Monday, October 19, 2026

Web Log for 10.18.26 with Shameless Self-Promotion

A question on my mind this morning was why some recent posts here have been getting so much more traffic than others. Hence the shameless self-promotion, as I revisit these posts and try to work out what made them so popular. 

Celebrities, Un-American 

Is Ilhan Omar un-American? I'm not sure about that. She certainly has some unpopular opinions. She probably shouldn't be in Congress. She could do a lot of actual good by leading a repatriation movement for Somalis who are no longer refugees here and aren't on the path to citizenship. Should she be forced to leave? Doubtful. Persuasion is better than force. We should be persuading Rep. Omar to persuade other Somalis to go home.

Is Elon Musk...? I don't know about that young man, I really don't. Growing up as a genius probably never was easy. It's not become easier since the idea of education for the masses became popular. I think Elon Musk has failed to think through the human consequences of some of his clever ideas, because he lacks awareness of or even a sense of species identity with duh normies. I think that's inevitable. I think it makes most brilliant thinkers (though not, reportedly, Einstein) "book smart, life stupid." I think Musk needs to work against this tendency. I think he needs to remind himself that any random HSP art student with an IQ of 110 can be revulsed by duh normies, whereas Einstein and Carver and other people of real genius made mindful efforts to practice compassion for normies they met every day. (Gates, even--though Gates seems irredeemably misguided, he's been misguided by people appealing to a practice of compassion he has tried to make.) But Musk is so valuable as an asset that, if he hadn't immigrated legally of his own free will, we should have been actively recruiting him. The last thing we want to do is boot him out of the United States in a way that would turn him against us. Even if that seems to the nasty little minds of the Democratic Socialists like revenge for the possible deportation of Ilhan Omar.

Because the Democratic Socialists really do hate America. They say it loudly and proudly, and their actions back it up. They are the ones who should be deported.

Court of Popular Opinion, the 

Wallowing in judgmentalism, A.J. Christopher unintentionally supports the accusation that Patrick Clancy killed the Clancy children. 

(Fact: Lindsay was alone with the children while Patrick was out shopping, being seen, being videotaped at big-chain stores that videotape store activity. 

Fact: Lindsay had used drugs that not uncommonly produce a psychosis that culminates in homicide-suicide, and while some people who show this pattern of psychosis have real enemies or target strangers or co-workers, some choose the weaker members of their family for the homicide: men usually start with their womenfolks, women usually start with their children, because this type of person is a coward and, even when insane, can only imagine killing someone smaller and weaker than self. 

Fact: There's a claim, based on forensic evidence, that two of the children were dead before Patrick went to the store. 

Fact: Lindsay was very badly injured, possibly by her crazy self, possibly by Patrick, and has not been in whatever her right mind was since the murders. Though she may be reacting to medication rather than to any pre-existing mental illness.

Fact: Nobody claims to have eyewitnessed the murders, and Patrick's the only one who seemed confident, before this summer's media circus, that Lindsay dunnit; there are more hedonistic psychopathic men in this world than there are really violent women, even with SSRI-induced psychosis raising the number of the latter exponentially since 1980. 

Fact: Patrick's not the smartest of Irish-Americans, but he's smart enough to know that Lindsay might be made to seem like a classic "killer mom" with SSRI-induced psychosis. 

Fact: Patrick's "honey" has the same family name as the judge who started the media circus with the mistrial that assumed Lindsay's guilt and heard arguments only about her sanity, while Lindsay sat there, obviously stoned out of her mind, obviously belonging in a mental hospital. 

Fact: We all heard Lindsay confess to the murders and plead insanity, but at the time she did that she was indisputably in an altered state of consciousness and might have been repeating something she was told to say, as it might have been by Patrick. 

Fact: None of this amounts to proof beyond reasonable doubt that either Lindsay or Patrick, or both of them together for that matter, killed the Clancy children; it only means that it's not proven beyond reasonable doubt that Lindsay did. 

For what it's worth, I think she did, but we will never know that beyond reasonable doubt. What we do know is that Lindsay said she wanted to be in a hospital, she clearly belongs in a hospital, and she should be in one. Probably for the rest of her short life--she doesn't look like a person who has a lot of time left in this world.) 

And whenEVER a man says a woman's crazy, we KNOW the man is guilty of SOMEthing. Men need to start teaching their sons to be very hesitant and respectful about saying "I don't understand why she's saying" or "I don't agree with what she's saying, because..." Lindsay Clancy's mental illness is obvious to women, but that's not something a man would be competent to judge. Men suffer from this tendency to think with their feelings that the all-important thing is to blame someone else! They're crazy that way! 

Christopher writes as if he believes Lindsay dunnit...but also as if he believes the motive for those children's murder was hedonism. If Lindsay dunnit, that would not have been the motive. The "Prozac-demented" aren't hedonists; they're miserable, probably lost, souls who believe they're either avenging or protecting others from some sort of horrible physical abuse that's produced the pain that is actually being produced by the drugs. But if Patrick dunnit, hedonism would clearly have been the motive. Patrick had every reason to want to be rid of an increasingly sick wife and live with "honey."


Music 

Boogie Belgique.



