It is rare that two news stories mesh with such obviousness as those which greeted me today.  The headline on the Post described the plight of the homeless in Denver.  They had set up camps that were their only home.  The only persons who were inconvenienced by these urban villages were those who had some interest in moving about the city on public sidewalks, and those who objected to the odor of human waste products in places other than toilets.  Shame on them!  The poor homeless have no other place to go, unless one counts the numerous shelters erected with tax dollars.  Or church shelters.  Or homes of relatives or friends, provided no drugs or alcohol accompany them.  Or their own homes, provided they earn a nominal living.

The other story that caught my eye was about the mass evacuation of Syria.  Thousands of people have been leaving refugee camps to attempt to start new lives, only a few of which will incorporate blowing up their new countrymen.

What serendipity.  On one hand, we have people leaving camps where they lived in whatever shelter they could scrounge, including old tarps, ratty blankets and fires built in abandoned oil drums.  On the other, there are thousands in Denver seeking just such a lifestyle, but being denied the opportunity by mean governmental agencies.  I profess that I am amazed that no one else has seen the solution.  Instead of building new shelters for several million dollars that no one will want to go to, invest in plane tickets to Syria.  Once there, our homeless will be able to live the way they want, free from Denver’s petty rules.  The camps that have been left behind by the refugees will be quite spacious by sidewalk standards.  Administration by the UN and aid dollars from the US will ensure that they have plenty to eat.  The only real drawback will be the lack of cheap wine in a Moslem country, but Yankee ingenuity should be able to solve that problem, especially when the local government is distracted from religious concerns by its campaign of mass murder.

There you have it: the ultimate win-win.  Homeless will be able to live as they choose, Syria will replace its declining population, and the problem of congested sidewalks will become a thing of the past.  Unless some of the refugees come to Denver and end up homeless themselves.

Several years ago, I wrote a letter that the Post printed.  In that letter, I suggested that Massachusetts solve its problem of an exploding deer population by reintroducing some of their former predators.  I pointed out the gains they would reap from sitting in their dens in Boston, sipping their apple martinis, while watching wild-eyed does being killed by ravenous wolves on their front lawns.  It turns out that officials of that state must have read the letter.  Though the wheels of bureaucracy have taken a decade to act, they have now managed to reintroduce timber rattlesnakes onto an island in a state park. 

Although I feel a certain feeling of vindication in this action, I do have a message for the officials of Massachusetts: I WAS ONLY KIDDING!  It was a joke, people.  It really doesn’t make any sense to place deadly poisonous reptiles in a heavily populated state.  Regardless of the questionable political judgment of this state (thanks for John Kerry, folks), I still don’t want these progressives to die a painful death. 

Wildlife officials claim that the snakes will remain on the island since there will be plenty of food.  This presumes that the mice on the island will agree to the arrangement and forego their watery escape route, and that the snakes will never go for a swim to see if there are more tasty rodents on the far shore. 

Then again, perhaps I am missing the point.  Since Massachusetts is home to so many who feel that our planet earth is overpopulated, the state may be doing its part to eliminate excess population.  As a bonus, snakes don’t drive gas-guzzlers.

Anyone who saw the CNBC “debate” on Oct. 30 had to conclude that the moderators were quite biased against the participants.  Ted Cruz was right in calling out these supposedly neutral journalists.  We will see more of the same in the eventual debate between the two finalists for the presidency.   The performance by Candy Crowley in the last fiasco proves my point.  I almost expected her to run over and jump into Obama’s lap.

Here, then, is my solution.  Instead of having an impartial group such as the League of Women Voters, which is predictably left-leaning, pick the moderators, why not allow the participants to choose them?  Each side could pick 4 journalists for the debates.  Those chosen would only be allowed to question the other side.  We would then have George Stephanopoulos and Chris Matthews interrogating the Republican, followed by Rush Limbaugh and Karl Rove doing the same to the Democrat.  This would end the softballs for one side and the insulting sneers for the other.  Each would have to contend with really hard, in-depth, explorations of his or her positions and background. 

Do I think this proposal has a remote chance of being implemented?  Of course not.  Democrats are happy with the status quo, with registered Journalist-Democrats writing the script, while Republicans are afraid of offending Independents. 

A Skeptical Look at Global Warming

Another day dawns, bringing with it more undeniable proof of global warming, or climate change, as it is now referred to. Proponents of this position declare their theory unassailable beyond any doubt. Anyone who questions them is derided as a fool or a lackey of Big Oil. Some of us do remain unconvinced, and have some questions that the “overwhelming majority” of scientists have not answered.

To start with, why shouldn’t the climate be getting warmer? We are, and here all scientists agree, at the tail end of an ice age that will last until the vast sheets of ice covering the poles melt. One would think warming would be a positive thing as it would usher in longer growing seasons, less need for energy, and a flourishing of animal and plant life. Ah, but there is a difference between the warming caused by humans and that done by nature, say scientists. Hogwash! First, there is little evidence man has much to do with global warming. Even if we do have a measurable effect on the temperature, what difference does it make where the extra degrees come from? Warm is warm and cold is cold, and if we get to a tropical paradise a few centuries earlier, so much the better. But the oceans will rise, inundating whole cities if we continue on our mad dash to Armageddon! Unfortunately for that view, the Dutch have been taming the sea for centuries without the benefit of any modern technology.

