Merry Christmas to Me

This year Jessie and I spent a quiet Christmas at home. We exchanged gifts with my aunt's family last Sunday, and we went to see my family today and exchanged presents. Getting into the spirit of Christmas Commercialism, here are some of the things I got this year:

Batman: Dark Victory - Hadn't read this one. It's a lot better than I expected.
Writing for Comics by Alan Moore - Interesting guy, and kinda crazy. A comics genius, though.
Barnes & Noble gift card - I used it to buy a graphic novel adaptation of Poe short stories. I am such a nerd.
'Lefties are always right' mug - Funny. And true.
Green Argyle Sweater (Jumper to any Britons reading) - I really like this. Look for it tomorrow at Church.
'I don't go to the gym, I'm just naturally like this' T-shirt - If you don't get it, you lose.
Harvey Dent campaign materials - Gotta get out the vote!
Confusion poster - Captain Jack tellin' it like it is.

This isn't an exhaustive list, but it gives a good picture, I think. I've been told I'm tough to find gifts for, so there must have been a lot of skill and effort involved this year.

In other news, I am extremely nerdy.

Wishing You All

Prisoner's Dilemma

"Last house, gentlemen," Sergeant Leon Romero said, "let's get whatever supplies we can find and get out before the residents come back." The four men came around the house from around back, passing the in-ground pool typical of the suburban neighborhood they were raiding.
"Unless the residents are still alive, you mean," Walter Newman said. "We're looking for survivors, too."
"What do you think the odds of that are?" Leon asked. It was a rhetorical question, as Walter made a habit of sharing facts and figures with those around him, interested or not. "We haven't found any new survivors in a month."
"True, but I think Walt's point is we need people more than extra canned goods right now. There is no good reason I should be out scouting," Sonny said. He tried the front door as he spoke. "Designing an inventory database, sure... guys, the door is unlocked." Unlocked doors weren't unheard of since the national guard had retrieved some people from their homes suddenly. They also happened if the residents had been turned into zombies before anyone could help them.
Leon moved ahead of Sonny and opened the front door, with the others behind him.
"Alright, Leon, you're on point," Walter said, "Sonny and Jonah, check the cabinets for any non-perishable food. I'll get any toilet paper and linens I can find."
A voice came from inside the house, past Leon (who was now frozen in his tracks).
"Well how about that, Walter," the voice said. "It took you long enough to get here."

"Who is that?" Walter asked, already knowing the answer. The voice was unmistakable.
"Don't you remember me?" the curly-haired man said sarcastically.
Walter walked into the room, with Sonny and Jonah behind him. Kent Law sat in a recliner holding a bottle of Sprite in his hand. A short African-American man stood nearby in the kitchen. The man held a heavy shotgun in his hands.
"I remember you, Kent," Walter said. "Glad to see you've made it."
"It took you long enough to get here," Kent said. "I was starting to think you weren't planning to come for us."
"Well,..." Walter began.
"Do you two live here?" Sonny asked. "The place doesn't seem like it would hold up if the zombies come looking for you."
"This was my wife's parent's house, back when people had houses of their own," Kent said. "We don't live here, we..."
A flushing sound came from the bathroom, and a man came out. "We live in a secure location. The neighborhood's safe enough during the day, but the zombies come back from the city after sundown."
"Jason, this is Walt," Kent said.
"And friends," Jonah said.
"Very nice to make your acquaintance," Jason said. "Less nice to make the acquaintance of your friend's gun." Jason gestured at Leon's gun, which he still held in both hands. "Why so nervous?"
"I don't see your friend relaxing by the pool," Leon said.
"I," said the man in the kitchen, "did not enter another man's house uninvited."
Leon and the man in the kitchen stared at each other.

"Well, this is sufficiently tense," Jason said. "Kunta Kinte, grab a couple of cokes for the gentlemen here."
"What did you call him?!" Jonah said.
"He doesn't mind," Jason said. It was not at all clear that the man didn't mind. "We ran out of beer about a week and a half ago, but it turns out there's a never-ending supply of vending machines around."
"You know, we've got plenty of beer at our camp," Walter said. "We'll have to treat you guys some time."
"Where is your camp, anyway?" Jason asked, a little too innocently.
"Not too far," Leon answered. He accepted a Cherry Coke, but did not put his gun away.
"We need to get back soon, actually," Sonny said. "I've been looking forward to a hot shower."
"Hot shower?!?" Kent, Jason, and the man in the kitchen exclaimed in unison.
"How do you keep hot water?" Kent asked.
"We have electric heating," Jonah said, "at least for the moment. If anything breaks down we don't have anyone to fix it."
"We actually have a couple engineers in our camp," the man in the kitchen said, glancing hesitantly at Jason. "But we haven't had any equipment for them to work with."
"It sounds like we could be of some help to each other," Walter said.
"It sure does. Cheers," Jason said, opening a Diet Coca-Cola Black Cherry Vanilla. "We should have some of our people see your camp. Where is it?"
"Why are you so insistent?" Walter asked. Outside the window behind him, the sun fell behind the horizon.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Jason said.
"Then you won't mind telling us where your camp is," Leon said.
"Right," Jason said, "so you can steal from us just like you steal from all the empty houses around here!"
"Steal what, soda?" Sonny asked. "Sounds like you guys need us more than we need you!"
"Hold on," Kent said, standing suddenly between the armed men from the two camps. "Things are getting..."
The glass window in the kitchen crashed inward as an arm in tattered clothing reached in.

The man in the kitchen spun where he stood and fired his shotgun at the zombie. More windows began to shatter around them as the commuting zombies returned to their roost. Leon and Jonah slammed the front door behind them just as two more tried to get in.
"We need to get out of here, now!"
The seven men raced for the back door. The zombies surrounded them as they ran outside. One grabbed Walter, pulling him with incredible force. Kent quickly grabbed a shovel and struck the zombie in the head, freeing Walter and knocking the zombie to the ground.
The two men began running to catch up to the others, zombies lunging at them from behind. Walter looked back, although he wasn't sure why. He saw zombie after zombie pouring around the house, with several stumbling into the pool as the men ran by. The zombies sputtered, immobilized in the water.
"They can't swim," Walter said quietly. "They can't swim! Kent?"
"What?" Kent asked, a few feet ahead of Walter. The armored transport the raiders had come in was in sight.
"I'm sorry we never came for you."
Kent gave half a smile. "We'll talk about it later."
The men ran.

I Know Jesus Christ

So last night I had an extended conversation / intellectual discussion with one of my wife's brothers. By intellectual discussion, I mean mostly that he had a lot he wanted to say to me about what I believe, and did so by posing strategic questions and not being very happy with how I answered them until he finally gave a short speech caricaturing the Christianity he had heard in Christian schools (and saying nothing at all about Christianity as I had described it).

On the plus side, I came to realize some things about myself. When he asked me how I could be so sure of what I believe, I did not say it was because of the logical consistency of the Christian system (I believe it is logically consistent, but so are a lot of things). I said I was sure because I know Jesus Christ. He didn't understand what that meant, which is fair since it's not an easy thing to explain. But I've been thinking about it, and I'd like to try.

"I know Jesus Christ" is not all that different than if I were to say "I know Joel P.", which is the kind of thing people say all the time. What does it mean to say I know someone? Does it mean I have conversed with him on a variety of issues? Does it mean I have driven him to pick up his girlfriend at the airport? Does it mean I have sung karaoke with him the night before his wedding?

