GO SEE STAR TREK !

A heart warming show with just enough tweaking and added novelty to refresh the palette without destroying internal consistency with the past.

The actors were well chosen. The villain and his ship are perfectly evil. The gizmos and applied imagination are outstanding. Humor was added in the right places. The music and sounds enhance the experience, intensely. And it was good to see Christopher Pike out of his wheel chair again.

But Spock and Uhura ? What is that about ?

What fun ! Well done ! Encore !


A brief note to Roger 2 1/2* Ebert - Why are you bothering to question warp speed and time travel and all those other action scenes that inanely bothered you ? Star Trek is built upon premise - warp speed, dilithium crystals, molecular transportation, et al. More importantly, it is built on the possibility that anything is possible - even something as ridiculous as time travel. The fact that it often skims the surface of actual technical theory should make no difference. As an entertainment delivery mechanism that incorporates fantasy, it is no different than Spiderman's endless supply of goo coming out of his palms? or the Absent Minded professor's flubber - and in so many ways, superior. So, get over it. Roger, roger ?

GREETINGS FROM BEDROCK

Everyone knows that the wheels of democracy sometimes move slowly but when it comes to the process of voting, the speed drops a notch or two more because the wheels on the democracy bus are made of rocks. In fact, the bus itself looks something like a vehicle that Fred Flintstone might have driven.

In actuality, we are not far removed from the days when a vote was cast by filling out a slip of paper and placing it in a box. The only difference now is that we cast our vote using a large expensive machine and at the end of the day, the machine prints a slip of paper. That paper is then processed in a number of ways by humans who eventually place it in an envelope and then into a box.

Here's a more detailed peek behind the curtain of a very arcane process.

At 8:00 pm, the deputy constable executes his only real act of the day by checking the front door to see if anyone is still in "line" waiting to vote. Since there has been nothing resembling a line all day, it is not too remarkable that no one is outside. He closes the door, officially closing the polling station.

At this time, the polling supervisor turns the key on each of 3 voting machines to begin the tallying process. Each machine begins to generate a 5 foot long paper (think cash register receipt) which lists every candidate on the ballot along with a count of the number of votes received by each candidate along with the write-ins entered for that position and the number of votes not cast for that position (by all voters using that machine). This paper prints at the rate of approximately 10 characters per second. (I hope you can grasp how slow this is).

Each machine prints its list in triplicate (or more - I may have dozed off at some point). The printing process takes about 15-20 minutes.

While this is happening, absentee ballots are unsealed, opened and tabulated in a random fashion so as to protect the identity of each voter from the list of who they voted for. If there are many absentee ballots, each ballot is read aloud, candidate by candidate, and all of us do a stroke count for EACH candidate and each ballot. At the end, we add the numbers separately and compare our counts with each other for consistency. In last year's presidential election, we did this for 22 ballots and often needed to resolve discrepancies.

By this time, the machines have completed the first set of voting summaries and they are brought to a table where committee people from each party sum the totals of each of the 3 machines - by hand. The summary counts are written on paper, verified, cross certified and passed around for everyone to sign.

Write in names are added to the paper along with the total votes each received. As usual, Homer Simpson received a write-in vote, this time for one of the judicial positions.

Each machine has a counter - and in the case of primary elections, a separate count for each party. The numbers are recorded at the start of the day and at the end of the day. The difference is taken (total votes cast) and compared to the hand summed totals (total votes accounted for). Any discrepancy needs to be documented and explained.

Usually during this time, to lighten the mood and keep us going at the end of a long day, someone reads the tabulation instructions that the state has provided -- to give us something to laugh at.

More forms are filled out, signed and together with the machine receipts, placed in large manila enveloped and sealed.

The set of envelopes are put in a box and someone drives to the county office where the votes are further counted and combined with the counts from every other voting location in the county (again, without the use of any technology more sophisticated than an adding machine). The process continues in some fashion onward and upward to the state and the national levels (if appropriate).


That's about it... something to consider the next time the subjects of voting reform and/or electronic voting comes up.

OPERATION NATIVE PLANTS

Kind of weird, this coincidence of nature that happened recently.

Sue and I were out for a walk on Sunday and happened to see a very pretty flower along the trail - one very similar to the picture on the left.

Sue remarked, "I don't think I've seen that kind of wildflower before." I said, "No, me neither. But I believe it's a native Pennsylvania wildflower and must not be disturbed." At which point I removed my farmers cap and scratched my head for emphasis.

"It would be nice if we had some growing in our front garden", she continued. "Yes, I agree but we must leave it be. Remember", I continued, "when we went to the Grand Canyon and the ranger told us that if every tourist took a rock home with them, that pretty soon there would be no more canyon".

She nodded in agreement. You see, we have learned from these smarter people and their approach to managing nature. Like, the lady our township hired to plant our back field with trees (in a manner similar to how a farmer plants corn, or a tree farmer plants southern yellow pines - planted just as close together, and in rows). But unlike the farmer who knows that corn doesn't like to grow under mature shade trees, this woman does not understand to apply that same approach to trees. Or maybe it is us that don't understand. These trees by the way, are intended to provide a barrier to the noise and lights and peeing spectators at soccer games. And if they do mature (the trees), they will be tall and bare in the middle and full of foliage about 30 feet off the ground - thus providing a sound barrier for the birds on my roof, but none for the people who live at ground level. Oops, I may be off subject.

