The Higher Man, The Awakening, The Sign

LXXIII. THE HIGHER MAN.(excerpts)
3.
The most careful ask to-day: "How is man to be maintained?" Zarathustra however asketh, as the first and only one: "How is man to be SURPASSED?"
The Superman, I have at heart; THAT is the first and only thing to me—and NOT man: not the neighbour, not the poorest, not the sorriest, not the best.—
O my brethren, what I can love in man is that he is an over-going and a down-going. And also in you there is much that maketh me love and hope.
In that ye have despised, ye higher men, that maketh me hope. For the great despisers are the great reverers.
In that ye have despaired, there is much to honour. For ye have not learned to submit yourselves, ye have not learned petty policy.
For to-day have the petty people become master: they all preach submission and humility and policy and diligence and consideration and the long et cetera of petty virtues.
Whatever is of the effeminate type, whatever originateth from the servile type, and especially the populace-mishmash:—THAT wisheth now to be master of all human destiny—O disgust! Disgust! Disgust!
THAT asketh and asketh and never tireth: "How is man to maintain himself best, longest, most pleasantly?" Thereby—are they the masters of to-day.
These masters of to-day—surpass them, O my brethren—these petty people: THEY are the Superman's greatest danger!
Surpass, ye higher men, the petty virtues, the petty policy, the sand-grain considerateness, the ant-hill trumpery, the pitiable comfortableness, the "happiness of the greatest number"—!
And rather despair than submit yourselves. And verily, I love you, because ye know not to-day how to live, ye higher men! For thus do YE live—best!
. . .
10.
If ye would go up high, then use your own legs! Do not get yourselves CARRIED aloft; do not seat yourselves on other people's backs and heads!
Thou hast mounted, however, on horseback? Thou now ridest briskly up to thy goal? Well, my friend! But thy lame foot is also with thee on horseback!
When thou reachest thy goal, when thou alightest from thy horse: precisely on thy HEIGHT, thou higher man,—then wilt thou stumble!
11.
Ye creating ones, ye higher men! One is only pregnant with one's own child.
Do not let yourselves be imposed upon or put upon! Who then is YOUR neighbour? Even if ye act "for your neighbour"—ye still do not create for him!
Unlearn, I pray you, this "for," ye creating ones: your very virtue wisheth you to have naught to do with "for" and "on account of" and "because." Against these false little words shall ye stop your ears.
"For one's neighbour," is the virtue only of the petty people: there it is said "like and like," and "hand washeth hand":—they have neither the right nor the power for YOUR self-seeking!
In your self-seeking, ye creating ones, there is the foresight and foreseeing of the pregnant! What no one's eye hath yet seen, namely, the fruit—this, sheltereth and saveth and nourisheth your entire love.
Where your entire love is, namely, with your child, there is also your entire virtue! Your work, your will is YOUR "neighbour": let no false values impose upon you!
12.
Ye creating ones, ye higher men! Whoever hath to give birth is sick; whoever hath given birth, however, is unclean.
Ask women: one giveth birth, not because it giveth pleasure. The pain maketh hens and poets cackle.
Ye creating ones, in you there is much uncleanliness. That is because ye have had to be mothers.
A new child: oh, how much new filth hath also come into the world! Go apart! He who hath given birth shall wash his soul!
. . .
14.
Shy, ashamed, awkward, like the tiger whose spring hath failed—thus, ye higher men, have I often seen you slink aside. A CAST which ye made had failed.
But what doth it matter, ye dice-players! Ye had not learned to play and mock, as one must play and mock! Do we not ever sit at a great table of mocking and playing?
And if great things have been a failure with you, have ye yourselves therefore—been a failure? And if ye yourselves have been a failure, hath man therefore—been a failure? If man, however, hath been a failure: well then! never mind!
15.
The higher its type, always the seldomer doth a thing succeed. Ye higher men here, have ye not all—been failures?
Be of good cheer; what doth it matter? How much is still possible! Learn to laugh at yourselves, as ye ought to laugh!
What wonder even that ye have failed and only half-succeeded, ye half-shattered ones! Doth not—man's FUTURE strive and struggle in you?
Man's furthest, profoundest, star-highest issues, his prodigious powers—do not all these foam through one another in your vessel?
What wonder that many a vessel shattereth! Learn to laugh at yourselves, as ye ought to laugh! Ye higher men, O, how much is still possible!
And verily, how much hath already succeeded! How rich is this earth in small, good, perfect things, in well-constituted things!
Set around you small, good, perfect things, ye higher men. Their golden maturity healeth the heart. The perfect teacheth one to hope.
. . .
19.
Lift up your hearts, my brethren, high, higher! And do not forget your legs! Lift up also your legs, ye good dancers, and better still if ye stand upon your heads!
There are also heavy animals in a state of happiness, there are club-footed ones from the beginning. Curiously do they exert themselves, like an elephant which endeavoureth to stand upon its head.
Better, however, to be foolish with happiness than foolish with misfortune, better to dance awkwardly than walk lamely. So learn, I pray you, my wisdom, ye higher men: even the worst thing hath two good reverse sides,—
—Even the worst thing hath good dancing-legs: so learn, I pray you, ye higher men, to put yourselves on your proper legs!
So unlearn, I pray you, the sorrow-sighing, and all the populace-sadness! Oh, how sad the buffoons of the populace seem to me to-day! This to-day, however, is that of the populace.
20.
Do like unto the wind when it rusheth forth from its mountain-caves: unto its own piping will it dance; the seas tremble and leap under its footsteps.
That which giveth wings to asses, that which milketh the lionesses:— praised be that good, unruly spirit, which cometh like a hurricane unto all the present and unto all the populace,—
—Which is hostile to thistle-heads and puzzle-heads, and to all withered leaves and weeds:—praised be this wild, good, free spirit of the storm, which danceth upon fens and afflictions, as upon meadows!
Which hateth the consumptive populace-dogs, and all the ill-constituted, sullen brood:—praised be this spirit of all free spirits, the laughing storm, which bloweth dust into the eyes of all the melanopic and melancholic!
Ye higher men, the worst thing in you is that ye have none of you learned to dance as ye ought to dance—to dance beyond yourselves! What doth it matter that ye have failed!
How many things are still possible! So LEARN to laugh beyond yourselves! Lift up your hearts, ye good dancers, high! higher! And do not forget the good laughter!
This crown of the laughter, this rose-garland crown: to you my brethren do I cast this crown! Laughing have I consecrated; ye higher men, LEARN, I pray you—to laugh!