And what of the scientists who tell us how close to catastrophe we are? Have they shown themselves to be completely trustworthy? There have been leaks of e-mails showing that the most respected proponents of climate change have boasted of their prowess in faking data and keeping any of their research results from the prying eyes of the public, even in the face of court orders to do so. We have seen hockey stick graphs discredited. We have seen studies that confirmed terrifying changes in the earth’s ecosystem, only to see those studies repudiated days later. In one of the most recent examples of this phenomenon, publishers of a world atlas simply erased several hundred square miles of Greenland’s ice cap. Sure enough, a few days later it was revealed that someone had “goofed” and the ice was still there. No problem except for the few panicked Greenlanders who were frantically building arks.

The most telling fact that leads to the discrediting of the scientists is their proposed solution to the theoretical problem of climate change. Even if we accept fully all of their claims, and acknowledge that we are on the precipice of annihilation, what would we expect those scientists to advise us to do? Why, they would tell us that we must end all human activity that adds to the devastation. It wouldn’t matter where it was occurring, or whether polluters received permission to continue their destructive practices. Instead, we are advised by these self-appointed guardians of the environment that polluting is fine as long as one pays other, cleaner, companies or less-developed nations for the privilege (cap and trade). If you are a private citizen and want to fly your private Boeing 707 around, just buy “green credits” from people like Al Gore, who promise to plant trees to offset your wasteful ways. If that is the answer, why not say so? Just tell people it’s fine if they want to drive a gas-guzzling Hummer as long as they plant a few acorns in their backyards.

I and my fellow skeptics are not flat-earth wackos. We are capable of weighing evidence from cogent arguments and persuasive evidence to come to reasonable conclusions. What we are not capable of is being bullied into believing a theory based upon fraud and illogic. So, those who want to lose sleep over global warming may do so. I’m lying in my hammock with my Mai Tai awaiting the arrival of tropical Colorado.

Having given up on my dream of becoming this century’s Mark Twain, I still must confess that I have an urge to write. So far, my efforts have been confined to letters to the editor. Although I have had good results doing this, as about 90% of my submissions have been printed, I get no remuneration or other credit. While the Denver Post writers have gotten numerous Pulitzers, the editors have never seen fit to ever even nominate me. Their excuse has always been that there is no such category, but that seems pretty thin to me. Surely a little subterfuge is in order in this case. At any rate, let me share one of my efforts with you and let you be the judges. I noted that a Denver suburb had a problem with coyotes attacking people walking in the park. The city’s reaction: act swiftly to protect…..the coyotes! I wondered how far this nonsense might go, and ergo, I wrote:

SOME ARE LESS EQUAL

Harris was running late. His position as Deputy Undersecretary for Ordinary Affairs required him to continually refine 27,000 regulations. His duties seldom allowed him to appear at meetings when they started, but his tardiness was generally tolerated. This meeting was different. It had been called as an emergency session of the Council of Ordinaries. Not only would his lateness be viewed with extreme disfavor, but the extra food rations that were distributed before such sessions would be long gone when he arrived.

There was hope, however. He trimmed the sails on his pedicar for maximum velocity and put his councilperson flag in its holder. With a good breeze behind him, he could make up a few minutes and arrive on time.

He sailed down the highway faster than he had hoped, and was less than a mile from the council building when he was stopped by a policeperson, who was obviously none too pleased when he realized the vehicle he was halting flew a council flag.

“I’m sorry sir, but you can’t proceed. A woman was attacked and killed by a bear a block farther down the highway”, he explained. “I can’t let anyone interfere while the bear’s feeding, especially since she has two cubs.”

Harris was furious, but he could not blame the cop. The bear was in its own territory, and the woman was the trespasser on the earth.

The cop helped Harris turn around, and even gave a push to the pedicar. He needn’t have done that, using up some precious calories of his daily allowance, and Harris was grateful. Still, Harris would have to use another route and pedal most of the way against a headwind.

He almost made it, but walked in just as the Second Most Ordinary Citizen Whitaker was beginning to speak. Whitaker stopped in midsentence and stared angrily at Harris as he found his seat. Then he began again.

“I bid a fond welcome to all of my equals. His Most Ordinary Citizen Olson has asked you to come here to consider what to do about a most urgent matter. Our efforts to make sure that those organisms having the right of prior existence are well fed and protected, have fallen short.”

The gasps from the audience momentarily forced Whitaker to stop. They found it unbelievable and scandalous that animals might be suffering any hardship. When he was able to restore order, Whitaker continued.

“His Most Ordinariness Olson wishes to share his thoughts with you and to solicit your advice on the proper method of dealing with this crisis. Without further ado, let me ask Citizen Olson to address you.”

Olson arose. The applause was deafening, and continued for several minutes until Olson raised his hand for quiet. Then he began.