Bryan Andrews. This one was written last spring, referring to deportations of drug dealers, and I call b.s. because in towns like Kingsport the law was representing the Will of the People, at least all of them that I know. Still, the song was amusing to listen to, once.


Avishai Cohen.


Jefferson Airplane.


Frenic.


America.


Popular Posts That May Actually Be Useful to Someone 

I think a commenter was disappointed that my late blog buddy did not, before she died, endorse any commercially available product to get rid of nail fungus. In theory piddling on your toes in the shower would produce a mild chlorine-ammonia reaction, including a chemical compound that is highly toxic to almost anything; in practice urea and any sugar residues would feed any mold spores that survived after the vile-smelling chemical residue had been washed away. Another late blog buddy endorsed Lamisil for fungus infections; I've tried it, and it worked, but it triggered pseudo-cardiac reactions similar to the ones I've had to some sort of "pesticide" vapors. 




Popular Posts That May at Least Be Making People Laugh 



I thought of this one as ironic more than funny, but other people seem to be chortling. 





Well...smile, anyway. This is the short fiction written from the prompt, in which things that seem unlucky keep happening and the couple they happen to are just too decent to let these things be bad luk for them/


Popular Post with Pretty Pictures 


Popular Posts That May Be Feeding Local Gossip, Which I Regret, but in Some Cases It's Just Too Dang Bad 

Even if my Bad Neighbor's second (or third? or fourth?) wife did find another man somewhere, she would have considered him mainly as possible help to get away from an evildoer who was poisoning his neighbors and boasting about it..."outliving" people younger than himself, indeed. He's taking advantage of my chemical sensitivities, he's taken advantage of others'. Too right that's why any woman who wanted to live would have bolted, and since the Bad Neighbor wants to keep on harassing me, let him prove he did not intentionally kill Shawn Bledsoe, professional tree trimmer and rightful heir of some land the Bad Neighbor coveted. I was in Washington when young Bledsoe fell out of a tree, dead, for no reason, when he was thirty years old. Hadn't seen the kid in years but my brother and I used to baby-sit Shawn Bledsoe. He was a healthy energetic little handful of kidness who did best with a team of baby-sitters! No reason why he should have died young.


Though I sincerely hope no person my age is bored enough yet to be trying to figure out which old school friends get (lightly) slammed in this post. My intention was to make them unidentifiable. I hold no grudges against these people. The whole middle school subset of "The Gate City Clique" were all horrible little teen-trolls in grade eight. I mean, the school system put us in a separate building where only a few unlucky teachers had to look at us. I was a spoiled brat too; some other little beast probably had a list of a hundred reasons not to like me. Let us draw the curtain of charity over questions of who was brattier than whom on any given day.


This one might have interested the wrong local people. The Feral Elberta Peach Tree is close enough to the road to be a target for drive-by sprayings. It was defoliated three times last summer, once while the last few peaches were still ripening. It was still alive--covered with buds--this morning and was just sprayed again as I was typing this. Some would say the spirit of George Peters has to be in that tree. I don't know that I believe such things, but let the sprayer beware. "Grandpa Iron Fist" didn't pick a quarrel, fire a weapon, or hit anything in every year, or every ten years; but he never lost a fight, missed a target, or left a thing he'd hit standing.


Popular Posts About Animals 

Each week the link logs, new book review, and seeds-of-books-or-articles get more attention than the butterfly and Petfinder posts. Over time the butterfly and Petfinder posts get lots of views. The ones that have been up for a while show more views than the newer ones. That's cool!








Popular Posts That Are Probably Hater Bait 

Some posts I can imagine as attracting lots of traffic from people who haaaate what I've said. Blogspot is not inherently more immune to pressure from haters than Twitter/X is...but Blogspot can learn from those sites' big mistakes. I stand by what I said. Blogspot should stand by my right to say it.





Popular Posts That Celebrate Other People's Popular Work  

Some blog posts' popularity is obviously due to their discussions of books, movies, etc., that lots of people already liked. 


Why is this one more popular than other music link logs? It's shorter but most of the songs in it were super-sellers at some time...Note that although Google has moved rerun book reviews to where they were reposted, Google has not changed the original publication date in the URL's.










Popular Post\ That Publicized a Book by Bashing It


Popular Posts the Reason for Whose Popularity Is Unclear  

Really good music links? Maybe!


Was it the timely PSA?


How popular is Natasha Bedingfield?


Do people like V.L. Giles' full-length books, then?

Book Review: El Bramido Horripilante

Title: El Bramido Horripilante

(Amazon.com had no image of this book when this review was written. So here is a picture of a landslide...from Morguefile, where I didn't find the photographer's name at the time.)


Author: Victor Iturralde Rua

Date: 1987

Publisher: Libros del Quirquincho

ISBN: 950-9732-51-6

Length: 46 pages

Illustrations: drawings by Istvan

Quote: "El 16 de julio...no habia ruidos, ni carcajadas. Las puertas estaban cerradas, se caminaban casi en punta de pies."

(On the sixteenth of July there were no noises, no laughter. The doors were shut; people went around almost on tiptoe.)