LXXVII. THE AWAKENING.(excerpt)
1.After the song of the wanderer and shadow, the cave became all at once full of noise and laughter: and since the assembled guests all spake simultaneously, and even the ass, encouraged thereby, no longer remained silent, a little aversion and scorn for his visitors came over Zarathustra, although he rejoiced at their gladness. For it seemed to him a sign of convalescence. So he slipped out into the open air and spake to his animals.
"Whither hath their distress now gone?" said he, and already did he himself feel relieved of his petty disgust—"with me, it seemeth that they have unlearned their cries of distress!
—Though, alas! not yet their crying." And Zarathustra stopped his ears, for just then did the YE-A of the ass mix strangely with the noisy jubilation of those higher men.
"They are merry," he began again, "and who knoweth? perhaps at their host's expense; and if they have learned of me to laugh, still it is not MY laughter they have learned.
But what matter about that! They are old people: they recover in their own way, they laugh in their own way; mine ears have already endured worse and have not become peevish.
This day is a victory: he already yieldeth, he fleeth, THE SPIRIT OF GRAVITY, mine old arch-enemy! How well this day is about to end, which began so badly and gloomily!
And it is ABOUT TO end. Already cometh the evening: over the sea rideth it hither, the good rider! How it bobbeth, the blessed one, the home-returning one, in its purple saddles!
The sky gazeth brightly thereon, the world lieth deep. Oh, all ye strange ones who have come to me, it is already worth while to have lived with me!"
Thus spake Zarathustra. And again came the cries and laughter of the higher men out of the cave: then began he anew:
"They bite at it, my bait taketh, there departeth also from them their enemy, the spirit of gravity. Now do they learn to laugh at themselves: do I hear rightly?
My virile food taketh effect, my strong and savoury sayings: and verily, I did not nourish them with flatulent vegetables! But with warrior-food, with conqueror-food: new desires did I awaken.
New hopes are in their arms and legs, their hearts expand. They find new words, soon will their spirits breathe wantonness.
Such food may sure enough not be proper for children, nor even for longing girls old and young. One persuadeth their bowels otherwise; I am not their physician and teacher.
The DISGUST departeth from these higher men; well! that is my victory. In my domain they become assured; all stupid shame fleeth away; they empty themselves.
They empty their hearts, good times return unto them, they keep holiday and ruminate,—they become THANKFUL.
THAT do I take as the best sign: they become thankful. Not long will it be ere they devise festivals, and put up memorials to their old joys.
They are CONVALESCENTS!" Thus spake Zarathustra joyfully to his heart and gazed outward; his animals, however, pressed up to him, and honoured his happiness and his silence.

LXXX. THE SIGN.
In the morning, however, after this night, Zarathustra jumped up from his couch, and, having girded his loins, he came out of his cave glowing and strong, like a morning sun coming out of gloomy mountains.
"Thou great star," spake he, as he had spoken once before, "thou deep eye of happiness, what would be all thy happiness if thou hadst not THOSE for whom thou shinest!
And if they remained in their chambers whilst thou art already awake, and comest and bestowest and distributest, how would thy proud modesty upbraid for it!
Well! they still sleep, these higher men, whilst I am awake: THEY are not my proper companions! Not for them do I wait here in my mountains.
At my work I want to be, at my day: but they understand not what are the signs of my morning, my step—is not for them the awakening-call.
They still sleep in my cave; their dream still drinketh at my drunken songs. The audient ear for ME—the OBEDIENT ear, is yet lacking in their limbs."
—This had Zarathustra spoken to his heart when the sun arose: then looked he inquiringly aloft, for he heard above him the sharp call of his eagle. "Well!" called he upwards, "thus is it pleasing and proper to me. Mine animals are awake, for I am awake.
Mine eagle is awake, and like me honoureth the sun. With eagle-talons doth it grasp at the new light. Ye are my proper animals; I love you.
But still do I lack my proper men!"—
Thus spake Zarathustra; then, however, it happened that all on a sudden he became aware that he was flocked around and fluttered around, as if by innumerable birds,—the whizzing of so many wings, however, and the crowding around his head was so great that he shut his eyes. And verily, there came down upon him as it were a cloud, like a cloud of arrows which poureth upon a new enemy. But behold, here it was a cloud of love, and showered upon a new friend.
"What happeneth unto me?" thought Zarathustra in his astonished heart, and slowly seated himself on the big stone which lay close to the exit from his cave. But while he grasped about with his hands, around him, above him and below him, and repelled the tender birds, behold, there then happened to him something still stranger: for he grasped thereby unawares into a mass of thick, warm, shaggy hair; at the same time, however, there sounded before him a roar,—a long, soft lion-roar.
"THE SIGN COMETH," said Zarathustra, and a change came over his heart. And in truth, when it turned clear before him, there lay a yellow, powerful animal at his feet, resting its head on his knee,—unwilling to leave him out of love, and doing like a dog which again findeth its old master. The doves, however, were no less eager with their love than the lion; and whenever a dove whisked over its nose, the lion shook its head and wondered and laughed.
When all this went on Zarathustra spake only a word: "MY CHILDREN ARE NIGH, MY CHILDREN"—, then he became quite mute. His heart, however, was loosed, and from his eyes there dropped down tears and fell upon his hands. And he took no further notice of anything, but sat there motionless, without repelling the animals further. Then flew the doves to and fro, and perched on his shoulder, and caressed his white hair, and did not tire of their tenderness and joyousness. The strong lion, however, licked always the tears that fell on Zarathustra's hands, and roared and growled shyly. Thus did these animals do.—
All this went on for a long time, or a short time: for properly speaking, there is NO time on earth for such things—. Meanwhile, however, the higher men had awakened in Zarathustra's cave, and marshalled themselves for a procession to go to meet Zarathustra, and give him their morning greeting: for they had found when they awakened that he no longer tarried with them. When, however, they reached the door of the cave and the noise of their steps had preceded them, the lion started violently; it turned away all at once from Zarathustra, and roaring wildly, sprang towards the cave. The higher men, however, when they heard the lion roaring, cried all aloud as with one voice, fled back and vanished in an instant.
Zarathustra himself, however, stunned and strange, rose from his seat, looked around him, stood there astonished, inquired of his heart, bethought himself, and remained alone. "What did I hear?" said he at last, slowly, "what happened unto me just now?"
But soon there came to him his recollection, and he took in at a glance all that had taken place between yesterday and to-day. "Here is indeed the stone," said he, and stroked his beard, "on IT sat I yester-morn; and here came the soothsayer unto me, and here heard I first the cry which I heard just now, the great cry of distress.
O ye higher men, YOUR distress was it that the old soothsayer foretold to me yester-morn,—
—Unto your distress did he want to seduce and tempt me: 'O Zarathustra,' said he to me, 'I come to seduce thee to thy last sin.'
To my last sin?" cried Zarathustra, and laughed angrily at his own words: "WHAT hath been reserved for me as my last sin?"
—And once more Zarathustra became absorbed in himself, and sat down again on the big stone and meditated. Suddenly he sprang up,—
"FELLOW-SUFFERING! FELLOW-SUFFERING WITH THE HIGHER MEN!" he cried out, and his countenance changed into brass. "Well! THAT—hath had its time!
My suffering and my fellow-suffering—what matter about them! Do I then strive after HAPPINESS? I strive after my WORK!
Well! The lion hath come, my children are nigh, Zarathustra hath grown ripe, mine hour hath come:—
This is MY morning, MY day beginneth: ARISE NOW, ARISE, THOU GREAT NOONTIDE!"—
Thus spake Zarathustra and left his cave, glowing and strong, like a morning sun coming out of gloomy mountains.