I think the statement "I know Joel P." is a claim about someone's story: I know Joel's story. I know things about Joel's past, even before I knew him; similarly, he knows things about mine. I don't know everything about his past, but I know enough to understand him to some extent. Not only that, but I have become a part of Joel's story, and he a part of mine. When certain parts of Joel's story are told now, I will come up. Joel comes up when I tell parts of my own story. Even though I don't see or directly interact with Joel right now, I don't need convinced of who he is. I know Joel P.

It's not so different when I say I know Jesus Christ. I know about his past before I came along. Not only that, but Jesus Christ lives, and his story still continues. I have become a part of His story, and he of mine. I am as confident of who He is as I am of who Joel is. I know Jesus Christ.

On My Mind

I am sick. Not deathly sick, but still sick. I feel like blogging what's on my mind, but thay may get dangerous in my current state. Stream of Consciousness, here we come!

Ernie is an odd name for a newsman.

Another Postcard by the Barenaked Ladies is paying on the iTunes. Spell checker thinks iTunes is misspelled, which is understandable since aPple seems to have issues with capitalization. But that is a great song.

I think I'm a good teacher. I might not be, and I'm certain I could improve a lot. But I substituted for two professors today, and I'll be subbing for another in a couple weeks. So my department hasn't disagreed with my assessment yet.

I need a haircut. I have wings on my head at the moment.

I am cold. But this time next week, I will be a lot colder. My socks are planning to wear socks.

I have been reading a book of short stories by H.P. Lovecraft. Pretty interesting. He's kinda floofy (Joel might say grandiose), but I like how atmospheric everything is.

I like doing research. I wish I had time to do more, but classes keep getting in the way.

I'm never bored when my wife watches Telemundo news and translates for me. I'm not sure why that isn't boring, but it's not.

Bailouts are for the lose. That is my professional opinion.

I don't think I get as much (non-economics) intellectual exercise as I used to. Not sure if that's good or bad.

I like Thanksgiving. Feasts are fun. And I'm kinda sad KMac won't be hosting advent dinners this year.

I really want to write another zombie story. I have a lot I want to say, and it seems to be more meaningful when I say it through a story. Josh Seacris would be pleased.

Good night.

Recipe #02

Garlic Parmesan Soup

Ingredients: 3 tablespoons butter, 3 tablespoons white flour, 2 tablespoons minced garlic, 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard, 1 cup chicken stock/broth (no bouillon cubes or MSG!), 1 cup whole milk, 1/2 large white onion (sliced as desired), a few ounces of shredded Parmesan cheese, 1/2 pound ground turkey or sausage (optional), salt and pepper

Tools: Soup pot, whisk

Melt the butter in the pot over a low to medium heat. Whisk in the flour until fully mixed. After about 30 seconds, mix in the garlic until coated, then add mustard and mix. When this is fully mixed and is smelling tasty, increase heat to medium-high and add broth, milk, and onion (in that order). Whisk continuously for a few minutes, adding salt and pepper. When soup is beginning to steam, but before thickening, add the Parmesan. Continue whisking until the soup thickens. Add turkey or sausage (which you have seasoned and cooked to taste earlier) if desired.

My friends, this is at least as tasty as any MSG-laden soup you can imagine... and without the neuro-toxins! It works on its own as soup, it works as a savory sauce, it keeps in the fridge. The recipe scales up (and probably down, too). You could probably add potatoes or soup veggies. I want some of this right now.

Recipe #01

I don't believe I've ever given cooking advice on this blog before. For those who don't know, I really enjoy cooking. I don't have as much time for it as I'd like, but every once in a while I like to make really fun dishes.

One that I've really learned to appreciate is brown rice. Now, the first time I made brown rice, I followed the instructions on the bag. Disgusting stuff, some of the worst food I've had. I assumed that since brown rice is ridiculously good for you, bad texture and unappealing flavor were required. However, I have since learned how to make a flavorful, fluffy, nutritious side that goes with almost any meal. It's not fast (about 1 hour from start to serving), but if you've got the time, it's worth it.

Brown Rice Recipe

Serves 2 - 4 (depending on portions)
Ingredients: 1 cup uncooked brown rice, 2.5 cups water, approx. 1 teaspoon sesame seeds, coconut or olive oil, salt
Equipment: toaster oven w/ tray, big pot

First, rinse the rice thoroughly in warm water. Make sure the rice is soaked through. Next, lay out the rice on the toaster oven tray. Spread the sesame seeds out on top. Toast the rice at approximately 350 degrees for 20 minutes.

When the rice has just a couple minutes left, put the water in the big pot and bring it to a boil. pour a small amount of oil into the water. Once the rice is toasted, take it out of the oven and pour it immediately into the boiling water. If it's going well, your kitchen should be filled with a nutty, sesame smell, and the rice will make a nice fluffing sound when it hits the water. Even out the rice on the bottom of the pot and cover. Reduce the heat to a low boil and leave it on the heat for 30 minutes. You can add salt after about 15 minutes if you like (the salt is optional, it will still be good without it).

Once the timer goes off, move the rice off of the heat, but do not lift the lid! That part cannot be stressed enough. Leave the rice covered for at least 5 minutes, but not more than 10. When you take the lid off, use whatever you prefer to lift and fluff the rice / sesame seed mixture. Serve.

This is, I promise, a tasty tasty dish. It tends to dry up a bit when reheated, but is OK the next day. I recommend serving with grated white cheese on top.

Economists Talk About Crises

It's what we do. Now, I in no way consider myself an expert on financial markets, nor do I consider myself peculiarly well informed about the current situation or the Treasury's plan to fix it. But I know the jargon of economics well enough to get a picture of what's actually debatable here and what's political posturing.

To get a pretty good (and I think remarkably clear from a non-economist perspective) understanding of what is currently being debated in congress, I'd like to direct you to Harvard economist Greg Mankiw's blog:

The Case Against the Paulson Plan

There are only two things I'd prefer to add to Dr. Shimer's characterization there. In reference to paragraph 7 of the letter, I think it's inaccurate to say the plan won't deal with banks and other institutions fears that they will end up buying bad assets (Akerlof's 'lemons' mentioned in the letter is taken from the term for a used car that is no good, but the buyer can't know in advance). The contention of the administration is that if the government voluntarily buys the assets containing the bad debt, then what firms later offer to sell other banks will be mostly good assets, and the buyers will know that. The government can afford, as the argument goes, to take the hit from the bad debt and then sell what's left of the assets, good debt, later on. These companies can't afford to wait it out, but the government can. That's the argument in favor of this plan.

On the other hand, the number one problem with the plan, in my view, is that in order to prevent panic (which this plan will likely do, I think), we are failing to allow mismanaged firms to suffer their losses. An alternative plan that allows insolvent institutions to take losses while still preventing panic and alleviating the lemons problem would be better. However, in order to prevent panics / bank runs / etc. there may not be time to design a better plan.

Ideally, what we want to see is firms taking risks, and if things go well they get all of the reward (the benefits don't get syphoned off to someone who wasn't at risk), and if things go poorly they suffer all the loss. Clearly this is not the way these markets are currently operating, regardless of the plan chosen now. The public is going to suffer a loss because of these financial companies decisions one way or another. Henry Paulson and Ben Bernanke seem to think their plan is the best way to cut the public's losses. Robert Shimer and many others disagree. But that's what this debate is really about. It's not about helping the rich at the expense of the poor or which party takes money from whom. It's about finding the best way to balance panic prevention, sound incentives, and public pursestrings, all recognizing that the first puts serious constraints on how long congress gets to make a decision.