This is a mildly scary story about a faraway village, high in the mountains, where the superstitious villagers celebrated something or other every day, except on the sixteenth of July, when they were silent and mournful. One particular word, the name of a man who had been lost in an avalanche, was forbidden. Any noise on that day, the villagers feared, might start another avalanche (un bramido horripilante, a hair-raising noise).

Sure enough, a bratty little boy finds out the forbidden word and screams it over and over, just to scare his grandparents. And a landslide begins. But the boy and his grandparents survive. And the villagers change their observance of the sixteenth of July.

El Bramido Horripilante is not recommended to anyone who might allow it to be used to encourage noisy, disobedient children. Because of its short length, it is recommended to first year Spanish students; they may need to consult a dictionary but they'll be able to follow the story.

Butterfly of the Week: Heraclides Garleppi

Heraclides garleppi was named relatively recently, in honor of two memorable characters in modern scientific literature, the naturalist brothers Gustav and Otto Garlepp. A thumbnail biography of the brothers is at 


The butterflies are large South American swallowtails. They are found all through the year but are most numerous in August. Males and females have different color patterns but similar wing shapes, with very long, rounded fore wings. Males look more like H. thoas with even wider yellow or white bands across the fore wings. More of the upper wing surface is yellow or creamy white than is black or brown. 


Photo by Jhonny Zambrano, Ecuador, November.

Females look more like Heraclides anchisiades, with or without a white spot in the center of each fore wing, and with a rose-red spot in each hind wing. Are there females who look more like the males? The species is not well enough known for anyone to be sure. We know that this species shows significant sexual dimorphism.


Photo by Thewildgtrv, Surinam, October.

There are three subspecies. Heraclides garleppi garleppi is found in Bolivia.


Photo by Layme, Bolivia, July. Males join puddle parties with other male butterflies and these Urania individuals, who look and behave like Swallowtail butterflies but are scientifically classified as a completely different genus--a sort of day-flying moth.

H.g. interruptus is found in Brazil and Peru.

H.g. lecerfi is found only in South America's "Guiana Shield," where it has "protected" status because it is so rare. In Surinam, for instance, it's known to breed only in the Brownsberg nature park.

The Bojonawi nature preserve hosts only H.g. interruptus, but it hosts so much wildlife that its species checklist is a full-sized book, beautifully illustrated (though not with Heraclides garleppi). If you like looking at tropical birds and plants, or want to make your own video to accompany that "Orinoco Flow" song, you might want to "sail away" with this e-book.


Rothschild described only the subspecies garleppi and interruptus, explaining where the yellow band on interruptus is "interrupted":


The life cycle remains poorly documented, although some progress has been made. We know that male Swallowtails gather at puddles, especially just after eclosion, waiting to become ready to mate. Females are typically ready to mate as soon as their wings unfold. When a female joins a puddle party, she's looking for a mate, and is likely to find one soon. After that she will spend most of her time finding places to lay her eggs. 


Photo by Anabenavides, Colombia, August. 

Maeva Leroy believed this to be an early stage caterpillar of Heralides garleppi.


Photo by Maeva Leroy, Surinam, August.

Other researchers say that the caterpillar differs from other species that look similar to the adult garleppi, but this difference remains to be documented with digital photographs.

The preferred host plant is a wild bush in the citrus family called Ticorea foetida, the Foul-Smelling Ticora. Not all Wikipedia pages have been written in or translated to English by humans; that's what translation software is for.


A 1985 assessment of this species' conservation status concluded that not enough is known about it to justify calling it threatened or endangered. Since it has always been rare, has been reported from very diverse and non-contiguous locations, and has features in common with two other species that share the same range, it might be a natural hybrid. More recent studies suggest that it is not a hybrid, but much about this species remains to be learned.

Sunday, October 18, 2026

Web Log for 10.16-17.26, with Even More Bad Poetry

I was expecting to go somewhere Friday evening. I hadn't slept much during the week, though, and right about sundown I leaned over into a comfortable position and went to sleepy-land. Woke up a little before midnight, read a bit of the latest chat on the Meow, realized it was Friday night and I was supposed to be coming in from somewhere further away from the screen porch right about now. It had been raining all evening. 

The person with whom I was supposed to go somewhere (other than sleepy-land) probably hadn't even tried to drive up the road, with the wet leaves all over it. We've had no frost but some leaves turn yellow and drop when the light changes--and this year we've been losing a lot of leaves to fire blight and intentional, criminal, poison spraying. So the road's leafy and the leaves weren't showing any tracks of any vehicles in which anyone had come up looking for me. 

It can take five or ten minutes, but I do wake up if someone's parked on the road, flashing lights and sounding horn regularly. Friends may have to persevere though. This every-gal-her-own-nightwatchman routine does get old.