-Friedrich Nietzsche

Eric

The Shadow

LXIX. THE SHADOW.
Scarcely however was the voluntary beggar gone in haste, and Zarathustra again alone, when he heard behind him a new voice which called out: "Stay! Zarathustra! Do wait! It is myself, forsooth, O Zarathustra, myself, thy shadow!" But Zarathustra did not wait; for a sudden irritation came over him on account of the crowd and the crowding in his mountains. "Whither hath my lonesomeness gone?" spake he.
"It is verily becoming too much for me; these mountains swarm; my kingdom is no longer of THIS world; I require new mountains.
My shadow calleth me? What matter about my shadow! Let it run after me! I—run away from it."
Thus spake Zarathustra to his heart and ran away. But the one behind followed after him, so that immediately there were three runners, one after the other—namely, foremost the voluntary beggar, then Zarathustra, and thirdly, and hindmost, his shadow. But not long had they run thus when Zarathustra became conscious of his folly, and shook off with one jerk all his irritation and detestation.
"What!" said he, "have not the most ludicrous things always happened to us old anchorites and saints?
Verily, my folly hath grown big in the mountains! Now do I hear six old fools' legs rattling behind one another!
But doth Zarathustra need to be frightened by his shadow? Also, methinketh that after all it hath longer legs than mine."
Thus spake Zarathustra, and, laughing with eyes and entrails, he stood still and turned round quickly—and behold, he almost thereby threw his shadow and follower to the ground, so closely had the latter followed at his heels, and so weak was he. For when Zarathustra scrutinised him with his glance he was frightened as by a sudden apparition, so slender, swarthy, hollow and worn-out did this follower appear.
"Who art thou?" asked Zarathustra vehemently, "what doest thou here? And why callest thou thyself my shadow? Thou art not pleasing unto me."
"Forgive me," answered the shadow, "that it is I; and if I please thee not—well, O Zarathustra! therein do I admire thee and thy good taste.
A wanderer am I, who have walked long at thy heels; always on the way, but without a goal, also without a home: so that verily, I lack little of being the eternally Wandering Jew, except that I am not eternal and not a Jew.
What? Must I ever be on the way? Whirled by every wind, unsettled, driven about? O earth, thou hast become too round for me!
On every surface have I already sat, like tired dust have I fallen asleep on mirrors and window-panes: everything taketh from me, nothing giveth; I become thin—I am almost equal to a shadow.
After thee, however, O Zarathustra, did I fly and hie longest; and though I hid myself from thee, I was nevertheless thy best shadow: wherever thou hast sat, there sat I also.
With thee have I wandered about in the remotest, coldest worlds, like a phantom that voluntarily haunteth winter roofs and snows.
With thee have I pushed into all the forbidden, all the worst and the furthest: and if there be anything of virtue in me, it is that I have had no fear of any prohibition.
With thee have I broken up whatever my heart revered; all boundary-stones and statues have I o'erthrown; the most dangerous wishes did I pursue,—verily, beyond every crime did I once go.
With thee did I unlearn the belief in words and worths and in great names. When the devil casteth his skin, doth not his name also fall away? It is also skin. The devil himself is perhaps—skin.
'Nothing is true, all is permitted': so said I to myself. Into the coldest water did I plunge with head and heart. Ah, how oft did I stand there naked on that account, like a red crab!
Ah, where have gone all my goodness and all my shame and all my belief in the good! Ah, where is the lying innocence which I once possessed, the innocence of the good and of their noble lies!
Too oft, verily, did I follow close to the heels of truth: then did it kick me on the face. Sometimes I meant to lie, and behold! then only did I hit—the truth.
Too much hath become clear unto me: now it doth not concern me any more. Nothing liveth any longer that I love,—how should I still love myself?
'To live as I incline, or not to live at all': so do I wish; so wisheth also the holiest. But alas! how have I still—inclination?
Have I—still a goal? A haven towards which MY sail is set?
A good wind? Ah, he only who knoweth WHITHER he saileth, knoweth what wind is good, and a fair wind for him.
What still remaineth to me? A heart weary and flippant; an unstable will; fluttering wings; a broken backbone.
This seeking for MY home: O Zarathustra, dost thou know that this seeking hath been MY home-sickening; it eateth me up.
'WHERE is—MY home?' For it do I ask and seek, and have sought, but have not found it. O eternal everywhere, O eternal nowhere, O eternal—in-vain!"

Thus spake the shadow, and Zarathustra's countenance lengthened at his words. "Thou art my shadow!" said he at last sadly.
"Thy danger is not small, thou free spirit and wanderer! Thou hast had a bad day: see that a still worse evening doth not overtake thee!
To such unsettled ones as thou, seemeth at last even a prisoner blessed. Didst thou ever see how captured criminals sleep? They sleep quietly, they enjoy their new security.
Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture thee, a hard, rigorous delusion! For now everything that is narrow and fixed seduceth and tempteth thee.
Thou hast lost thy goal. Alas, how wilt thou forego and forget that loss? Thereby—hast thou also lost thy way!
Thou poor rover and rambler, thou tired butterfly! wilt thou have a rest and a home this evening? Then go up to my cave!
Thither leadeth the way to my cave. And now will I run quickly away from thee again. Already lieth as it were a shadow upon me.
I will run alone, so that it may again become bright around me. Therefore must I still be a long time merrily upon my legs. In the evening, however, there will be—dancing with me!"—

Thus spake Zarathustra.

-Friedrich Nietzsche

Eric

War and Warriors

X. WAR AND WARRIORS.
By our best enemies we do not want to be spared, nor by those either whom we love from the very heart. So let me tell you the truth!
My brethren in war! I love you from the very heart. I am, and was ever, your counterpart. And I am also your best enemy. So let me tell you the truth!
I know the hatred and envy of your hearts. Ye are not great enough not to know of hatred and envy. Then be great enough not to be ashamed of them!
And if ye cannot be saints of knowledge, then, I pray you, be at least its warriors. They are the companions and forerunners of such saintship.
I see many soldiers; could I but see many warriors! "Uniform" one calleth what they wear; may it not be uniform what they therewith hide!
Ye shall be those whose eyes ever seek for an enemy—for YOUR enemy. And with some of you there is hatred at first sight.
Your enemy shall ye seek; your war shall ye wage, and for the sake of your thoughts! And if your thoughts succumb, your uprightness shall still shout triumph thereby!
Ye shall love peace as a means to new wars—and the short peace more than the long.
You I advise not to work, but to fight. You I advise not to peace, but to victory. Let your work be a fight, let your peace be a victory!
One can only be silent and sit peacefully when one hath arrow and bow; otherwise one prateth and quarrelleth. Let your peace be a victory!
Ye say it is the good cause which halloweth even war? I say unto you: it is the good war which halloweth every cause.
War and courage have done more great things than charity. Not your sympathy, but your bravery hath hitherto saved the victims.
"What is good?" ye ask. To be brave is good. Let the little girls say: "To be good is what is pretty, and at the same time touching."
They call you heartless: but your heart is true, and I love the bashfulness of your goodwill. Ye are ashamed of your flow, and others are ashamed of their ebb.
Ye are ugly? Well then, my brethren, take the sublime about you, the mantle of the ugly!
And when your soul becometh great, then doth it become haughty, and in your sublimity there is wickedness. I know you.
In wickedness the haughty man and the weakling meet. But they misunderstand one another. I know you.
Ye shall only have enemies to be hated, but not enemies to be despised. Ye must be proud of your enemies; then, the successes of your enemies are also your successes.
Resistance—that is the distinction of the slave. Let your distinction be obedience. Let your commanding itself be obeying!
To the good warrior soundeth "thou shalt" pleasanter than "I will." And all that is dear unto you, ye shall first have it commanded unto you.
Let your love to life be love to your highest hope; and let your highest hope be the highest thought of life!
Your highest thought, however, ye shall have it commanded unto you by me—and it is this: man is something that is to be surpassed.
So live your life of obedience and of war! What matter about long life! What warrior wisheth to be spared!
I spare you not, I love you from my very heart, my brethren in war!—

Thus spake Zarathustra.

