I am the Doubter and the Doubt; or, Moderation is for Monks

I confess to being in a "screw it" mode today. Not intense, not angry, just screw it.

LaElu, my mom & I went to "the fort" for the Christmas market. This is a reconstructed 18th century fort on the original location, but it was dreadfully dull. When I try to imagine the place 200 years ago, well it takes a lot of imagination. Rather than woods that were old growth, now the hills have been timbered within the last 50 years. Rather than a creek and robust river, we are afflicted with dams. (Mind you, the town across the river would not exist without serious flood control.) Some fellow was outside the fort demonstrating supposedly period firearms, but was using a percussion ignition weapon. Sometimes it's instructive to read period literature to have some clue about what life was really like -- but there are several versions, and I have no way to know what is true. Much of the literature in the 19th century was highly stylized (like Cooper) and just isn't very clear. Hmph - I am reminded that I'm being hypocritical according to the beliefs of Robert A. Heinlein, who found it inconsistent that one would embrace the beavers' dams, but not man's.

Tomorrow, No. 3 will be humming in the afternoon. A new client is coming in who for some very strange reason I've managed to get out on bond. (Were I the prosecutor, I would have gone to the mat on a detention hearing.) He does not yet truly appreciate his predicament. If we do this case incorrectly, we can eat a mandatory life sentence without parole, even though this guy has never killed or directly harmed anyone. (Drugs are harmful as hell, they are just not up close and personal.) (And perhaps it's a bit presumptuous when I say that "we" can eat a particular sentence -- When discussing overall strategy, I always remind the client that if things go South, he can look all around the prison cell, but I won't be there.)

I'm tempted to explain at some length the post about the Muhammad-teddy-bear. But since I would have to answer questions that do not exist in my world, I'll let it lay.

That reminds me - a very smart and tough fellow I knew when I was in college and doing an internship in the Capitol was talking to about 20 of us before we ended the day and headed for the Twenties, which was a favorite and crazy bar. (I was enamored of a young lady friend, and was seriously looking forward to the evening. She died of medical problems a couple of years later, and I often reflect on the unfairness of the Universe.) Anyway, the speaker passed around some sort of stuffed animal, told us to examine it as much as we wanted. Being cocky 20 year olds, we each grasped it with two fingers, held it at arm's-length, and passed it to the next person. It got back to the speaker (Jack Whiting was his name) and he took the stuffed animal, cradled it, petted it and in so doing taught us a remarkable lesson that I have never forgotten. Goodness, I was so darn stiff at that age (when sober). What I wouldn't give to be 20 again, knowing what I know now, of course.

I had a positively delightful breakfast this week with Bro. Dave and Pastor Jim - philosophical and fun. For some reason, the pastor wore a tie. Dave, of course, was on his way to court, and he's a very natty dresser nearly all the time (even to some extent when he's in the woods.)

Am I guilt of literary miserliness? At the Christmas Market, there was a bookstall with several (mostly uninteresting or paperback or poor condition books) with one book that I wanted. However, being a small bookseller, s/he needs to charge fairly high rates, in this case full publisher's retail of $34.95. I can get a pristine copy on Amazon or bookfinder.com for under $15 bucks, so I passed.

As I write this, WVU's football team is playing its last regular season game, with an eye to being in the national championship game. They have worked hard for that and I wish them well, but I'm not terribly emotionally invested in this whole thing. The problem with circuses is that they become not simply diverting, but totally distracting.

Great Caesar's Ghost, I'm a censorious bastard tonight, and pontificating like I have some clue what is going on. For some reason, I know that I'll sleep uneasily tonight, I just have one of those feelings that something is amiss in the fabric of the night.

Mizpah.

R