Animals 

1. This is where cat bloggers get our silly memes and holidays:


I did not check in in time to remember that Friday was Feral Cat Day, but my junior cat Silver observed it by wandering around as if she were a feral cat. I've clarified this with some, not all, of the people who might see her stravaiging about. Silver is not feral. She is a pet. In cold weather she's even an indoor pet. She is loved and missed, but even if she can't have kittens, she likes male company. She has a history of bonding with one tomcat at a time, and has outlived three--one who came to the neighborhood old, one who was poisoned, and, I'm told, most recently one who was forcibly removed from the neighborhood by someone whose property he had marked as his own. We have a resident tomcat, Drudge; Drudge is Silver's nephew. Some neighbors have a tomcat who was chased off by their junior tomkitten. The day they told me they'd decided he must be dead, I saw what looked like him in the wood lot below their house. It's possible that Silver was observing Feral Cat Day by trying to make friends with a cat who's gone feral. Anyway, she missed breakfast, but came home for dinner. 

One reason why cats go feral is that, although they can like and respect their peers, typical cats tend to feel that each one should have its own territory. Even our Bounce and Pounce, the most affectionate and devoted brother kittens ever seen, reached an age when they decided quite amicably to claim territories of their own--if one stayed with me, the other one would stray off. Fighting, as it was for Drudge and Wild Thyme while WT was around, may be a harmless ritual but each cat seriously wants to claim a separate space. 

Anyway it's not true that feral cats never become real pets. They aren't likely to bond with people who trap and neuter them. About that they probably feel very much the way humans would if someone were doing it to us. They do bond with people who feed them consistently, let them go their own way, and may have "tamed" one or more of their kittens. They never become the sort of house pets who totally depend on humans and wouldn't want to stray out of their designated rooms in their humans' homes, but with patience you can hope to be allowed to pet them, pick them up, and help if they're really sick or injured. Each step toward a typical pet/human bond takes a few months...assuming you either don't have pet cats, or have a friendly, encouraging one. If your pet cat tells them to keep their germs and fleas the bleep away from its human, they will. They'll become fond of you but, while that pet cat lives, not come close enough to touch.

If you have a barn you absolutely should adopt feral cats from a shelter that takes them, because otherwise they're likely to be killed. They do not thrive in shelter conditions. And though it may take years to build the kind of trust that can forgive you  for taking them in for rabies shots (some people like to designate a visiting villain the cats can associate with this violation of their purrsons), when a feral cat does start to love you, you know you're loved. Fully domesticated cats may see you as just a source of food; feral cats, who depend on their own skills for food, definitely relate to you as friends and will look for ways to show love and gratitude. 

2. Short video about elephants...


One of the more human traits that could even be disturbing, about our Founding Queen Cat Black Magic, was that she recognized a friend's bones. Right around the time a local jerk shot Magic's foster daughter, Kitten Number Three, Magic's pet Pogo Possum started sitting in the road snarling at passers-by and was, of course, run over after a few days. (Why possums do that I don't know, but I'm glad Pogo was the only one of ours I saw doing it.) For weeks, when we passed Pogo's bones, Magic would squeak softly and slow down as if remembering and missing Pogo.

Magic was not sentimental about other animals' bones. She left a goodly number of them strewn about the yard as possum treats. But those animals had clearly been in the category "food" for her; Pogo was in the category "friend."

3. Why haven't I done any Cat Sanctuary Interviews lately? Possibly because the Meow's taken over that genre? Author Priscilla Ann Bird (no, I've never met her in real life) has been giving the world its daily dose of behavior-observation-based whimsy this year. Her cat family unfortunately has a senior female who does not seem to have what it takes to be a Queen. I think it'd be interesting to see how Serena might deal with those Bengal Brothers, but it's unlikely to happen. 


Thursday afternoon, after doing some damage to the property he's supposed to be managing for a relative, the Bad Neighbor sprayed it thoroughly with the current form of "Roundup," which of course drifted down on the wind. Friday morning, I went out on the porch and Serena ran to meet me as usual, bounding onto the porch and crossing it with one long jump, seeming almost to float through the air as she ran, effortlessly...not quite. The poison in the air affected her ability to breathe just as it did mine. Serena stood panting for breath and letting me pet her for several breaths before recovering her usual interest in kibble and hurrying me to pour out some of it. Serena is now about as old, for a cat, as I am for a human, and "A little slowing down is normal" for some people at our age, no doubt...but ours occurs only after exposure to airborne chemicals that have been used with evil intentions toward us. Do not be deceived. When the air is clean Serena is as bouncy as ever. Bengal cats run bigger and livelier than more domestic breeds, closer to their wild ancestors, so a pair of adolescent Bengals might out-bounce Serena. But I'd expect she'd still be their Queen.

Having a traditional extended family with a Real Patriarch is not always perfect. Oh yes of course we should be kind and generous and take people's word that, if they can't deny they've done something wrong, at least they won't do it again. Remember when some of us sent that stoned driver to jail, and Dad gave him and his wife jobs, when he got out, to encourage him to stay sober? Well, Dad's last few first cousins are fine Christian gentlemen. They are also in mortal danger from being such. There are no "weed" problems in October but some relatives are having a birthday party this weekend...

We need a law. Good wording might be, "Any open-air spraying of volatile chemicals may be prosecuted as a violent crime against any person affected by it." We need to stop thinking "X sneezed because X has allergies" and shift to thinking "X sneezed because Y, that spray poisoner, injured X's nose." And doling out fines, jail terms, and worse, accordingly.

Censorship and Those Who Want It 

Apologies for the language...Joe Jackson tells it like it is.