-Friedrich Nietzsche

Eric

The Friend, Old and Young Women, Child and Marriage

XIV. THE FRIEND.
"One, is always too many about me"—thinketh the anchorite. "Always once one—that maketh two in the long run!"
I and me are always too earnestly in conversation: how could it be endured, if there were not a friend?
The friend of the anchorite is always the third one: the third one is the cork which preventeth the conversation of the two sinking into the depth.
Ah! there are too many depths for all anchorites. Therefore, do they long so much for a friend, and for his elevation.
Our faith in others betrayeth wherein we would fain have faith in ourselves. Our longing for a friend is our betrayer.
And often with our love we want merely to overleap envy. And often we attack and make ourselves enemies, to conceal that we are vulnerable.
"Be at least mine enemy!"—thus speaketh the true reverence, which doth not venture to solicit friendship.
If one would have a friend, then must one also be willing to wage war for him: and in order to wage war, one must be CAPABLE of being an enemy.
One ought still to honour the enemy in one's friend. Canst thou go nigh unto thy friend, and not go over to him?
In one's friend one shall have one's best enemy. Thou shalt be closest unto him with thy heart when thou withstandest him.
Thou wouldst wear no raiment before thy friend? It is in honour of thy friend that thou showest thyself to him as thou art? But he wisheth thee to the devil on that account!
He who maketh no secret of himself shocketh: so much reason have ye to fear nakedness! Aye, if ye were Gods, ye could then be ashamed of clothing!
Thou canst not adorn thyself fine enough for thy friend; for thou shalt be unto him an arrow and a longing for the Superman.
Sawest thou ever thy friend asleep—to know how he looketh? What is usually the countenance of thy friend? It is thine own countenance, in a coarse and imperfect mirror.
Sawest thou ever thy friend asleep? Wert thou not dismayed at thy friend looking so? O my friend, man is something that hath to be surpassed.
In divining and keeping silence shall the friend be a master: not everything must thou wish to see. Thy dream shall disclose unto thee what thy friend doeth when awake.
Let thy pity be a divining: to know first if thy friend wanteth pity. Perhaps he loveth in thee the unmoved eye, and the look of eternity.
Let thy pity for thy friend be hid under a hard shell; thou shalt bite out a tooth upon it. Thus will it have delicacy and sweetness.
Art thou pure air and solitude and bread and medicine to thy friend? Many a one cannot loosen his own fetters, but is nevertheless his friend's emancipator.
Art thou a slave? Then thou canst not be a friend. Art thou a tyrant? Then thou canst not have friends.
Far too long hath there been a slave and a tyrant concealed in woman. On that account woman is not yet capable of friendship: she knoweth only love.
In woman's love there is injustice and blindness to all she doth not love. And even in woman's conscious love, there is still always surprise and lightning and night, along with the light.
As yet woman is not capable of friendship: women are still cats, and birds. Or at the best, cows.
As yet woman is not capable of friendship. But tell me, ye men, who of you are capable of friendship?
Oh! your poverty, ye men, and your sordidness of soul! As much as ye give to your friend, will I give even to my foe, and will not have become poorer thereby.
There is comradeship: may there be friendship!

Thus spake Zarathustra.

XVIII. OLD AND YOUNG WOMEN.
"Why stealest thou along so furtively in the twilight, Zarathustra? And what hidest thou so carefully under thy mantle?
Is it a treasure that hath been given thee? Or a child that hath been born thee? Or goest thou thyself on a thief's errand, thou friend of the evil?"—
Verily, my brother, said Zarathustra, it is a treasure that hath been given me: it is a little truth which I carry.
But it is naughty, like a young child; and if I hold not its mouth, it screameth too loudly.
As I went on my way alone to-day, at the hour when the sun declineth, there met me an old woman, and she spake thus unto my soul:
"Much hath Zarathustra spoken also to us women, but never spake he unto us concerning woman."
And I answered her: "Concerning woman, one should only talk unto men."
"Talk also unto me of woman," said she; "I am old enough to forget it presently."
And I obliged the old woman and spake thus unto her:
Everything in woman is a riddle, and everything in woman hath one solution—it is called pregnancy.
Man is for woman a means: the purpose is always the child. But what is woman for man?
Two different things wanteth the true man: danger and diversion. Therefore wanteth he woman, as the most dangerous plaything.
Man shall be trained for war, and woman for the recreation of the warrior: all else is folly.
Too sweet fruits—these the warrior liketh not. Therefore liketh he woman;—bitter is even the sweetest woman.
Better than man doth woman understand children, but man is more childish than woman.
In the true man there is a child hidden: it wanteth to play. Up then, ye women, and discover the child in man!
A plaything let woman be, pure and fine like the precious stone, illumined with the virtues of a world not yet come.
Let the beam of a star shine in your love! Let your hope say: "May I bear the Superman!"
In your love let there be valour! With your love shall ye assail him who inspireth you with fear!
In your love be your honour! Little doth woman understand otherwise about honour. But let this be your honour: always to love more than ye are loved, and never be the second.
Let man fear woman when she loveth: then maketh she every sacrifice, and everything else she regardeth as worthless.
Let man fear woman when she hateth: for man in his innermost soul is merely evil; woman, however, is mean.
Whom hateth woman most?—Thus spake the iron to the loadstone: "I hate thee most, because thou attractest, but art too weak to draw unto thee."
The happiness of man is, "I will." The happiness of woman is, "He will."
"Lo! now hath the world become perfect!"—thus thinketh every woman when she obeyeth with all her love.
Obey, must the woman, and find a depth for her surface. Surface, is woman's soul, a mobile, stormy film on shallow water.
Man's soul, however, is deep, its current gusheth in subterranean caverns: woman surmiseth its force, but comprehendeth it not.—
Then answered me the old woman: "Many fine things hath Zarathustra said, especially for those who are young enough for them.
Strange! Zarathustra knoweth little about woman, and yet he is right about them! Doth this happen, because with women nothing is impossible?
And now accept a little truth by way of thanks! I am old enough for it!
Swaddle it up and hold its mouth: otherwise it will scream too loudly, the little truth."
"Give me, woman, thy little truth!" said I. And thus spake the old woman:
"Thou goest to women? Do not forget thy whip!"—

Thus spake Zarathustra.

XX. CHILD AND MARRIAGE.
I have a question for thee alone, my brother: like a sounding-lead, cast I this question into thy soul, that I may know its depth.
Thou art young, and desirest child and marriage. But I ask thee: Art thou a man ENTITLED to desire a child?
Art thou the victorious one, the self-conqueror, the ruler of thy passions, the master of thy virtues? Thus do I ask thee.
Or doth the animal speak in thy wish, and necessity? Or isolation? Or discord in thee?
I would have thy victory and freedom long for a child. Living monuments shalt thou build to thy victory and emancipation.
Beyond thyself shalt thou build. But first of all must thou be built thyself, rectangular in body and soul.
Not only onward shalt thou propagate thyself, but upward! For that purpose may the garden of marriage help thee!
A higher body shalt thou create, a first movement, a spontaneously rolling wheel—a creating one shalt thou create.
Marriage: so call I the will of the twain to create the one that is more than those who created it. The reverence for one another, as those exercising such a will, call I marriage.
Let this be the significance and the truth of thy marriage. But that which the many-too-many call marriage, those superfluous ones—ah, what shall I call it?
Ah, the poverty of soul in the twain! Ah, the filth of soul in the twain! Ah, the pitiable self-complacency in the twain!
Marriage they call it all; and they say their marriages are made in heaven.
Well, I do not like it, that heaven of the superfluous! No, I do not like them, those animals tangled in the heavenly toils!
Far from me also be the God who limpeth thither to bless what he hath not matched!
Laugh not at such marriages! What child hath not had reason to weep over its parents?
Worthy did this man seem, and ripe for the meaning of the earth: but when I saw his wife, the earth seemed to me a home for madcaps.
Yea, I would that the earth shook with convulsions when a saint and a goose mate with one another.
This one went forth in quest of truth as a hero, and at last got for himself a small decked-up lie: his marriage he calleth it.
That one was reserved in intercourse and chose choicely. But one time he spoilt his company for all time: his marriage he calleth it.
Another sought a handmaid with the virtues of an angel. But all at once he became the handmaid of a woman, and now would he need also to become an angel.
Careful, have I found all buyers, and all of them have astute eyes. But even the astutest of them buyeth his wife in a sack.
Many short follies—that is called love by you. And your marriage putteth an end to many short follies, with one long stupidity.
Your love to woman, and woman's love to man—ah, would that it were sympathy for suffering and veiled deities! But generally two animals alight on one another.
But even your best love is only an enraptured simile and a painful ardour. It is a torch to light you to loftier paths.
Beyond yourselves shall ye love some day! Then LEARN first of all to love. And on that account ye had to drink the bitter cup of your love.
Bitterness is in the cup even of the best love: thus doth it cause longing for the Superman; thus doth it cause thirst in thee, the creating one!
Thirst in the creating one, arrow and longing for the Superman: tell me, my brother, is this thy will to marriage?
Holy call I such a will, and such a marriage.—

Thus spake Zarathustra.