...or maybe it's like this:

Deimos and Phobos

"What are we doing here?"
Sergeant Leon Romero ignored the question for a brief moment as he kicked the door open, raised his pistol, and stepped into the next room. He swept the beam of light emanating from his gun up and down the dark laboratory.
"We're getting medical supplies and research equipment for Joan and Cassie," Leon said.
"Yeah, but what I don't get is why we're getting them from a dark, abandoned hospital in the dead-center of the city," Jonah said.
"Ha," Leon said, obviously thrilled by Jonah's pun.
"No, really, how many times can we risk going through the most zombie-infested part of town without losing somebody?" Jonah asked.
"As many as we have to, I guess," Leon said. He continued sweeping the room, finally checking inside the storage closet before approaching a door at the back of the lab. "Reed still wants to follow the plan if we can make it work, but we need a lot more gear to make that happen."
"We need to find survivors if we're gonna do that," Jonah said.
A voice came down the hallway behind them. "Guys? Have you got that lab clear?"
"Stay back, Cassie, gotta check the next room," Leon shouted back. "Jonah, hit the door."
Jonah did, and shined his ridiculously powerful FBI-style flashlight into the room.
The zombies must have been sitting down, staring at the wall. Zombies fixate on the strangest things. They stood suddenly, a quicker motion their usual, and they turned shuffling towards the survivors. Their faces and clothes were covered in blood, although they did not appear wounded on the surface. One of them grabbed at Jonah as he stumbled back.
Four loud reports from Leon's gun, and two dull thuds from the back room. Zombies are not really that threatening in small numbers, at least not when you're expecting them.
"GUYS?!?" Came Cassie's shout from down the hallway.
"We're OK," Jonah yelled.
Leon checked the back room for more. "We're clear here, Cassie."
Cassie wheeled into the lab with truck dolly in tow. She carried her gianormous flashlight in her lap. "You scared the crap out of me," she said.
"Just partying like it's 1999," Leon said. "What do you need us to load up?"
"Most of it should be here, and then there will be a couple of items from the morgue," Cassie said.
"The morgue?" Jonah asked.
"If I'm gonna try to figure out why dead zombies didn't stay dead the last time, I'm gonna need some stuff from the morgue, yeah," Cassie said. "You scared?"
"Bring it."

Outside the hospital, Rose walked to the front of the delivery truck to get a look around. She lifted the shotgun in her hands wearily. After glancing up and down the deserted streets, she turned around and chuckled at what she saw. Paulo cut a dashing figure on the loading ramp with his feet planted at staggered heights, hands on his hips and Hawaiian shirt with three buttons undone. As he gazed into the midday sky, he looked like a superhero on vacation.
Paulo noticed Rose's snickering. "What?" He asked. "This is the fashion on all the runways in Italy, I'll have you know."
"No, absolutely," Rose said, still smiling. "You just look like the most relaxed zombie hunter ever."
"È vero," Paulo said.
Roger, who had been sitting in the cab of the truck looking uncomfortable, climbed out. "Kurt's team just radioed, their on their way out," Roger said.
Paulo opened the back of the truck. A minute later, three people came out of the hospital pushing equipment and boxes. In the lead, Kurt Russell (!) quickly handed his box off to Roger. Kurt then drew a pistol and went to the front of the truck where Rose was.
"OK, guys, be careful with this stuff," said Joan, the second person to exit the hospital. "The little doggies and kitties won't be happy if I have to zap their brains with defective equipment."
"Dogs and cats?" Roger asked, clearly dismayed. "They can't even get zombified! Why would you pick on them?"
"Kinda the point, Roger," Joan said. The jangling of glass bottles drew her attention to the tall, lean man behind her. "Walter. Seriously. Do not drop that on your foot!"
Walter handed the box to Paulo, who peaked at it inquisitively. "Why is this one so special?" Paulo asked.
"Morphine," Walter said. "Aside from the fact that we have a serious lack of pain killers at the stadium, I think if I broke those on my foot I'd collapse like one of those fainting goats."
"And you've got a long way to fall," Paulo said.
"It's a gift. And a curse," Walter, a good deal taller than Paulo, said. "I think you're just jealous." Walter didn't actually think that Paulo was jealous.
"OK guys, come on," Joan said. "We've still got another load of gear to get out of there. More if Cassie needs help in the morgue."

The daylight spilled down the stairs beside the wheelchair ramp. Jonah and Leon walked down the stairs as Cassie wheeled down the ramp.
"You guys hang back here," Leon said. "I'll sweep the morgue."
"Okie-dokie, but just check the main room, Leon," Jonah said. "Let's get in and get out."
Leon kicked the morgue double-doors open and stepped into the room. It would have been more dramatic if the left door hadn't swung back and hit him in the shoulder. It would have still been dramatic if there had been any zombies to shoot.
"Follow me," Leon said.
"Alright, guys," Cassie said as Jonah held the door. "First, I need... some of those!" Cassie wheeled toward the examination table by the cold chambers. "Jonah, give me a hand with this. Yeah, push that out of the way."
Jonah pushed the post mortem utensil cart aside, and began lifting a box with the tools Cassie was looking for.
To rephrase an important rule from physics, when stuff gets pushed, it tends to keep going unless something gets in the way. In this case, the stuff is a post mortem cart. The something in the way is a cold chamber.
The loud bang reminded the whole room that physics was still working.
"What the hell was that?!?" Leon, who was a cop back when there were cops, shouted. Cops get to talk like that (Should I be bleeping foul language?).
"Sorry," Jonah said.
The second bang was not as loud, but it let them know about a lot more than physics.
bang. Bang bang.
Bang, bang--from another chamber. And BANG! from yet another.

"Kurt, we need you down here!" Leon's voice came over the walkie-talkie. Kurt glanced at Rose and Roger, the two remaining by the truck. Without a word, he drew his pistol and ran back into the hospital.
"Wait, what's going on??" Roger yelled after Kurt.
"Relax, Roger," Rose said. "Kurt's the strong, silent type. At least silent."
"Yeah but what if something goes wrong out here?" Roger said. "All I've got is a crowbar."
"Shh," Rose said. "We're pretending nothing could happen."
"Hello!!!" Rose and Roger turned suddenly toward the street past the movie theater. Several blocks away, a man was staggering toward them, followed closely by two dozen zombies. "HELP ME!"
"Bleep," Rose said. It was warranted, but I decided to bleep it anyway. "He's gonna draw them all right to us!"
They stumbled out of the theater. They walked out of the office buildings. For blocks around, dozens and dozens of zombies began wandering into the streets. It quickly became clear that the man would not make it to them before the zombies closed in around him.
Roger ran towards him. Not that Roger was a particularly heroic man, but this was a survivor, and survivors should stick together. As he reach the zombies ahead of the man, he came in swinging.
Rose reacted slower, but smarter. She moved toward the theater entrance and fired three shots at the zombies in the doorway, knocking them back. She then shoved her crowbar into the doorway, sealing about thirty zombies inside. She turned to see four zombies had turned toward her, and six more moving toward the truck.
"Roger, get to the truck!" She shouted. She continued to fire, cutting an opening for Roger and the injured man.
"AAAAARRRRGGHH!" Roger shouted. He fell to the ground with a zombie's teeth sunk into his left forearm.
The rest of the retrieval team came pouring out of the hospital. Leon and Kurt immediately began shooting zombies. More of them turned their attention on the truck.
"Let's get this stuff on the truck quick," Joan said, lifting boxes quickly.
Walter knew they had to move fast, but they couldn't afford to lose people. "Paulo, come on!"
The two men raced to Rose, Roger, and the injured man. Rose shot the zombie off of Roger, and Walter and Paulo helped the two men back to the truck.

And then they all got eaten by zombies. But not really.