I am sincerely sorry...There's a blogger I follow who used to be an active commenter at lots of web sites, and gradually dropped away from them. She blogs about being old. She's not all that old. I noticed her not visiting here, hoped she was well, have been glad to see her blog staying active. Maybe she just had to cut back on reading time because of eye trouble? I read back and noticed that she'd mentioned feeling appalled by one of the Petfinder Posts. The one about the pet-friendly shelters for victims of domestic abuse. Because, as evidence supporting the claim that abused people might reasonably be afraid to leave their pets alone with their abusers, I mentioned things an abuser had done to the family dogs. I hadn't provided any warnings about the violent content of that post and this sensitive soul has never come back here since. 

That is not the kind of "offended" I'm talking about. The purpose of this web site is not to raise cardiovascular patients' blood pressure or make bereaved people cry. It's not always possible to guess what may have those effects; it is easy to guess that some things will. I should have opened that post with a warning about violent content. It won't bring that individual reader back here, but I do apologize to her.

But those who are "offended" by things they read online such as "Trump fans thought the blatantly fake video of Trump tackling the tiger was hilarious," or "Kamala Harris was perceived by other DC lawyers as a lightweight and suspected of having gained promotion from a personal relationship with a married man," or "Democrats need to purge Democratic Socialists out of their party, without pity, and try their very best to reclaim the 'liberal' label no matter how many Trump-haters they have to disown, in order to have a chance of remaining a viable party"...yup. They should loosen up, or stop reading, or both.

Movies 

Not a review, but some historical background notes on The Uprising.


Music 

Roberto Cacciapaglia.



Vera Lynn.


Booker T.


Franz Schubert.


Elijah Bossenbroek.


Tschaikovsky, rendered on drinking glasses with water in them. (Christmas-associated for some.)


Steve Miller Band.


Clay Aiken.


The Wailers.


Bruce Springsteen.


Mark Knopfler.


Rosanne Cash.


Ludovico Einaudi.


Five contemporary Christian songs about mothers. If you like them you might save them to replay on Mothers Day. I post them when I get to them. I will note, however, that a certain type of hippie mother used to say that displays of filial affection meant more when they did not arrive on the Hallmark Holiday. It is Sunday. If you have that type of mother, you can share these songs with her now.


George Winston.



Marty Robbins. 


John Lee Hooker.


"Impromptu piano duet."


Avishai Cohen.


Boogie Belgique.


Poetry 

Yet another outlet for the urge to poem: Rallentanda's Senryu Sunday posts at her blog. She posts pictures and invites senryu about one of each week's pictures.


People love this one
I think: early widowhood
our house, less girly

Details matter; I expect the young woman in the picture has not lost a husband but decided to make her little house, or flat, beautiful without one. But my memories of sitting alone at a pretty little round table, built for four and placed in a corner so that it seats two, in a tidy, cozy kitchen are tearstained ones.

Well, that's a fine cheerful thought to share with a friend. Can I do better?


surf's roar, and sunshine
hot on shoulders; the urge to
lie back, float on tide


She's planning to host a senryu linkup every Sunday for a while.

Politics 

Donald Trump can afford whatever security he needs so I'm not terribly concerned about him. I am, however, concerned about the way the Loony Left's hostility spills over onto Trump's relatives and employees. (And would spill over onto his friends, if he had any...few self-made rich men acknowledge any friends, and most 80-year-olds have outlived most if not all the friends they ever had.) Yes, for the safety of the Trump grandchildren, and of ourselves, we must keep the Democratic Socialists from gaining any seats in Congress and we should try to keep them from being elected to any position whatsoever. Even Sergeant-at-Arms (Crossed Mop and Window Pole!) of the High School Band Boosters Club. (The link appeared at a "news" site long enough ago that it's not news, but it never was a news story; it's an opinion piece, still valid.) Real Democrats should be as concerned about this as Republicans are, actually.

Book Review: The Great Controversy

Book Title: The Great Controversy

Author: Ellen G. White

Date: 1884, 1998

Publisher: Harvestime Books

ISBN: none

Length: 424 pages of text with indices

Quote: "Wherever they sought refuge, the followers of Christ were hunted like beasts."

The Great Controversy was Ellen White's summary of the history of the Christian church. Three editions were published. The 1911 edition, The Great Controversy Between Christ and Satan, is the one Seventh-Day Adventist students often distribute door-to-door to explain how the different Christian denominations came to exist and how theirs is like and different from the others. Although the 1911 edition contains a much higher proportion of factual details to rhetorical flourishes than this 1884 edition does, that's because it contains all those long quotes that (acceptably by contemporary standards) were identified as quotes only by the use of quotation marks--no credits. This is the book Ellen White wrote, before she instructed assistants to go back and pad it with long unattributed quotations from other books.

Some say you can tell the unattributed quotations in any White book by the sudden improvement in writing style...Like many Victorian writers, Ellen White helped herself to generous portions of other people's writing; attributing a multi-page quote only to "an early historian" was thought of as flattering the audience with the suggestion that they'd know which historian the author meant, rather than as sloppy research. Ellen White was almost entirely self-taught. Her self-education was rigorous but did not include any noticeable attention to the ideas of shortening sentences or choosing telling details instead of piling up generalizations. And unfortunately for readers, some of the better educated authors she quoted had had some glimmer of those ideas; more had none. 