-Friedrich Nietzsche

Eric

The Flies in the Market-place

XII. THE FLIES IN THE MARKET-PLACE.
Flee, my friend, into thy solitude! I see thee deafened with the noise of the great men, and stung all over with the stings of the little ones.
Admirably do forest and rock know how to be silent with thee. Resemble again the tree which thou lovest, the broad-branched one—silently and attentively it o'erhangeth the sea.
Where solitude endeth, there beginneth the market-place; and where the market-place beginneth, there beginneth also the noise of the great actors, and the buzzing of the poison-flies.
In the world even the best things are worthless without those who represent them: those representers, the people call great men.
Little do the people understand what is great—that is to say, the creating agency. But they have a taste for all representers and actors of great things.
Around the devisers of new values revolveth the world:—invisibly it revolveth. But around the actors revolve the people and the glory: such is the course of things.
Spirit, hath the actor, but little conscience of the spirit. He believeth always in that wherewith he maketh believe most strongly—in HIMSELF!
Tomorrow he hath a new belief, and the day after, one still newer. Sharp perceptions hath he, like the people, and changeable humours.
To upset—that meaneth with him to prove. To drive mad—that meaneth with him to convince. And blood is counted by him as the best of all arguments.
A truth which only glideth into fine ears, he calleth falsehood and trumpery. Verily, he believeth only in Gods that make a great noise in the world!
Full of clattering buffoons is the market-place,—and the people glory in their great men! These are for them the masters of the hour.
But the hour presseth them; so they press thee. And also from thee they want Yea or Nay. Alas! thou wouldst set thy chair betwixt For and Against?
On account of those absolute and impatient ones, be not jealous, thou lover of truth! Never yet did truth cling to the arm of an absolute one.
On account of those abrupt ones, return into thy security: only in the market-place is one assailed by Yea? or Nay?
Slow is the experience of all deep fountains: long have they to wait until they know WHAT hath fallen into their depths.
Away from the market-place and from fame taketh place all that is great: away from the market-Place and from fame have ever dwelt the devisers of new values.
Flee, my friend, into thy solitude: I see thee stung all over by the poisonous flies. Flee thither, where a rough, strong breeze bloweth!
Flee into thy solitude! Thou hast lived too closely to the small and the pitiable. Flee from their invisible vengeance! Towards thee they have nothing but vengeance.
Raise no longer an arm against them! Innumerable are they, and it is not thy lot to be a fly-flap.
Innumerable are the small and pitiable ones; and of many a proud structure, rain-drops and weeds have been the ruin.
Thou art not stone; but already hast thou become hollow by the numerous drops. Thou wilt yet break and burst by the numerous drops.
Exhausted I see thee, by poisonous flies; bleeding I see thee, and torn at a hundred spots; and thy pride will not even upbraid.
Blood they would have from thee in all innocence; blood their bloodless souls crave for—and they sting, therefore, in all innocence.
But thou, profound one, thou sufferest too profoundly even from small wounds; and ere thou hadst recovered, the same poison-worm crawled over thy hand.
Too proud art thou to kill these sweet-tooths. But take care lest it be thy fate to suffer all their poisonous injustice!
They buzz around thee also with their praise: obtrusiveness, is their praise. They want to be close to thy skin and thy blood.
They flatter thee, as one flattereth a God or devil; they whimper before thee, as before a God or devil. What doth it come to! Flatterers are they, and whimperers, and nothing more.
Often, also, do they show themselves to thee as amiable ones. But that hath ever been the prudence of the cowardly. Yea! the cowardly are wise!
They think much about thee with their circumscribed souls—thou art always suspected by them! Whatever is much thought about is at last thought suspicious.
They punish thee for all thy virtues. They pardon thee in their inmost hearts only—for thine errors.
Because thou art gentle and of upright character, thou sayest: "Blameless are they for their small existence." But their circumscribed souls think: "Blamable is all great existence."
Even when thou art gentle towards them, they still feel themselves despised by thee; and they repay thy beneficence with secret maleficence.
Thy silent pride is always counter to their taste; they rejoice if once thou be humble enough to be frivolous.
What we recognise in a man, we also irritate in him. Therefore be on your guard against the small ones!
In thy presence they feel themselves small, and their baseness gleameth and gloweth against thee in invisible vengeance.
Sawest thou not how often they became dumb when thou approachedst them, and how their energy left them like the smoke of an extinguishing fire?
Yea, my friend, the bad conscience art thou of thy neighbours; for they are unworthy of thee. Therefore they hate thee, and would fain suck thy blood.
Thy neighbours will always be poisonous flies; what is great in thee—that itself must make them more poisonous, and always more fly-like.
Flee, my friend, into thy solitude—and thither, where a rough strong breeze bloweth. It is not thy lot to be a fly-flap.—

Thus spake Zarathustra.