Anyway, the point is, we have learned that native plants, such as these wildflowers, and the highly respected and protected poison ivy, are to be allowed to grow free of management and control. They must not be propagated through division and replanting, nor infringed on by those nasty invasive species - like the wild blackberries and the wild raspberries (wineberries) - which I used to pick and make wonderful syrups from, but now must be poisoned with a laundry list of carcinogenic compounds. Killed but left in piles on the ground like construction rubble.

Damn, I am digressing again. Let me leave the killing fields and jump to the punch line.

This morning, while making my rounds of the grounds, I found some of these very same plants growing in a corner of my garden. Glory be!! Praise the wildflower sowing seed winds of change.

Or something like that.

The author does not resort to sarcasm much anymore, but like any other junkie, he occasionally falls off the wagon. Please forgive him and feel free to shake your head in mock admonishment.

DREAM RESEARCH

A while ago when I was young, I heard a scientific theory about dreams - that they do not play out in real time. Instead, they take place in just a fraction of the time that they seem to be taking, and it is only our interpretation and sense of reality that makes them stretch out to seem like real time. In other words, you may have a dream that seems to occupy 10 minutes of your sleep, but in reality, from start to end, it took only 5 seconds.

I never bought this theory, and who knows, it may have been shot down long ago. But like many other things - dumb jokes, embarrassing moments - it stayed in my head, to be recalled this morning. Why? Because last night, something happened that interspersed reality into my dream in a scientifically measurable manner. I couldn't have invented this one if I tried.

I dreamt I was meeting with a group of people in San Francisco, on a business trip. We were on the street, talking and deciding where to go to dinner. And as we were talking, an electronic device that one of the guys had, went off - it beeped. I didn't think much of it because in real life, people have devices that make noise (phone calls, text messages, beepers) and we simply (try to) ignore them. But I did notice that as we talked and later walked uptown, it continued to go off on a regular basis. Based on my sense of time in this dream, I would estimate that it sounded every 10-15 seconds. Eventually, we arrived at the crest of a hill to see a sunset illuminating the low clouds in a bright, beautiful, pale yellow light.

This is when my wife woke me up to tell me that the carbon monoxide detector has been beeping and she doesn't know how to shut it off.

Um...

Now let's not get off topic here.

The detector was actually malfunctioning and the way it indicates this is to emit a single high pitched beep every 30 seconds. I slept through it very well, thank you. But in doing so, I had a unique opportunity to compare real time to dream time. And as I figured, that stupid theory I heard when I was young was wrong. In fact, it appears that just the opposite took place for me last night - that I compressed time by a factor of 2 or 3. Thirty seconds or real time seemed like 10 or 15 in my dream. This implies that I did not play out the dream like a movie, but composed images while ruminating over the thoughts - making it seem continuous, but in reality was not. What I was "seeing" took longer to produce than the time that seemed to elapse for the actions.

You just never know when science is going to rear its pretty little head.

GOAT DAY ADDENDUM

I didn't want to ruin the spirit of the event by adding this to Monday's description of the Goat races, but it needs to be said for the sake of providing a full and unbiased appraisal of the event.

The Bockfest/Goat Race was a lot of fun - and overall, an uplifting day. But just like any event that has 2,000 people standing around drinking beer for several hours, it can start to get testy.

Now I will say that for a long time, everything was fine but then it started. At first slowly, but before long, many words were being exchanged between people standing near me and some other people - special people - who thought they could have a better look at the goats if they crossed over the perimeter line and stood in front of all of us. Lets call them interlopers as it sounds like a word that is appropriate to a goat race. One woman next to me was giving it to this other guy non stop. And in fact, I had to do my own share of crowd control by providing certain advice to an oblivious husband and wife pair - let's call them morons - who decided they could stand in front of me. My initial advice was to inform them that if they did not have a goat in the race, they should not be standing there. That didn't work through, so my next comment was something restrained but more pointed like, "Excuse me, are you so clueless that you think I can see through your umbrella?". This seemed to work very well.

It could have gotten out of hand but thanks largely to the fact that I was taller than most and have a reduced level of testosterone in my system (often confused for "wisdom" in older men), I not only held my own but did it with decorum. In fact, I was able to keep the areas in front of Sue and me clear while others were not so successful.

But then came the pushing -- which you can only ignore for so long. Pushing will cause even a reduced amount of testosterone in a man to induce a flow of adrenaline into his mature system. I heard someone say something to one of the pushers like, "You can't stand past that line", and the pusher (or as we also refer to him, the idiot) posed his own question - something like, "well, where is the line?".

That's when I felt I just had to inform the idiot that "it's under your fuckin' foot !".

Yes, we were about 5 minutes from "go time". And as much fun as that might have been, it would have tainted an otherwise charming day. Luckily, as I looked up, the last goat race was finishing with little Dax being pulled over the line to victory. And with that, Sue and I decided to leave - with all our positive outlook and fond goat memories still intact.