This edition is shorter than the familiar one by a few hundred pages. Substantial parts of the historical facts are printed in the form of terse charts and tables of data, rather than narrative. Some readers feel that the charts and tables provide valuable resting places in a long slog through Victorian prose. On the other hand, some readers complain that the effect of the text is less like a history book and more like a sermon than the 1911 edition.

If you're not familiar with any edition of The Great Controversy, there's another thing you need to know about it: Victorian Christians were incredibly insensitive, monstrously politically incorrect. I've not found another book from this period that compared different denominations without bashing all but the author's own. Ellen White wrote about other denominations the way people did at the time. It wasn't that she disliked Jews or Catholics; it was that she didn't know any of them well enough to anticipate that their feelings might be hurt by long expositions on themes like, "Prophets had wept over the apostasy of Israel," or "Corrupt and blasphemous priests and popes were doing the work which Satan applointed them."

When I first read The Great Controversy Between Christ and Satan, which was given to me for my tenth birthday, I remember that the dominant impression I picked up was of harsh condemnation. (I don't recommend this book for ten-year-olds, no matter how advanced their reading skills may be.) On our last long road trip we'd visited some Catholic relatives; I wondered whether, if my parents kept going to that Adventist church, I'd ever be allowed to see them again. Duh. I would probably have been encouraged to visit them...but that's the way The Great Controversy comes across to people who read it without a mature historical perspective.

To my surprise, later on, the Adventists I met did not seem to have a problem dissociating Ellen White's condemnations of the corrupt priests and popes from the idea of good will toward, and even cooperation with, their Catholic neighbors. While attending an Adventist college I volunteered at Catholic-run missions and went to classes with guest students from a nearby Catholic college. I observed no phobia of other denominations.

Adventists who attend church meetings get guidance on how to dissociate historical judgments from present-time relationships there. For non-Adventists, I recommend The Great Controversy to those who are sincerely liberal (as I use the word) enough to read it with tolerance for a previous generation's intolerant language.

Even the subtitle of the 1911 edition has been controversial. C.S. Lewis later wrote, much more patiently (to suit his historical period), that Satan was usually understood to be the opposite not to Christ but to Michael as chief of the good angels. Ellen White seems to have made less study of the evil angels than, say, Martin Luther did, so perhaps she can be forgiven for seeming to promote Satan a little higher in the scheme of things than he ought to be.

During the twentieth century I read a couple of other books outlining the way the major denominations in the United States were, but I don't remember another book giving as complete a history of how they came to exist. If you want a less biased historical study of this topic, it's possible that you'll have to go back to the primary texts and write one...and I say the sooner the better.

Friday, October 16, 2026

Web Log for 10.15.26

the

Banks, Bigotry of 

And here I thought those banks didn't want to handle Paypal accounts because the function of a Paypal-linked bank account is to process pennies and never have a balance worth stealing for 24 hours at a time. We need a law. Money-handling services must not be allowed to display "attitudes" toward customers. Any evidence of personal feeling, good or bad, in handling other people's money should get them shut down. Paypal should not know or care whose transactions it's handling. Nor should your bank, if you use one. People who handle your money should give no room for suspicion that they know if your mother once gave them a failing grade, much less what your religion, politics, or other personal affairs might be. 


Food Service, Lessons in 

Hooters Girl wants her old job back again? Well, cry me a river, Bimbo. News flash: Most people who want to eat in a restaurant want to eat with someone else. Most people who want to eat together in a restaurant go in pairs or small groups that include women. And women do not want our food to have been handled by other women dressed in what look like the gym suits my class protested having to wear in high school, grinning and chattering at our dates, thank you very much. Here's a vote for food servers dressed in black from neck to wrists and ankles, taught just enough English to whisper "Your order, Sir/Madame," and required to wait in a corner for customers to summon them as distinct from interrupting customers' conversations. I don't care how cute or deserving they are, I don't want my dinner date talking to or looking at any other female. Hooters should have known that and not tried to build a brand around having inappropriately dressed women "smile and joke" with male customers.

No link, because the story's at nypost.com, an obnoxious site fouled up with obtrusive ads. But I'm tempted to try to link to an old song about a jealous woman who shot her cheating boyfriend and the "honey," which I used to like, although aunts traditionally hate it, for the line, "She said, 'Stand back, all you cheapies'..." I think that has to be a lot of women's opinion of Hooters Girls. 

Humor, Immature Male Sense of 

In an English wildlife park, a Siberian tiger, which is not an English species and shouldn't have been there, attacked a young man. The attack was fatal. Someone at the White House posted the video of the attack in the President's name. Howls of outrage arose. The White House "Truth Social" consultant then replaced it with a computer-generated video of Trump playing with the tiger. 

Guys will be guys. Guys probably don't belong in the White House, but I did chortle...See the blatantly fake video of Trump hugging the tiger at


Music 

Parov Stelar.


USC marching band. Great workout video.


Estas Tonne.


Childish Gambino.


Herbert Pixner Projekt.