-Friedrich Nietzsche

Eric

Old and New Tables

LVI. OLD AND NEW TABLES.(Excerpts)4.
Behold, here is a new table; but where are my brethren who will carry it with me to the valley and into hearts of flesh?—
Thus demandeth my great love to the remotest ones: BE NOT CONSIDERATE OF THY NEIGHBOUR! Man is something that must be surpassed.
There are many divers ways and modes of surpassing: see THOU thereto! But only a buffoon thinketh: "man can also be OVERLEAPT."
Surpass thyself even in thy neighbour: and a right which thou canst seize upon, shalt thou not allow to be given thee!
What thou doest can no one do to thee again. Lo, there is no requital.
He who cannot command himself shall obey. And many a one CAN command himself, but still sorely lacketh self-obedience!
5.
Thus wisheth the type of noble souls: they desire to have nothing GRATUITOUSLY, least of all, life.
He who is of the populace wisheth to live gratuitously; we others, however, to whom life hath given itself—we are ever considering WHAT we can best give IN RETURN!
And verily, it is a noble dictum which saith: "What life promiseth US, that promise will WE keep—to life!"
One should not wish to enjoy where one doth not contribute to the enjoyment. And one should not WISH to enjoy!
For enjoyment and innocence are the most bashful things. Neither like to be sought for. One should HAVE them,—but one should rather SEEK for guilt and pain!—
. . .
7.
To be true—that CAN few be! And he who can, will not! Least of all, however, can the good be true.
Oh, those good ones! GOOD MEN NEVER SPEAK THE TRUTH. For the spirit, thus to be good, is a malady.
They yield, those good ones, they submit themselves; their heart repeateth, their soul obeyeth: HE, however, who obeyeth, DOTH NOT LISTEN TO HIMSELF!
All that is called evil by the good, must come together in order that one truth may be born. O my brethren, are ye also evil enough for THIS truth?
The daring venture, the prolonged distrust, the cruel Nay, the tedium, the cutting-into-the-quick—how seldom do THESE come together! Out of such seed, however—is truth produced!
BESIDE the bad conscience hath hitherto grown all KNOWLEDGE! Break up, break up, ye discerning ones, the old tables!
. . .
12.
O my brethren, I consecrate you and point you to a new nobility: ye shall become procreators and cultivators and sowers of the future;—
—Verily, not to a nobility which ye could purchase like traders with traders' gold; for little worth is all that hath its price.
Let it not be your honour henceforth whence ye come, but whither ye go! Your Will and your feet which seek to surpass you—let these be your new honour!
Verily, not that ye have served a prince—of what account are princes now!—nor that ye have become a bulwark to that which standeth, that it may stand more firmly.
Not that your family have become courtly at courts, and that ye have learned—gay-coloured, like the flamingo—to stand long hours in shallow pools:
(For ABILITY-to-stand is a merit in courtiers; and all courtiers believe that unto blessedness after death pertaineth—PERMISSION-to-sit!)
Nor even that a Spirit called Holy, led your forefathers into promised lands, which I do not praise: for where the worst of all trees grew—the cross,—in that land there is nothing to praise!—
—And verily, wherever this "Holy Spirit" led its knights, always in such campaigns did—goats and geese, and wryheads and guyheads run FOREMOST!—
O my brethren, not backward shall your nobility gaze, but OUTWARD! Exiles shall ye be from all fatherlands and forefather-lands!
Your CHILDREN'S LAND shall ye love: let this love be your new nobility,—the undiscovered in the remotest seas! For it do I bid your sails search and search!
Unto your children shall ye MAKE AMENDS for being the children of your fathers: all the past shall ye THUS redeem! This new table do I place over you!
. . .
16.
"He who learneth much unlearneth all violent cravings"—that do people now whisper to one another in all the dark lanes.
"Wisdom wearieth, nothing is worth while; thou shalt not crave!"—this new table found I hanging even in the public markets.
Break up for me, O my brethren, break up also that NEW table! The weary-o'-the-world put it up, and the preachers of death and the jailer: for lo, it is also a sermon for slavery:—
Because they learned badly and not the best, and everything too early and everything too fast; because they ATE badly: from thence hath resulted their ruined stomach;—
—For a ruined stomach, is their spirit: IT persuadeth to death! For verily, my brethren, the spirit IS a stomach!
Life is a well of delight, but to him in whom the ruined stomach speaketh, the father of affliction, all fountains are poisoned.
To discern: that is DELIGHT to the lion-willed! But he who hath become weary, is himself merely "willed"; with him play all the waves.
And such is always the nature of weak men: they lose themselves on their way. And at last asketh their weariness: "Why did we ever go on the way? All is indifferent!"
TO THEM soundeth it pleasant to have preached in their ears: "Nothing is worth while! Ye shall not will!" That, however, is a sermon for slavery.
O my brethren, a fresh blustering wind cometh Zarathustra unto all way-weary ones; many noses will he yet make sneeze!
Even through walls bloweth my free breath, and in into prisons and imprisoned spirits!
Willing emancipateth: for willing is creating: so do I teach. And ONLY for creating shall ye learn!
And also the learning shall ye LEARN only from me, the learning well!—He who hath ears let him hear!
. . .
18.
O my brethren, there are tables which weariness framed, and tables which slothfulness framed, corrupt slothfulness: although they speak similarly, they want to be heard differently.—
See this languishing one! Only a span-breadth is he from his goal; but from weariness hath he lain down obstinately in the dust, this brave one!
From weariness yawneth he at the path, at the earth, at the goal, and at himself: not a step further will he go,—this brave one!
Now gloweth the sun upon him, and the dogs lick at his sweat: but he lieth there in his obstinacy and preferreth to languish:—
—A span-breadth from his goal, to languish! Verily, ye will have to drag him into his heaven by the hair of his head—this hero!
Better still that ye let him lie where he hath lain down, that sleep may come unto him, the comforter, with cooling patter-rain.
Let him lie, until of his own accord he awakeneth,—until of his own accord he repudiateth all weariness, and what weariness hath taught through him!
Only, my brethren, see that ye scare the dogs away from him, the idle skulkers, and all the swarming vermin:—
—All the swarming vermin of the "cultured," that—feast on the sweat of every hero!—
. . .
21.
I love the brave: but it is not enough to be a swordsman,—one must also know WHEREON to use swordsmanship!
And often is it greater bravery to keep quiet and pass by, that THEREBY one may reserve oneself for a worthier foe!
Ye shall only have foes to be hated; but not foes to be despised: ye must be proud of your foes. Thus have I already taught.
For the worthier foe, O my brethren, shall ye reserve yourselves: therefore must ye pass by many a one,—
—Especially many of the rabble, who din your ears with noise about people and peoples.
Keep your eye clear of their For and Against! There is there much right, much wrong: he who looketh on becometh wroth.
Therein viewing, therein hewing—they are the same thing: therefore depart into the forests and lay your sword to sleep!
Go YOUR ways! and let the people and peoples go theirs!—gloomy ways, verily, on which not a single hope glinteth any more!
Let there the trader rule, where all that still glittereth is—traders' gold. It is the time of kings no longer: that which now calleth itself the people is unworthy of kings.
See how these peoples themselves now do just like the traders: they pick up the smallest advantage out of all kinds of rubbish!
They lay lures for one another, they lure things out of one another,—that they call "good neighbourliness." O blessed remote period when a people said to itself: "I will be—MASTER over peoples!"
For, my brethren, the best shall rule, the best also WILLETH to rule! And where the teaching is different, there—the best is LACKING.
. . .
26.
O my brethren! With whom lieth the greatest danger to the whole human future? Is it not with the good and just?—
—As those who say and feel in their hearts: "We already know what is good and just, we possess it also; woe to those who still seek thereafter!
And whatever harm the wicked may do, the harm of the good is the harmfulest harm!
And whatever harm the world-maligners may do, the harm of the good is the harmfulest harm!
O my brethren, into the hearts of the good and just looked some one once on a time, who said: "They are the Pharisees." But people did not understand him.
The good and just themselves were not free to understand him; their spirit was imprisoned in their good conscience. The stupidity of the good is unfathomably wise.
It is the truth, however, that the good MUST be Pharisees—they have no choice!
The good MUST crucify him who deviseth his own virtue! That IS the truth!
The second one, however, who discovered their country—the country, heart and soil of the good and just,—it was he who asked: "Whom do they hate most?"
The CREATOR, hate they most, him who breaketh the tables and old values, the breaker,—him they call the law-breaker.
For the good—they CANNOT create; they are always the beginning of the end:—
—They crucify him who writeth new values on new tables, they sacrifice UNTO THEMSELVES the future—they crucify the whole human future!
The good—they have always been the beginning of the end.—
27.
O my brethren, have ye also understood this word? And what I once said of the "last man"?—
With whom lieth the greatest danger to the whole human future? Is it not with the good and just?
BREAK UP, BREAK UP, I PRAY YOU, THE GOOD AND JUST!—O my brethren, have ye understood also this word?
28.
Ye flee from me? Ye are frightened? Ye tremble at this word?
O my brethren, when I enjoined you to break up the good, and the tables of the good, then only did I embark man on his high seas.
And now only cometh unto him the great terror, the great outlook, the great sickness, the great nausea, the great sea-sickness.
False shores and false securities did the good teach you; in the lies of the good were ye born and bred. Everything hath been radically contorted and distorted by the good.
But he who discovered the country of "man," discovered also the country of "man's future." Now shall ye be sailors for me, brave, patient!
Keep yourselves up betimes, my brethren, learn to keep yourselves up! The sea stormeth: many seek to raise themselves again by you.
The sea stormeth: all is in the sea. Well! Cheer up! Ye old seaman-hearts!
What of fatherland! THITHER striveth our helm where our CHILDREN'S LAND is! Thitherwards, stormier than the sea, stormeth our great longing!—
29.
"Why so hard!"—said to the diamond one day the charcoal; "are we then not near relatives?"—
Why so soft? O my brethren; thus do I ask you: are ye then not—my brethren?
Why so soft, so submissive and yielding? Why is there so much negation and abnegation in your hearts? Why is there so little fate in your looks?
And if ye will not be fates and inexorable ones, how can ye one day— conquer with me?
And if your hardness will not glance and cut and chip to pieces, how can ye one day—create with me?
For the creators are hard. And blessedness must it seem to you to press your hand upon millenniums as upon wax,—
—Blessedness to write upon the will of millenniums as upon brass,—harder than brass, nobler than brass. Entirely hard is only the noblest.
This new table, O my brethren, put I up over you: BECOME HARD!—
30.
O thou, my Will! Thou change of every need, MY needfulness! Preserve me from all small victories!
Thou fatedness of my soul, which I call fate! Thou In-me! Over-me! Preserve and spare me for one great fate!
And thy last greatness, my Will, spare it for thy last—that thou mayest be inexorable IN thy victory! Ah, who hath not succumbed to his victory!
Ah, whose eye hath not bedimmed in this intoxicated twilight! Ah, whose foot hath not faltered and forgotten in victory—how to stand!—
—That I may one day be ready and ripe in the great noontide: ready and ripe like the glowing ore, the lightning-bearing cloud, and the swelling milk-udder:—
—Ready for myself and for my most hidden Will: a bow eager for its arrow, an arrow eager for its star:—
—A star, ready and ripe in its noontide, glowing, pierced, blessed, by annihilating sun-arrows:—
—A sun itself, and an inexorable sun-will, ready for annihilation in victory!
O Will, thou change of every need, MY needfulness! Spare me for one great victory!—-
Thus spake Zarathustra.