"OOWWW! UUNNGHH!" Roger shouted.
"Hold him down! Cassie, hand me a bottle of morphine!" Joan said.
"Thank you for... saving me," the injured man said, wincing. "Did you say you have morphine?"
Walter slapped the man across the face. He was incensed.
"Joan, it's a zombie bite," Rose said. "He's going to turn."
"Thanks, pretty sure we got that," Joan said. "We're a little busy right now getting it under control."
"We can't bring anyone who's going to turn into the stadium," Jonah said. "That's the first rule. We can't take him in."
"You think we should have left him?" Paulo asked.
"We're taking him inside," Walter said.
"What are you talking about? Reed will never agree to that."
"He'll agree. I'll convince him," Walter said. He meant it.
"Walt, you're putting all of us at risk," Leon said. "Why would you do that?"
"Keep him unconscious, Joan," Walter said. "You won't just be studying cats anymore."
"What?"
"We'll keep both of them in the lab. If this new guy makes it a week without turning, maybe we'll put him to work," Walter said.
"I hate to say it, but Walter's right," Rose said. Kurt and Paulo nodded their agreement.
"But... but I haven't been bitten, I'm not infected," the man said.
"I guess we'll take your word for that, then," Walter said sarcastically. "If we show up with a couple of infected, the camp will collapse in panic and fear. If we have a plan, we survive."

With Due Respect to Harvard...

I have to respectfully disagree with Dr. Ed Glaeser. I haven't read the book by Goldin and Katz, but the article itself seems to miss some important facets of formal education. It's true, there is broad empirical evidence that more education yields significantly more lifetime income. There is also some evidence that more educated societies grow faster (although there is also ample evidence that education and growth are unrelated).

However, before we advocate throwing huge amounts of money or resources at education, we need to be a bit more sophisticated in our thinking. After all, there is some evidence that the primary benefit of secondary and college education is not the facts you learn or clearer thinking, but the signal a diploma or degree sends of your natural ability. Now, signaling is good. Signaling is important.

But what about those individuals with lower ability levels? We have placed so much emphasis on education that anyone without a college degree is considered low class, unimportant, approaching worthless. Aside from the psychological damage equating education with personal value can cause, we end up creating a significant economic problem as well: educational rent-seeking.

Rent-seeking, in an economic sense, means expending resources trying to win a prize, wasting real resources in the process. The book The Overachievers provides graphic examples of the wasted time and resources many high school students spend to get into Ivy League colleges, despite the fact that only a small fraction of them can even fit in the classrooms. Rent-seeking is a topic we've recently discussed in my economic development class, which is why I bristle at Ed Glaeser's article.

I'm all for education. But we need to provide schooling that actually improves the minds of students, without equating education, earnings, and human worth. I want to see a government that encourages education, not just school funding.

I Am Tired

For those who don't know, I'm going to be a father. If I should have called you, I apologize. That was my mistake.

The downside of this is that my wife is feeling ill a lot lately, which means I need to take over a lot of her jobs around the house. Since I am simultaneously working on my graduate degree, I'm pretty drained these days.

I can't tell if I'm excited or not yet. If you know me, you're aware that I don't get that visibly excited about things. The pregnancy is still early, so in a certain sense it doesn't feel real yet. I think I'll be able to wrap my head around it better after we meet with the midwives.

And yes, before you ask, I did say midwives. We're planning to see them in the middle of September, and if all goes as we hope we won't be going to the hospital at all. They have a "birthing cottage" for the delivery, whatever that means. If something goes wrong, the midwives are associated with a doctor at a hospital up in OKC. We are planning to get ultrasounds and other fancy technical stuff when appropriate, and Jessie will have an epidural if necessary. So it's not like we're taking a wagon to Amish country to have the baby.

For right now, these are all just plans and ideas. The reality is that my wife is working very hard to accommodate Bun (what we're calling the baby until we know the gender), and I'm tired. I hope I can keep up with my growing family (spoiler warning!).

Family Man

"Daddy."
Reed awoke to the sound of his real name, or at least what had become his real name a few years ago. His son did not usually wake him early before church, but he had learned there were no guarantees in parenting.
"Daddy," he heard his son say, more eagerly this time. He still did not open his eyes.
"Yes, son?" Reed asked.
"Daddy," his son said a third time. "There's a scary man." The boy motioned out the doorway, but Reed could not see it.
"There's no man, you just had a bad dream," Reed said. "It's over now, it's ok. Go back to bed."
"Daddy," son said. "There's a man. With chickens."
Reed opened his eyes wearily. Despite all appearances, his son's claim was not ridiculous. The family home had a large lot (just over an acre), large enough to grow their own vegetables and keep some animals. So far the family had not branched out further than keeping chickens.
Reed looked at his bedside clock, which read 5:17. His wife, Liv, rolled over and began to sit up.
"Sweetie," she said, "it's probably just the tree again. It's ok."
"But," the boy said, "but daddy..."
"I'll look," Reed said as he swung his feet out of bed and into his construction site boots. "Liv, will you take him back to bed? Everything's going to be fine." The last sentence was directed at his son, not his wife.
Wood snapped outside in the yard, and the chickens began squawking frantically. Liv and Reed exchanged glances.
As Liv took their son to his room, Reed went to a cabinet in the bedroom and removed a revolver. In another drawer, he found the rounds and placed a couple in the gun. No, not like that, this is serious!

Reed made his way toward the kitchen and looked out the large bay window. He saw the small chicken coop smashed, its former occupants scattering across the lawn. There was a man standing next to the coop shambles, holding one of the chickens in his hands. The chicken struggled for a moment before the man released it. The man then stood there, looking down at the coop, motionless.
"He's fine, and Eileen didn't even wake up," Liv said as she came into the kitchen from her children's room. She stopped as she spotted the man outside. "Reed? What's going on?"
"I'm... not sure," Reed said. "You'd better get your shoes on and go in with the kids. I'm going to go out and see who he is."
"Reed, I don't think that's a good idea," Liv said. "He could be drunk, or on drugs, he could have a gun... I think we should call the police." Reed, still looking at the man outside the window, began to nod slowly (you're really not worried about the Wright family at all, are you?).
The man outside the window turned slowly, looking at the house. "OK, get your shoes on. I'll make the call," Reed said.
The sound of glass crackling and splintering cut the silence from the children's room. Reed's children began to scream.

The parents were at their children's sides faster than should be humanly possible. Liv wrapped her arms around her son, who had jumped out of bed and was hiding behind her legs. As Reed entered the room, his eyes went first to the shattered glass on the floor, then up to the hideous man where the window should have been. He was pulling himself in awkwardly, bits of glass sticking in both of his forearms.
To Reed's side, his baby daughter, Eileen, began to cry. Reed looked up at the home invader, who was almost fully in the room. "Stop now!" Reed shouted. The man did not seem to hear.
Reed aimed and fired twice. The sounds was deafening. His children screamed as the bullet hit the invader in the heart, knocking him to the ground. Reed reached out and picked up his daughter.

The invader stirred, then slowly began to stand. Reed raised the pistol again, but noticed that the gunshot was not the only wound the man had sustained. In fact, he seemed to be decomposing. Reed, his crying daughter in one arm, lowered the gun.
"Liv, run!" Reed shouted. They both did.
The glass from their bay window crashed in, and as the Wrights rounded the corner into their living room, the man from the back yard reached out and grabbed Reed by the right arm.
"Liv!" Reed shouted, handing his daughter to her as he began to struggle with the second invader. Both men fell to the floor.
The man leaned in toward Reed, chomping his jaws. Reed, an expression of disgust on his face, shoved his left forearm into the man's neck, holding his head back.