Dimitri Vegas & Like Mike.


Hrdza.


Anne Clark.



Canned Heat.



Akino Arai.


Ludovico Einaudi.



Symbiose.


Pink Floyd.


John Coltrane.


Nick Drake.


Tom Petty.



Blackfoot.


Eric Clapton.


Electronic tribute to Fleetwood Mac.


Prince.


The Black Keys.


"BeautifulCountryHiddenFacts."


Swirling Eddies.


Crosby, Stills, Nash, and/or Young.


Terry Reid.


Incredible String Band.


Boogie Belgique.


Cannonball Adderley.



Bert Jansch.


Passepartout Duo.


George Winston.


Jesse Cook.


Sam Nichols.

Bad Poetry: Angels' Messages

This week's Poets & Storytellers United prompt is a bit of a challenge, because...

If I knew what the message was going to be,
Why would the angel need to deliver it to me?
Still, the biblical record gives us one clear clue:
If an angel is ever sent to speak to you,
Though light and swift as thought, it carries the weight
Of glory, authority, power, so great
That the first thing it always finds that it has got
To tell mortals, on meeting them, will be "FEAR NOT."


(Graphic from Google.)

What are angels? The word means "message" or "messenger." In some traditions it's used to mean anyone bearing a message from God, which would include even the little donkey that spoke to Balaam in the book of Judges, much less the minister or even a friend from church. However, in the Bible it seems to mean a different kind of thing--a spiritual being that may look human, but is not. The fools in the city of Sodom thought they wanted to rape the angels who came to visit Lot--looking at them from a distance. The angels allowed them to think that to show Lot how vile his townsmen were and confirm that Lot was decent enough to want to protect his guests. People who get close enough to converse with angels always seem startled by them. Even an angel in the form of a child would still be a spirit messenger from God. People tremble at the thought of what an angel could possibly have to tell them. 

Do I believe in angels? Well...if you believe in a Creator God for whom all is possible, you can't believe there may not be angels. I have no personal knowledge of the subject. Angels can probably take any form. In the Bible some of them appear as strange, symbolic alien creatures, and some look like mortals from a distance. However, though contemporary artists love to paint and sculpt women and children angels, in the Bible all the angels who take human form appear as young men, and Jesus describes them as an army. That doesn't mean that the ones who protect children might not appear in female or child form...but we are clearly told that they have no family lives. Angels are created, not born. Some think that makes their gender masculine. Some point out that in nature, when living things work but don't reproduce--like worker bees--their gender is feminine. I say neuter...expecting that in Heaven we shall all be surprised, and have a good laugh at the things we believed when we were only able to try to imagine a spiritual plane of existence with mortal, material brains.

Book Review: Magic, an Introduction

This was one of the first book reviews to appear at this web site. It didn't get much attention when the site was getting ten to fifteen page views a week. It has been revised and updated.

Book Title: Magic: an Introduction

Author: Betty Kobs

Date: 1976

Publisher: Raintree Publishers

ISBN: 0-8172-0057-6

Length: 48 pages

Illustrations: photos by Robert L. Miller, drawings by Barbara Ericksen

Quote: "Someone who does magic tricks is called a magician. A magician tries to surprise people."

Betty Kobs' introduction to magic tricks is intended to be easy enough for first and second grade readers. It might sound stilted and patronizing to third grade students.

The sleight-of-hand and distraction stunts explained in this book don't require expensive equipment or extensive practice. How does one soft foam ball become two? It was two balls all along, squished together in the magician's hand. Paper clips jump off a folded strip of paper when the paper is spread flat. Water in a glass will magnetically "hold" a piece of cardboard across the top of the glass, holding the water inside while the glass is upside down...for a few minutes.

Then there's always the reliable "magic" properties of the Afghan Band or Moebius Strip, a long strip of anything twisted just halfway round and joined into a circle. Cutting, twisting, marking, and otherwise playing with this circle produces many surprising and amusing results. Kids can work up a fifteen- to thirty-minute act using the special properties of the Moebius Strip, with just one sheet of construction paper, a little sticky tape, and a pair of kindergarten scissors.

Magic, an Introduction will allow eight-year-olds to entertain six-year-olds. Older audiences are unlikely to be impressed, although a ten-year-old sibling might claim to be surprised that the eight-year-old is able to perform for half an hour. But one must begin somewhere, and all these tricks are cheap and safe.

Island Snapshots: Assateague and Chincoteague, 1986

I sent three poems about places to a contest for poems about places. Two were Bad Poetry (TM); one was Free Verse. The poems didn't win so the Bad Poetry (TM) has been scheduled for publication on my Substack, while the Free Verse is here. 

Assateague and Chincoteague islands are off the Maryland/Virginia coast. Assateague is the wildlife preserve where visitors camp in tents and observe wildlife; Chincoteague is the town where visitors stay in hotels or B&B's and shop. My ideal three-day weekend would include the Friday or Monday afternoon on Chincoteague, weekend alternating between woods and beach. The islands are best known for the "ponies" (horse people say they're small feral horses), who run wild on Assateague for most of the year, then are herded over to Chincoteague (they have to swim) where people buy enough of them to manage the population in July. The ponies are accustomed to humans, though not tame; in 1986 people weren't afraid enough of lawsuits to keep them from walking right up to tourists, but signs did warn that they might just accidentally nip or step on you. But that didn't happen. For wild horses they're incredibly calm, patient, and friendly. (Intelligent enough to live in an apartment with a human? That's known to have happened once. Misty of Chincoteague was a once-in-a-lifetime pet.)