“My beloved equals, something must be done to avert a crisis. I have summoned you here to help me decide on a course of action. Since I have thought at great length upon the matter, and decided upon what I believe to be the proper thing to do, I am sure you will all agree to my plan. Therefore, as usual, we will dispense with voting, since it would simply waste our valuable time. Here then is the plan to which you have all preagreed.

“So far, we have been nibbling around the edges of the saltine on this issue. Now it is time to cover it with butter and swallow it whole.”

Harris hated Olson’s food metaphors. The daily ration of food bars was set so that all received enough nutrition to sustain life, with no extra calories wasted on the usurping species of humans. As a council member, Harris did receive a 10% bonus to allow him to perform his duties but hunger was always lurking in the back of his mind. A saltine! Did such a thing exist on the planet? And butter! He wondered what such a magnificent feast could taste like. He was lost in his reverie for several seconds until he realized someone was poking him. There was silence in the room when he returned to reality. All were staring at him, and Olson was silent. His ecstatic moaning had forced His Equality to pause. Harris slunk into his seat as Olson continued.

“There are far too many of us humans using the resources that should rightfully go to those species having the first claim on them,” Olson continued. “We must reduce our demands upon this planet’s food supplies before we cause hardship among the animals upon whom we have intruded. I propose a most reasonable solution. There will be an annual lottery. Those chosen will be asked to donate their calorie-consuming bodies to the greater good. By giving up their corporeal existences, they will donate their flesh to the well-being of our animal brethren. Since no one could possibly argue against such a noble goal, all asked will be presumed to have given their consent.”

As the meeting ended, Harris joined with all present in expressing his agreement with the plan. Each of them felt that Olson’s plan was a brilliant, and quite certainly the only, solution to a problem that none of them had been aware of before the council session. About an hour of obligatory praise for Olson followed.

Harris headed for home. The breeze was now a headwind, causing him to pedal all the way, depleting any energy reserves he had. Nevertheless, he was content, as he always was after attending a meeting of Equals, especially since a grave danger to Mother Earth had been successfully averted. He would have to rest for a couple of days to regain his strength, but it was a small price to pay.

He had slept for over a day when the Neighborhood Proper Action Monitor woke him. Interrupting the recuperation of a council member was not something done for trivial matters, so Harris knew that a matter of great urgency required his attention.

“There is a letter, sir” said the Monitor.

“A letter? You mean a compgram?” asked Harris.

“No sir” was the reply. “A real letter. Written on real paper.”

Harris looked at the object in the monitor’s hand. It was real paper. He wondered what could be so momentous that it justified the destruction of an arboreal brother. He began to feel the paper longingly, wondering just what it might taste like. It was, after all, his to do with as he wanted, and might yield a few calories. He looked at the monitor, and could tell that the same idea had occurred to him. It had been an act of extreme self-control to deliver the letter unopened, and Harris once again felt gratitude to a lower ranking equal. Then he opened the letter and began to read.

“Congratulations!” it began. “You have been selected to fulfill our collective obligation to those creatures having a greater right to the limited resources of this planet. A vote of the Council of Equal Citizens has picked you to participate in an entirely voluntary program designed to increase the calorie intake of those who existed before humans. Since it is such an important program, it is inconceivable that you would refuse, so your wholehearted acquiescence is taken as a given. Enclosed is a pill. This pill will cause instantaneous cessation of your normal life functions. Outside your living area, you will find a container that will contain your recyclable organic being until it can be collected and distributed to needy carnivores. Do not worry about the pill. It will metabolize well before your flesh is brought to the reallocation center, and will pose no hazard to those needy animals who gain sustenance from it. Please walk to the container, get inside, and take the pill. It is that simple to help sustain our fragile planet.”

Harris was stunned. He had thought councilmembers would be exempt from the new program. He knew there had been no vote, since he was a member of council himself, but did not dwell on that issue, as the council had never actually voted on anything. He called several friends to see if some mistake had been made. The first four he called were “unavailable”. Then he called Beauvais, who answered.

“It is a great honor,” said Beauvais. “I wish I had been picked. As for you, all agreed you were the best choice, since you had been so supportive during Olson’s speech and cheered so loudly, he had to stop speaking.”

Ah, brave Beauvais. Harris knew his compspeak transceiver was routed to the Office of Joyous Agreement, and just to speak to him might cause serious repercussions. Harris could read between the lines. He had interrupted Olson, so Olson had decided he was expendable. So, his years of dedicated service to the cause of the planet’s survival were of no consequence because he had dreamed of a buttered biscuit.

There was no mistake. Harris must cease his normal life functions. He knew there was no appeal, no chance to change the verdict. His calorie allocation would stop, and he would quickly die of starvation if he did not follow orders.

He clutched the pill in his hand and walked to the curb. There, as promised, was the collection bin for his remains. A storm had arisen, and he walked in a pouring rain. He pondered the injustice that had befallen him, and began to weep over his fate. As thunder roared around him, he raised his fist to the sky and cursed Olson and all the sycophants who had allowed this travesty, and screamed into the darkness, using the only oath still deemed non-offensive to all, “Dadgummit”.

Then he took a seat in the dumpster and swallowed his pill.