The flow of this narrative to the contrary, Liv was not some passive damsel-in-distress. Her son still clinging to her clothes, she grabbed a lamp from the armchair table and smashed it into the invader's head. Reed shoved him off, and the zombie (you all got that they're zombies, right?) rolled back onto the floor. Reed grabbed the pistol off of the floor. He had only loaded two rounds in, so he stumbled toward the kitchen table, where he had left the rest of the rounds. Grabbing the box, he frantically tried to load them as the zombie on the floor began to rise. A guttural moan from the doorway behind them indicated the first zombie had almost caught up to them (rather slowly, it would seem). Glancing out the hole that used to be the bay window, Reed saw what appeared to be a young girl stumbling slowly across his yard toward him.
"This cannot be happening!" Liv said. She had begun to cry under the stress as well.

"GO!" came the shout from the front door as it was kicked in. Two soldiers swept into the room, one holding a pistol, the other an assault rifle. The man with the pistol turned toward the zombie who had just gotten off the floor, then swung towards the one in the doorway. "It's a goner!" he shouted, then fired two shots directly into the zombie's head. The zombie slumped to the ground.
"Got 'em," said the other soldier. He raised his rifle and fired a burst into the other invader's chest. The zombie was knock back to the ground, rolling around but still very much alive. The soldier then turned toward the female zombie nearing the window and fired again. Another chest shot.
The soldier with the pistol had holstered his weapon and stepped into the kitchen. He offered Reed a hand.
"Let's go," he said.
"What is going on?!" Reed asked. He seemed understandably out of his depth.
"We need to move, now!" The soldier said. Reed stood, slipping his pistol into one of the deep pockets of his pajama pants, a fist full of rounds into the other. Being out of one's depth need not over-shadow one's duty as a husband and father to protect his family. And by one I mean Reed.

The family was herded into the back of a military transport truck with a few of their neighbors. Gun shots continued to sound.

What I'm Watching

OK, I'm sure everyone reading this has picked up on the wave of popularity, but I'm hooked on the latest interwebs craze: Doctor Horrible's Sing-Along Blog. This particular bit of genius is brought to you by Joss Whedon. His idea was to have a professional television experience without the "middle-man" of the major studios.

Doctor Horrible has superheroes. It has showtunes. It's campy, but not too campy. It's up there with Homestar Runner and All Your Base as far as I'm concerned.

Nothing else interesting to say. I might have something after my core exams next week (pretty intimidating, huh?). If not, you may have to wait for the next zombie apocalypse installment (teaser: zombies become less funny when children are involved).

Storm's Coming

Mr. Redding plucked the last Dr. Pepper can from the refrigerator and closed the door. He popped the top as he walked back to the media room and sat down in his La-Z Boy. Mrs. Redding handed him his newspaper, then returned her attention to her knit baby blanket in-progress. The television glowed with the images of the local nightly newscasters.

".... Davis added that, perhaps as a consequence of the declining economy, the purchasing of miniature representations of the things that tourists enjoy going to the tops of has dropped by 14 percent.
"Well, it was another hot one today, Dusty," the newscaster said, "How does the holiday weekend look?"
"We've got a big change coming halfway through this weekend, Ben," said Dusty Storm, the most unfortunately named meteorologist in the state. "It was not only hot, but really dry today. Parched, even. We've been needing more synonyms for dry lately. But look out, because changes are in the wind; let's take a look at the Super Doppler Thirty Thousand Radar, where down in the gulf..."

The front door opened quietly as Rose entered. Barky--the family dog--certainly was, until he saw who had come in.
"Shush, Barky," Rose said.
"How was dinner?" Mrs. Redding asked as Rose stepped into the media room.
"It was great, Ginger made a really tasty roast," Rose said.
"...So tonight, they're gonna be feeling those showers in the Dallas area. Meanwhile, there's a cold front coming down through Colorado, giving them some much needed relief from the heat up in the Mile High City...."
"Did you have anything to drink?" Mr. Redding asked.
Rose responded hesitantly. "Yes, Dad, I had something to drink. Just a bit of wine with dinner. I waited a couple hours before coming home."
Mr. Redding paused. "Alright, then," he said. "I'm glad you're being responsible about it."
"I was very responsible," Rose said.

Rose picked up a book off the coffee table. "Well, I think I'm going to read in my room for a few minutes, then go to bed."
"...All this is going to mean another hot day tomorrow, turning muggy by your drive home..."
"Early start?" Mrs. Redding asked.
"Well, Ginger wants me to open the shop in the morning; nine isn't that early, but I am pretty tired. Her brother and sister-in-law are in town," Rose said.
"And things could get pretty stormy in the metro area around ten o'clock tomorrow evening. On my five day forecast, Sunday is looking like a complete transformation from today..."
"Good night, honey," Mrs. Redding said.
"Good night, honey," Mr. Redding said.
"Good night," Rose said.

THE NEXT MORNING

beep. beep. Beep. BEEP. BEEEEPP!!
Rose slapped the alarm clock's snooze button like an overly-fresh teenage hooligan. Seven in the morning comes far too early the night after a tasty roast.
An hour later, Rose was munching on one of her preferred breakfasts--sprouted whole-wheat and raisin bagel with cream cheese--and reading the book from the night before. The morning news crew joked around on the TV, sporadically reporting the same news items from the night before.
"According to a report released Monday by the American Tourism Society, going to the tops of things is still the preferred activity among the nation's tourists...." Very little news breaks between 10pm and 8am.

Rose's brother ambled into the room.
"So, Rose, anything exciting planned for the day?"
"I'm opening the shop," Rose answered.
"Ah, the candy shop. Not necessarily exciting," he said. "Although I do enjoy those truffles."
"You never know," Rose said, "government spies could drop in for a snack before a major shakedown."
"True, true," her brother said. "You know, there are pretty much military experiments going on everywhere."
Rose smiled. "And all the time," she said.
"Anyway, some of the guys are probably coming over this evening," her brother said. "We're going to watch some kung fu movies. You're welcome to join us."
"Thanks," Rose said. "I'll probably just, you know. Read a book."
"We might watch some sort of dystopian disaster instead," he said.
Rose laughed lightly. "That's an entirely different story," she said. "Call me if you guys switch."

No government spies dropped in for a snack that morning. No, seriously. Only boring people from 9am until half-past noon. By then, Ginger had come in and asked Rose if she had been watching the news. Rose looked at her as if Ginger had just put an Easter basket on her head.
"No, it's awful," Ginger said. "There's been some sort of terrorist attack in Dallas."
"Are you serious?" Rose asked.
"Yeah. Some sort of biological weapon," Ginger said. "They haven't really explained anything yet. I'm not sure they know; it's just really scary."
"Oh my goodness," Rose said. Stronger language was not yet warranted, and Rose cursed the way she drank: Responsibly.
"I know!" Ginger said. "Hey, I'll watch the front, you go ahead and have lunch in the back."
"OK, thanks, Ginger."
Rose went into the back and took out her lunch. Out of instinct, she also took out her book. She stared at the book for a few moments before turning on the small TV in the back.

"For those of you just tuning in"--How did they know?--"let's quickly recap what we know so far. There has been an outbreak of what the CDC describes as 'an air-borne neuro-toxin' in the Dallas, Texas area. We have been told that between two and four AM the first cases were reported in several suburbs around Dallas. The Department of Homeland Security has stated that they are not ruling out a terrorist attack at this time, although there seems to be no central target here. Again, the earliest cases were reported in Plano, Irving, Mesquite, and Grapevine, with Denton following shortly thereafter. As of about ten fifteen this morning, the CDC has reported at least three cases in the downtown area. The governor has called in the national guard, and all residents--including us, Dan--are being escorted outside what is being called a 'quarantine zone.' We have not been able to get any footage of any victims, but some of the people we've talked to have described them as 'glassy eyed' and verbally non-responsive. There are rumors floating around that victims may have convulsions in response to being touched, although it's difficult to separate wild speculation from eyewitness accounts down here. Naturally, we're just reporting everything we hear."