-Friedrich Nietzsche

Eric

Thoughts of the day

R.I.P., Shirley Temple Black. She was the greatest Hollywood child star. I'm a fan of her work. Throughout a life of accomplishment, she revealed clear sight, intelligence, will, discipline, and a level head.

R.I.P., Harold Ramis, aka Dr. Egon Spengler.

Checked off: I finally got around to reading Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried. It's a fast read. The book was on my reading list because it's a semi-autobiographical, fictional Vietnam War memoir by an Army veteran and, before that aspect related to me, Cyd cited the book as her favorite and used O'Brien's list as the structuring device for the 1st part of her valedictory speech. I wonder why The Things They Carried was Cyd's favorite book at Stuy. On its face, a war story is an unexpected reading choice, let alone favorite book, for a high-school girl unless her dad, another relative, or a close family friend is a Vietnam War veteran. Was it O'Brien's demonstration that language, words, and stories shape and guide how we process the world around us? Was it the feminist awakening parable of Mary Anne Bell? Was it the theme of mining rare truth, the kind of truth that Oscar found in Afghanistan? Tim O'Brien's view that "story-truth is truer sometimes than happening-truth" is a writer's conceit, but it's also an insight. I guess I'll never know. I appreciate O'Brien's mix of perspectives about his soldiering experience; for example:

How do you generalize? War is hell, but that's not the half of it, because war is also mystery and terror and adventure and courage and discovery and holiness and pity and despair and longing and love. War is nasty; war is fun. War is thrilling; war is drudgery. War makes you a man; war makes you dead. The truths are contradictory.

Judging from what I know, O'Brien's reflection on soldiering is genuine; like the rest of us, his soldier identity has been seared into him.

In line with O'Brien's lesson "learned that words make a difference" from coping with death in the Vietnam War, add Allan Bloom's The Closing of the American Mind to the reading list. (h/t)

The Army is going to be shrunk to 1940 levels. I'm reflexively upset at the news, made worse by the obfuscating sleights of hand by SecDef Hagel and media presenting it. I want to see more sober analysis on the implications.

Army PFC hides in her POV rather than get out and salute the 1700 flag lowering. This is the typical stupid stuff young privates do while they're still learning how to be, and what it means, to be a soldier. It just stands out because she broadcast her knuckleheadness on social media and it was picked up by the media. If I was her CO, I would task my 1SG to give her some extended, personal sergeant time and sit down with her NCOIC/PSG to discuss why their leadership encouraged their soldier to lose her military bearing.

Harvard columnist Sandra Korn, who came to my attention with her radical-boilerplate opposition to ROTC, stakes out another radical position with her opposition to academic freedom that allows for politically incorrect ideas. It strikes me as a shrewd career maneuver in light of the trend of provocative radical-left positions acting as effective springboards and shortcuts to political celebrity, eg, Wendy Davis and Sandra Fluke's advocacy of late-term abortion and subsidized birth control as maximal rights. As troubling as her position is for a Harvard student (though not surprising; as a campus activist, I competed with classmates like Korn at Columbia), more troubling is her position is a short and logical stretch from the view of many mainstream Harvard students: a Harvard student petition in the Jason Richwine controversy stated, “Even if such claims had merit, the Kennedy School cannot ethically stand by this dissertation whose end result can only be furthering discrimination under the guise of academic discourse.”

More reactions to Korn's column here and here.

Perceptive observation: "The [Ukraine] protests are about serious geopolitics, so the feminists probably don’t care. You gotta frame things as a sort of oppressor vs victim deal so the leftists can get their feelings on, otherwise they don’t know what’s going on." Feminists subscribe to the Marxist axis of oppressor/oppressed, despite Marx's historic error of shoehorning the multi-variate sweep of social evolution into a rigid, reductive historical theory. Marx's philosophical successors (Nietzsche, Freud, Weber, Durkheim) subscribed to Marx's basic premise of alienation, but discredited Marx's historical theory. In effect, Marx created an enduring, potent conflict model while falling short of his goal of accurately diagnosing the course of human events. Modern Marxists, unmoored even from Marx's original flawed grounding in economic classes, seek out conflicts to change the world while restricted in their understanding of the world. As a result, they're effective but often harm the greater society beyond their clients.

Insight into the operation on the ground of the Ukraine protests. Keys: guerilla tactics, logistics, coalition.

The 8 Stages All Movements Go Through, by red-pill blogger runsonmagic (Eric Crowley), summarizes a section of the late Bill Moyer's (not PBS host Bill Moyers) book, Doing Democracy. Crowley analogized the 8 stages of movements to the blue pill to red pill personal change process here.

Neo on being a liberal, with a diagnostic comment thread.

The Left uses this Hitlerian popular-political strategy: "His primary rules were: never allow the public to cool off; never admit a fault or wrong; never concede that there may be some good in your enemy; never leave room for alternatives; never accept blame; concentrate on one enemy at a time and blame him for everything that goes wrong; people will believe a big lie sooner than a little one; and if you repeat it frequently enough people will sooner or later believe it." (source) The whole report is educational.

On the political tactics of 'false but true' noble lies that advance an agenda with passion plays and disqualification that stigmatizes the holders of opposing viewpoints in place of engaging their ideas. It's related to the shut-down tactics by campus radicals I faced as a college activist.

At Patriactionary, the host opened the door whereupon I again attempted to correct the narrative of the Iraq enforcement. Update: Per usual, once I laid out my argument, the other party responded by disengaging rather than respond to my points. I like the simple declarative deductive structure of my comments.

