagnosis a couple years later he was forced to quit that, too. He was HW’s former boss and mentor at the oncology practice where she worked in the 90s through the early aughts, a practice he’d established. She flew to Anchorage today to be at the celebration of life on Thursday. His wife asked HW if she’d say a few words for him at the ceremony. Before she left for the airport this morning she pulled out an old leather-bound journal of medical notes and bits of wisdom she’d collected over the years. On the inside cover there was a cutout paper star with a short vignette of encouragement penned on it, from Dale of course. Few of us are so fortunate as to have a solid mentor early on in our professional life. Dale was that for HW. The world is a little worse off today for his passing. We will miss him 🙏

Some photos at and near our new home. Full-size versions are a mere click (touch) away.

The dryer in our new home reports cycle completion with a brief capriccio, instead of the usual ding-ding-ding. It repeats this until you enter the laundry room and formally acknowledge its success. A dryer with an ego, nice. In another example of modernity: I receive an alert on my phone if the refrigerator door is left open. Outside, we have a seven-zone irrigation system on the property paired to a programmable controller mounted on the side of the house. Talk about your old-school – programming this thing is similar to programming an 80’s VCR. The first night I set it to “Run,” the next morning I awoke early to discover zone 1 had run for over an hour (I wanted 15 minutes), and the other zones had messed up time settings too. WTF? I quickly switched off the controller while it was still mid-cycle on zone 3, then glared at it: “This is not what I commanded you to do.” 🤨 There’s at least one wall switch in the house that controls I don’t know what. I find myself still flipping it on and off now and then, hoping to see or hear something activate, or stop working. No difference. Maybe I have early onset insanity? In HW’s office I spotted a mysterious black cube plugged into an outlet. Unplug it and the Internet stops working. What’s this? Can’t be for the modem, I located that in one of the guest bedrooms which is half a house away. 🤔 So I pointed my phone at it, snapped a photo and asked Google. Ah, a signal amplifier. Strange, never needed one of those in any other house with a WiFi modem. Someday I’ll have to venture into the crawlspace to review the wiring network down there. Until then, note to HW: “Don’t unplug that.” There’s a bonus room in the house – formerly the “yoga room” – that we’ve configured as our entertainment space. It’s the only upstairs space in an otherwise single-story home. It has four skylights providing views of the bay, which is nice, but the room is also plumbed (supposedly a former owner/artist had a sink installed to clean her brushes?). Obviously, we want to configure a wet bar here, but so far we’ve installed a new OLED TV, a low-rise cabinet to set it on, revived a vintage audio system unused in our former home, and brought in a new love seat & oversized chair (w/ottoman). HW hung some pictures on the walls. I can already tell that when it’s done it’s going to be one of my favorite spaces in the house. Black Dog loves it up there, too. He can spy rabbits and deer on the front lawn below. Speaking of my office, whatya think

Still a work in progress but the lion’s share of customization is done. Praise me us please. I did not enjoy a “proper” office in our former home. Now, after fourteen years of dreaming, I have one! And I love the privacy. You cannot segue to my office from any room inside the home. It’s kind of a secret space. Never mind quiet, like pin drop quiet!, and comfortable. HW has yet to apply her flourish onto the only entry door: Dr. Rod.

We’ve not been all work and no play, though. It’s been warm, dry and pleasant the past several weeks. I think I can get used to this

And, as always, I am grateful for each and every breakfast HW prepares me

That’s right, a greenish egg shell. Bunch of chicken raisers in the area, eking out a living. We’re happy to help them do so. And just look at the color of that yolk. Same orange as the orange. Take that Whole Foods.