RIIIIIINNG!
The telephone gave Rose a start. Telephones are always loudest when they are unexpected.
Ring. The second ring was expected.
Giving the TV a worried glance, Rose turned away from it and answered the phone.
"Hello?"
"Rose? It's Claire."
"Oh, hi Claire," Rose said. "Did you want to talk to Ginger?"
"I just wanted to make sure she'd seen the news," Claire said.
"Yeah, she has. I'm watching it right now, actually," Rose said.
"Have they said anything about the attacks?" Claire asked.
"They think it was terrorists," Rose said.
"No, not that. Sonny called from work, and he said that some of the victims down in Dallas were attacking people," Claire said. "Scratching and biting at people."
Rose's face hardened. "Really? Where did he hear that?"
"He said he read it online," Claire answered.
"Well, and nobody on the Internet would make things up," Rose said. "I wouldn't be too sure about that report."

The melodic tones of the Emergency Broadcast System played across the TV.
"Claire? I'm going to have to go," Rose said.
"Yeah, sure," Claire said. "Tell Ginger I'll call her tonight."
"OK."
The President of the United States stepped behind a podium on the screen.
"My fellow Americans, training exercises. It's just a training exercise. Chill out. Also, I did not have sex with that woman. We really thought there were WMDs; my bad. We're sending you more stimulus checks. And I've got Olympic fever. So do things you always do. Buy magazines (maybe don't go on vacation right this moment). Just calm down, people!"

The president was in rare articulate form. If he wasn't worried, how bad could it be?

THAT EVENING

Rose did not watch a movie with her brother that evening. Despite the suggestions of Escape from New York, Equilibrium, and Minority Report, his friends instead selected The Forbidden Kingdom. Not being one to intentionally cause herself regret, Rose instead accepted an invitation from Ginger and Claire to go dancing. No, not that. I mean Polka dancing.
There's no need to go into the details of the evening now (aside from a reference to this news item); the important point is that the rain didn't start until Rose was almost home. Rose walked into the house around midnight, and was sound asleep by 12:30.

She would have stayed that way, but Barky had other ideas. He was going crazy, more energetic and concerned than your average nervous dog after three cups of coffee. "Barky? Are you on time yet?" Rose said. Rose was clearly still disoriented. She could hear her brother in the living room with Barky.
"Barky? What's wrong with you?" her brother said. "What are you doing? Huh?" He sounded confused.
Rose heard a scuffling sound. She looked at her bedside clock, which read 3:42. More scuffling, but louder.

BANG! A bright light shone in through Rose's now open door. Her brother stood in the doorway.
"Rose?!? Wake up!" He said. "Rose, it's happening!"
"What's happening?" Rose asked as she sat up.
"They're here," her brother said. "Plan A, Rose. Plan A!"
"Plan A," Rose said. "Alright. Let's go."

Rose had been preparing for this for years. Plan A required meticulous preparation, bulky equipment in multiple checkpoints, and a well conceived course of action.
Rose and her brother went into the living room and looked out. There, across the street, stood what had once been a man. His clothes were shredded, his body decomposed. At his feet, an elderly woman he had clearly just killed. As they watched, the elderly woman twisted around and stood up.

"Definitely not terrorists," Rose said.

Insight

As mentioned in the previous post, I like using stories to teach microeconomics. One of the main things to take away from undergraduate micro courses is good economic intuitions and the ability to meaningfully ask (and sometimes answer) the question "Why would this person do that?"

In teaching intermediate micro this summer I had students write two economic intuition papers. The point of the papers is for students (1) to notice things in the world around them that lack obvious explanation, (2) ask relevant questions that get at the underlying choices and behavior of decision makers, and (3) use the reasoning of the course and an understanding of how people respond to the incentives around them to explain interesting behavior. Overall, I think it was a great success.

At the request of a friend, here is a sample of questions students came up with (obviously without names / grades / identifying characteristics):

-Why do DVD boxes have similar dimensions to VHS boxes?
-Why do most restaurants offer free refills on drinks?
-Why do some restaurants stay open 24 hours/day despite very little business overnight?
-Why do companies give money to charities if their sole purpose is to make money for shareholders?
-Why do pizza businesses mail out coupons, but not offer them to customers when they make an order?
-Why does Philip Morris advertise that 'there is no safe cigarette'?
-Why does basic cable cost the same to everyone, no matter how much programming different customers watch?
-Why do car dealerships advertise discounts on hail damaged cars?
-Why would more experienced taxi drivers use more shortcuts and reduce the driving time for each fare?
-Why does Wal-Mart have such a liberal return policy compared to other stores?
-Why would electric companies try to get their customers to use less electricity?
-Could having more restaurants on Ed Noble Parkway actually make Norman residents worse off?

While many of these could be explained as altruism, habit, good-PR, discrimination, or irrationality, all of these questions can be answered better as simple, reasonable responses by rational people to the incentives around them. While those other influences do matter, their importance is greatly overstated much of the time because economic insight is ignored.

If you'd like to hear some basic answers to any of these questions, just ask. And feel free to ask your own economic intuition questions in the comments!

Quota

In an effort to meet my informal quota of two blog posts per month, I thought I'd talk about the coming fall.

I'll be taking a couple of classes, and doing a reading class with a professor. Every year, I feel a little bit less like a student in a class and a little bit more like a researcher, which is after all a major goal of graduate school in the first place. The plan is that by the end of the next school year, I'll have some working dissertation topics and a committee lined up.

I'm also teaching a night class this fall. I've taught the same course before, both on my own over the summer and as a TA, but this will be a bit different. I'll have 15 class periods to work with, each 3 hours long. This would make it a lot like intersession, which I've also done before, except there's a week between each lecture. I need to figure out a way to keep students thinking about economics the other five days of the (working) week.

I'd love to orient the class around stories: have them do a reading assignment before each class, discuss the intuition for the first hour, then teach some technical tools and work problems related to the previous and next stories in order. Microeconomics is great for this approach, as demonstrated by this bestseller. This is certainly not an unheard of technique in formal literature on economics instruction.

However, I'm not quite sure how to go about it. I may end up doing something much closer to what I've done in the past, not as a matter of preference, but as a matter of convenience. Sure, people remember stories better than numbers, but numbers are straightforward, and when used properly, quite unambiguous compared with stories.

Balance is a tricky thing.


(As a side note, which would be more interesting to this readership: a comic-book / BGG - type post, or another zombie apocalypse post? Since those stories seem to be what people remember about this blog...)

30 Days

My wife and I just watched three episodes of 30 Days, which is a reality TV series that essentially has ordinary people live out of their element, usually along some specific controversy-inducing line, for a month. The first two episodes were entitled "Immigration," in which a member of the Minute Men lives with an illegal immigrant family for a month, and "Outsourcing," in which a programmer who just had his job outsourced to India moves to Bangalore to work in an outsourced job. Both episodes were reasonably thought out, surprisingly respectful, and all around good television. I felt compelled to blog about them.

The key thought that came to mind is that these two issues are intimately related. We complain about people breaking the law in order to participate in America's prosperity and work here, but we also complain about losing some of that prosperity if jobs go elsewhere. Much of the world lives in great poverty. The poor of other countries can't find jobs; if the wealthy countries don't send jobs there, the poor will try to come here by whatever means they can.