(Photo from Google. The ponies can be any color including palomino, but brown and white spots ("skewbald") are more common than in most breeds.)

The sign said
campsites six dollars for a weekend in July
mosquitoes and sand fleas, free
and they weren't joking.


(Photo from Google. Sand fleas are small, young mole crabs. They jump when startled and can bite when handled; some bites are harmless and some raise an itchy rash, probably depending on what disgusting thing the animal has been eating. People rake them up and use them as fish bait.)

The eight-person tents
were pitched only when
a voice interrupted the slapping and scratching
to remind everyone that tents
gave some protection from the mosquitoes at night.

We thought of mosquitoes as small, black, smooth;
saltmarsh mosquitoes, a different genus,
are yellow and hairy, and eat tourists
even and perhaps especially
the ones inland mosquitoes leave alone.


(Aedes sollicitans in the attitude in which she is most often seen. (Males bite plants.) People who don't know the story about the deformed, outcast human boy have nicknamed these things "Jersey Devils." If you ever feel like killing something, this is a good species to pick--nothing seems to make a dent in the population and people wish something would. Just don't try poison sprays, which are what have raised the mosquito population to the appalling heights it reaches on these islands. Photo from Keithpetrosky for INaturalist.)

Peace was found only waist-deep in
the shallow inlets and tidepools
where we wound up, dancing the sun down
to our own unaccompanied voices.


(Photo from Google, which seems to have been warned not to show pictures of people enjoying the island beaches in the only way they can be enjoyed in July. It was this octette or the Beatles. Searches for things like "people waist deep in water" or "humans wading in water" yielded pictures of people walking on wet sand, standing in indoor pools, or--oddly, given that boats drift out further and are more dangerous than simply wading at the beach--paddling in boats and on rafts, always below warnings about sharks here and jellyfish there. Surprise--if you take a boat or raft into the water off Assateague in July, you will have mosquitoes on board. Determined campers will get their clothes wet. We do not live in a safe world.)

We stayed in the tents as long as possible
growling and snarling when anyone went out
and let mosquitoes in.

The smoke from the grill
discouraged humans; mosquitoes,
not noticeably.


(Assateague also has the only North American population of Japanese Sika deer. They are less human-friendly than the horses. They know they can be, and in season will be, hunted. Photo from Google.)

Everyone saw several little island deer,
clams, mussels, and horseshoe crabs
while wading waist-deep around the island's edge.
There were said to be birds and butterflies.
No one saw any of those.


(Horseshoe crab from Ocean City. Horseshoe crabs are not true crabs and, despite having a shape that reminds people of sting rays, they're harmless; at worst the shells might be sharp and rough. Desperate people have eaten certain parts of them and survived but they're not generally considered edible.)

The second night, the moon rose full and clear.
We swam in the sea under the moon.
The mosquitoes waited till the moon went down
and we straggled back to the eight-person tents.

The second day, we went into town.
No one had brought money or wanted to shop
but mosquitoes didn't go inside the stores.
We thought that's how the island economy works.

Back then the island's peculiar ponies,
feral horses actually, walked the streets
and helped themselves to tourists' food, if they saw any.
Shaggy, gentle, mostly spotted beasts,
some three-colored.

Would I go back? I have; many times
but never again in July.
The island landscapes are less colorful
but easier to enjoy in winter.


(Assateague attracts thousands of birds. Some people have wanted to maintain it as a bird sanctuary and get rid of the horses and deer! Visitors can expect to see big showy waterfowl like herons, egrets, and sometimes pelicans, and lots of different kinds of gulls, terns, and sandpipers, and some songbirds. I've always liked these buffleheads--little wild ducks that bob in and out of the water. Some call them popcorn ducks because a family will pop in and out of view, raising that "buffalo mane" of white feathers, like popping corn. Buffleheads are most often seen in Maryland, and on Assateague, in winter, sometimes staying only for the midwinter thaw. Photo from Google.)

October, even November, are the optimal time for camping on Assateague. Very "easy" camping--you can drive right up to the camp site, sleep in the car if something's wrong with the tent, get drinking water and probably showers by now, drive into town for meals if you don't feel like "camp cooking," shop and watch movies if it rains. The heat is milder; the urge to wade out neck-deep into the ocean, or actually swim, is more resistible. Many trails were already wheelchair-friendly, though not yet advertised as such, in 1986 because small islands tend to be flat and smooth. Chincoteague's little tourist shops have that post-tourist-season quiet atmosphere that makes shopping more tempting for introverts, too. The February and March thaws are also lovely, but often rainier.


There are now actually places to trade regular wheelchairs for beach wheelchairs, temporarily--free of charge. There are dog-friendly beaches, too. The whole island is child-friendly, after the mosquitoes subside. Photo from Google.