In the second episode, Chris (the guy who moves to India) said, "There's something fundamentally wrong with a world where children have to live like this." I doubt he meant it this way, but essentially I think he was complaining about the Fall of Man. All of these issues come down to the fact that this is not the way it's supposed to be. Families shouldn't have to break the law to feed their children; one person shouldn't have to be put out of a job so another can move his family out of a tent and into an apartment. We need Christ and His Kingdom.

Unfortunately, most of my deep thoughts on the matters were driven away by the third episode, "Atheist & Christian," which was just an awful piece of work. The episode followed an atheist stay-at-home mom who went to live with a Mardel's Christian family for a month. Utter. Rubbish. Nobody learned anything, nobody developed lasting bonds of friendship, and nobody even came off looking good. I highly recommend disc 1 of Season 2, but just watch the first two episodes.

A Noir Interpretation

This is not a story. As a friend recently made me aware, a snippet only becomes a story if it includes redemption. There is no redemption here. There is only darkness, moral ambiguity, and black and white photography (Which another friend informed me makes lighting effects much more pronounced. Who would've thought it!).

This is, however, something of a prequel to the BioGrecoGirl trilogy. Kinda like this is a prequel to the Star Wars Trilogy. As with that other prequel, most of you will, after having read this, prefer to pretend it doesn't exist. As a writer (but not a story writer), I guess that's the risk you take.


Part Zero: When the Narrator Wasn't Looking

TeaBrewster walked along the foggy path towards the glassy spires of Catlett Citadel. He knew the resident of the citadel would be able to tell him what he needed to know. Stepping forward resolutely (imagine the opposite of this), he heard the echos of haunting organ music as he stepped inside the massive structure. He stepped into the large, open foyer as fog billowed in behind him.

"Father Aldrich?" TB said, hoping to be heard over the organ music.
"Aldrich?" he repeated.
"Go. Away," a clear voice called through the music.
"I need your help," TB said.
"I have not offered my help," the voice replied. "I am... preoccupied."
"I need to talk to him," TB said. "I need to talk to the Instructor."

The music died away. TB heard footsteps from high above him, in the organ balcony. He looked up.

There stood Father Aldrich (picture the guy on the left), looking down at him in the dim light. "Do you really?" FA asked.

"Yes," TB said. "He sent for me. He wants me to come to the Hidden Hall, but..."
"But no one can find the Hall unless they've been brought there."
"Exactly."
Father Aldrich paused in a very noir manner. "I'll take you," he finally said. "We'll just say you owe me one."

They set off together, walking past the Physical Sciences Center and within sight of the library clock tower. After some time, they came upon a dull, unassuming building and entered. They walked up to the elevator, only to discover that they would have to climb the stairs instead. As they entered the hallway leading to the Instructor's office, the background music took a more modern turn. FA knocked on the office door.

"Enter."
FA opened the door and motioned for TB to precede him. As TB did, he saw a bearded man sitting at a desk, smoking a pipe. (It felt a bit like this, but hopefully nothing like this.)
"TB, I've been expecting you," the Instructor said. "You look drained, would you like a cup of coffee?"
"Is it decaf?"
The Instructor and FA glanced at each other briefly.
"Just have the one, it can't hurt that much," FA said.
"Alright, but I've got to watch my caffeine intake," TB said as he sat down. The Instructor rose from his desk and began pouring a cup of coffee.
"You're wondering why I've asked you here," the Instructor said as he handed TB the cup. "You see, I'm working on a project for a very important client, and I could use your help. My client is conducting vital research in the area of ultrasonics. However, to continue this research, I need to get a component for a new device they've developed."
"What sort of device?" asked TB, who was already more than half-way through his cup of coffee and feeling very energized.
"That's not really important right now. The important part is the component, a bathroom iPod stereo deck. Do you know where I can get such a component?" the Instructor asked.
"BGG has one," TB said. "She always keeps it in her lab coat pocket. Not that she'd part with it, I suspect." TB downed the last of his coffee. "This coffee is amazing."
"It's a special blend."
"Have another," FA said as he refilled TB's cup.
"What do you think it would take to convince her to give it up?" the Instructor asked.
"You'd probably have to take it from her," TB replied, "and she and her friends would stop you before you could do that, anyway."
"No one is suggesting taking it by force and violence," FA said.
"Her friends would stop us, wouldn't they," the Instructor said.
"Yeah. Between the Schupakinator and SeamsJess, you'd have your hands full," TB said. "I'd help them."
"As you should," the Instructor said. "Let me warm that up for you," he said, pouring more coffee into TB's cup.
"Thanks. This stuff is amazing. I mean amazing, I really like it it really provides just the right pick me up you know what I mean?" TB's words began to run together with frantic energy.
"We will certainly pass on the compliments," FA said.
"Now, I'm sure by now you're wondering who this client is," the Instructor began.
"Not really, do you have any more coffee?" TB asked. His cup was somehow empty again, clutched in his twitching hand.
"No," the Instructor said.
"What do you mean 'no'?" TB said angrily. "I need more *coffee*!"
"I'd love to accommodate you, but I'm afraid the Schupakinator took the last of it," the Instructor said.
"She did," TB said. "She did. Well, well. Took the last of my coffee. We'll just see about that!"

TB got up suddenly, throwing his chair against the wall, nearly hitting FA. Like a bolt of lightning, TB shot down the stairs in search of the one who had deprived him of more caffeine.
"That was quite a brew you gave him," FA said.
"I had some help with it. It's like trucker coffee, but with extra kick," the Instructor said. "He's had the caffeine equivalent of a dozen cups just now, which should take care of the Schupakinator. I trust you can get me the component now?"
"What about her other allies? "FA asked. "What about SeamsJess?"
The Instructor folded his hands as he sat behind his chair. "Leave her to me," the Instructor said knowingly. "Soon it won't matter if they all know that the Instructor is just one guise of mine."
"As is the Economist of Evil."
"Of course," the Economist of Evil said. "Remember, we need the component delivered to the movie theater."
"This had better work," FA said. "I have no problem getting the component for you, but I have no intention of actually killing anyone for this project. I'm not a villain, whatever BGG or anyone else may think."
"You will have to trust me," EE said.
"Assuming you are no villain, yourself. You still have not told me what the device being built is."
"All in due time, FA," EE said. "There are still too many variables to divulge that information."
"Very well. I will met you at the pond," FA said. "If you'll excuse me, I have two more movements to play."

As FA shut the door behind himself, EE muttered under his breath, "Be careful what you assume, Justin. I never said I wasn't a villain."

My Zombie Escape Plan

So my wife and some friends were hanging out after our church small group last night, and naturally the conversation turned to zombies. One of these friends, who shall remain nameless, announced to the whole room that in the event of a zombie apocalypse, everyone should go to her house. She has a plan, which got me wondering. I'm an academic with a slightly below-average physique, no mechanical- or military-aptitude to speak of, a low probability of being able to feed myself as a hunter-gatherer, and zero probability of being able to identify and cure the zombification disease. I'm not even sure it's worth it to come up with an escape plan.

But I'm an optimizer. I'm pretty good at figuring out the best way to do something, given certain constraints. So, given some very general (and mostly non-binding) constraints, how would I survive the zombie apocalypse? First of all, you need to get your people and supplies together, and you need to last in an urban environment long enough to organize your escape. I'm thinking the OU stadium is a nice, gated, defensible position with land to raise food and space to organize supplies and personnel. We'll call that stage one. Stage two is escaping the urban area where most of the zombies are and building a self-sustainable community in a rural environment. Eventually, once the zombies are finally gone, these individual communities can come back together to re-form modern civilization.

It all comes down to people. If you can get the right people into a coherent survival community, you can make it out. Of course, you need certain types in the group. I think most zombie movies end badly because the groups trying to survive don't make sure they have teams for each type:

Off-the-Grid Survivalists, especially people who can figure out how to find the tools we need and provide food that will actually sustain life once the sugar pops and canned goods run out. This includes scavengers (especially for stage one) and hippie nutritionists/herbologists.
Bio-Researchers, since we need to understand what we're up against and (if possible) how to restore them. Because seriously, how many kinds of zombie are there? They can be slow or fast, infected or undead, humans only or animals and monsters too, head-shots kill or much worse, etc.
Builders, who can assemble shelter and defense mechanisms once we've moved on to stage two.
Spiritual Helpers, because there's going to be a lot of despair and doubting God's provision going on. However, God told us we would face trials, and he never said a zombie apocalypse wouldn't be among them. We need to be reminded to trust God even when it doesn't make sense.
Fighters, because sometimes somebody's gonna have to kill a zombie. Or maybe 20 zombies.
Peace Keepers, because everyone is under ridiculous stress. Hippies and fighters don't usually get along in the best of circumstances, but you'll need both in close-quarters for extended periods to survive.
Progeny, to give everyone something to fight for. You need not only children, but the possibility of more children in the future.
Medics, because when it comes to zombie wars, somebody's gonna get hurt.
Last (but in no sense least), a Leader. This "fight-the-zombies-by-democratic-process" bag isn't going to hold water. You need a strong, capable leader, who understands his people, is invested in their future, but doesn't want to rule over them. It is essential to the proper hierarchical leader in this setting that he not want to wield his power, and certainly he won't wield it lightly. Those kinds of leader are hard to come by.

It turns out that I know all the people I need to in order to pull this off.

My wife. First of all, because she's my wife. But she also knows something about nutrition, growing her own food, rationing, brewing healthy beverages, and making clothing. Definitely someone we'll need. Off-the-Grid Survivalist

Kelly Rose. Because she's one of the few people I know with a survival plan. Also, she similarly knows about nutrition and gardening, as well as a host of other domestic skills that will be necessities in order for the group to survive. Come to think of it, we may bring her whole family along. Off-the-Grid Survivalist

Katie. We're going to need someone who can analyze bio samples, mostly to tell us what kind of zombies we're dealing with. Who better than our own resident Terrapin? Plus, she lives with Emily, an engineer, and knows several scientific types.
Bio-Researcher

Mike Eades. He's a medical researcher in-training, and he can wield a gun and drive a dirt bike. Fighter, Bio-Researcher

BGG. The ankle surgery just makes things more interesting ;) . Bio-Researcher

The elder Stuarts. Between the two of them, they have experience hunting, cooking, and organizing good nutrition. They can hunt and grow food, which would be enough right there. However, one thing that most zombie survival plans shortchange is the need for spiritual leadership as well. Both the Stuarts can help with that. Spiritual Helper, Off-the-Grid Survivalist

The Servens. Speaking of spiritual leadership, how about Rev. Doug and Julie? Doug has an innate ability to keep things from seeming overwhelming, and if there's ever a time that will come in handy, it's during the zombie apocalypse. Not to mention that Doug is a pretty athletic guy, and any group that doesn't plan to keep families because kids will slow them down has missed the point of surviving. Spiritual Helper, Fighter, Progeny

Paul Criger. He owns guns, and knows how to use them. His wife can come too. Fighter

My family. My father has experience hunting, scavenging, repairing mechanisms and tools, and making do. The rest of my family is similar. They could bring some guns, follow orders, and find supplies (fuel, equipment, etc) like nobody's business. Off-the-Grid Survivalist, Fighter, Builder

Big Tony. He rides a motor bike, is in good physical condition, can use a gun, and is studying to be a doctor. I'm not sure where his wife fits in, but she's welcome too. Fighter, Medic

The Moyni. Eagle scout and seminarian, he's definitely someone we'd need around, especially once we move out of an urban area (where zombies tend to thrive). Off-the-Grid Survivalist

The Dixon family. We're going to need people who are knowledgeable and wise, which the Dixon's are. But perhaps even more importantly, we need people who can help keep us sane. Music, conversation, and friendship should not be downplayed just because the walking undead are about. Peace Keeper, Progeny

Jon G. We could use a good engineer or two. His wife-to-be can come too. Builder

The Barnes family. What zombie survival plan couldn't use more academics (please don't kick me out!)? Plus, the Barnes' are both avid runners, which means scavengers and possible zombie fighters. Off-the-Grid Survivalist, Fighter

The Pastor family. Jenny knows a ton about gardening and plants, which will be crucial when all the produce in the world's shops goes bad. Joel has a knack for de-escalating conflicts, and in these stressful times that will be essential. Even though they're in NY these days, I'd like to have them on the team. Off-the-Grid Survivalist, Peace Keeper

The Dellinger family. Shiloh is a black-belt in Tai Kwon Do, and staying in shape will be important for escaping zombies. He also knows his way around the woods with a rifle, so I hear. His wife is a nurse. Plus their daughter was born 3-months premature and is doing fine. Hearty stock. Fighter, Medic

The Payne family. They know about eating healthy and growing food, they've raised animals for food, and they've got good kids. Aaron has been a mechanic, security guard, knows something about building and organization... and he's a humble man. He would never grasp at power. If someone were causing trouble and endangering the community, he could hold the authority to banish without the risk of losing his cool or failing to consider the well being of either the offender or the community. A lot of zombie movies end badly for lack of a good leader. I think our group has a chance. Off-the-Grid Survivalist, Progeny, Builder, Fighter, Leader

There you have it. I could keep adding people with valuable skills, but this is already too long. This is how we'll survive a zombie apocalypse. So if/when it happens, go to Kelly's house. We'll come get you.

Freedom of the Press?

Just a quick link to a blog I read. It seems that having your name on the ballot doesn't mean you're running for office. (Katie, you may find this interesting, since the author is one of your people)

http://mungowitzend.blogspot.com/2008/05/chill-ee-punkd-oh-humanity.html

Do you suppose Rodney Dangerfield is a Libertarian?

Become Thy Enemy

As many of you know, I suffer from a spheksophobia, the irrational fear of wasps. Whenever I see them my muscles become tense, perspiration increases, and I'm overcome with an intense desire to escape. I've achieved a certain degree of control over the years--I don't run from a room screaming every time I see wasps or hornets--but as Charlie from Lost once said, "It wouldn't be an irrational fear [...] if I could just pull myself together, would it?"

My apartment complex is really nice, but we've had problems with wasps during the summer. For some reason they love to just buzz buzz buzz around my front door. It was getting bad this year again, and I wasn't sure I could take it, so I did some digging on the Interwebs. It turns out that wasps and hornets are dreadfully territorial beasties, and if they see a rival colony's nest they will steer clear. This means that anything that looks sufficiently like a wasp nest left hanging outside will scare most of them away. Yon-folks-who-exist-only-online are quite clever, as they offered a simple solution: brown paper liquor bags stuffed with newspaper. The results, as you can see...
are astounding. While this may not look very threatening to you,to a wasp it looks like a dangerous fortress. The first one is by our front door, the second by our back. And you know what? I've seen one wasp around our house since we put these up. One. Not half a dozen every day. (photos courtesy of my wife)

It's kinda like Batman, disguising himself as what he fears in order to frighten others. Well, maybe more like the new Batman. Who knows? Maybe I should start listening to Sting and riding around on a Vespa (it's Italian for wasp, you know).