This is depressing and discouraging on a number of fronts, including the role of lawyers in the fraud: Asylum Fraud in Chinatown: An Industry of Lies. (h/t)

The meticulously thoughtful, critical, red-pill Emma the Emo on honor.

Claire Lehmann talks about mean girls in women's nature.

TempestTcup: "women don’t get “nice” because to us “nice” is weakness." Ouch. That explains some things. Update: Stingray says, "Check ourt the etymology of nice. Don’t be nice, be civil. There is actually a huge difference. Also, know when it’s time to stop being civil. We respect that." A Northern Observer says, "“Nice” has no boundaries and is part of the liberal mindset that all you need to do is “be nicer” to cure the ills of the will, including bringing bad actors around. “Civil” has boundaries, enforces them, and doesn’t suffer from the delusion of “niceing” a bad actor away from the dark side." Stingray further explained the difference between civil and nice.

A related realization to the difference between civil and nice is that a nice guy is not the same as a good man, although a good man often has nice-guy traits and the two types are often interchanged. A good man is proud, self-controlled, strong willed, self-aware, clear sighted, and capable. He is good because he is ethical, not because he is nice. A good man is bedrock and oak. He creates order.

Sarah's Daughter (her blog): "Men can be very naive to the true motivations of women. Simply because they can not conceive of it themselves. Get to know men. You’ll find that most of them are very harsh in their judgement of their own selves. They are very introspective, very sincere, and for the most part idealistic about women – most men (sans manosphere/red pill truths) believe women think the way they do. Women do a good job pretending they do as well. The truth of the matter is often hidden deep within her psyche. Thus the devastation men experience when they learn that women think very differently than they do." Chris: "[Men] should not think women are like them and vice versa. We can still understand, we can still communicate, we can still love, we are still both moral agents, but our carnal desires are wired differently." These are seminal red-pill insights. At the tipping point, a man is disillusioned, has 1st hand evidence, and suspects the truth. He stumbles on a Manosphere post that assembles the things he knows in a way that clarifies the ugly truths. Changing how he views man-woman relational dynamics changes how he sees the world. I accept now that the Platonic ideal of love is a masculine invention. For women, love has a more rational, visceral, or sensual nature. I believe most men who believe they’re sharing Platonic love with a woman actually are only receiving satisfactory feedback. She may be in love with him, but her woman's love is not the idealistic love he feels for her. I’m enough of an idealist still to believe there are exceptional cases of men and women sharing a transcendent state of idealistic love, but they’re so rare, it’s not worth planning for it. A lottery ticket only costs a dollar; with similar odds, a man risks far more to gamble for romantic ideal love.

Regarding the value of PUAs: "I believe the universal appeal of PUAs is their praxeology of women and relational dynamics, the ‘science’ of Game more than its application and promised rewards. Men want to solve the vexing mystery. Even MGTOWs have an innate need to understand women because they’re still sexual, though they mostly use the knowledge to rationalize their choice to override their natural mate desire."

Tinder is a trending cellphone dating app that uses Facebook to facilitate hook-ups. Apparently, the psychological device that distinguishes Tinder is it requires a conclusive decision to 'match' by swiping right or reject by swiping left based on a first impression only. The Tinderfessions twitter is a dispiriting red-pill window to the rampant id of the modern sexual market. It corroborates the semi-satirical secret society. The display of women's feral sexual nature is depressing. As much as I wish it wasn't, it's true.

Recent cropping up of fatherly red-pill son-raising advice here, here, here, here, here, and here. True: "If you cannot teach your son positive masculinity, the Feminine Imperative and a fem-centric world will tech [sic] him its version of masculinity."

Tenets of Nietzschean philosophy said plainly. Brief version: Evolving to your best and strongest self provides a service to humanity by inspiring and motivating others to improve themselves. When we each improve our self, the whole level of humanity is thereby raised in aggregate. So don't play down your improvements. Shine forth with them. Be proud. Be confident. Assert them. However, be warned that when you become extraordinary, people who stay ordinary will pull you down to their level and justify their coercion as virtuous. That's Nietzsche 101.

Excerpt from Thus Spake Zarathustra (LXXII. THE SUPPER.):

"Be of good cheer," replied Zarathustra, "as I am. Abide by thy customs, thou excellent one: grind thy corn, drink thy water, praise thy cooking,—if only it make thee glad!
I am a law only for mine own; I am not a law for all. He, however, who belongeth unto me must be strong of bone and light of foot,—
—Joyous in fight and feast, no sulker, no John o' Dreams, ready for the hardest task as for the feast, healthy and hale.
The best belongeth unto mine and me; and if it be not given us, then do we take it:—the best food, the purest sky, the strongest thoughts, the fairest women!"—
Thus spake Zarathustra; the king on the right however answered and said: "Strange! Did one ever hear such sensible things out of the mouth of a wise man?
And verily, it is the strangest thing in a wise man, if over and above, he be still sensible, and not an ass."

Thus Spake Zarathustra (1883-85) summed up Friedrich Nietzsche's beliefs developed to that point of his life and was followed by his other best-known works: Beyond Good and Evil (1886), On the Genealogy of Morals (1887), and Ecce Homo (1888). Nietzsche was born on 15 October 1844 and died on 25 August 1900.

A generalization on stigma. A MGTOW strives to boost his individual consciousness by interrogating internalized social values, creating separation from his ingrained social identity and collective consciousness, selectively limiting interaction with the community, and cultivating wariness of the norms and stigmas of the cultural zeitgeist.

Arthur Chu is revolutionizing the gameplay on the television game show, Jeopardy, with innovative data-based 'Moneyball' tactics. Apparently, his personality is unlikeable and there's a racist undertone of alien menace because he's Asian American. However, my takeaway from the story is the further displacement of my MO, intuition, by statistical analysis.

In contrast to Arthur Chu using statistical analysis to 'exploit an inefficiency', Jeremy Lin suffers from the Rockets game-plan emphasizing statistical analysis. Lin's intuitive game has been restricted by the Morey-ball straitjacket. For an illustration of what Lin can be in the NBA, and was during Linsanity, read this Grantland praise, by the excellent Zach Lowe, of Goran Dragic's season and this explanation of Dragic's improvement by Grantland's Kirk Goldsberry. Dragic's success is due to the freedom he's allowed to play his game. Dragic and Lin are left-handed and right-handed versions of each other. They're even the same size, and before his rookie season, Lin cited Dragic's game as his NBA comparison.

In Fellowship of the Rings, 'mist' and 'misty' seem to be JRR Tolkien's poetic trope for the pre-scientific animist magic of Middle Earth. Earth-personification Tom Bombadil's wife, Goldberry the River-woman's daughter, seems to be Tolkien's natural feminine ideal.

Why do we over-eat? Neurobiologist Stephan Guyenet explains here. According to Guyenet, the start point is understanding the role of leptin:

Body fat produces a hormone called leptin, which signals to the brain and other organs to decrease appetite, increase the metabolic rate and increase physical activity. More fat means more leptin, which then causes the extra fat to be burned. The little glitch is that some people become resistant to leptin, so that their brain doesn't hear the fat tissue screaming that it's already full. Leptin resistance nearly always accompanies obesity, because it's a precondition of significant fat gain. If a person weren't leptin resistant, he wouldn't have the ability to gain more than a few pounds of fat without heroic overeating (which is very very unpleasant when your brain is telling you to stop). Animal models of leptin resistance develop something that resembles human metabolic syndrome (abdominal obesity, blood lipid abnormalities, insulin resistance, high blood pressure).

Based on shows about subsistence and hunter-gatherer lifestyles, I've decided eating meat and animal fat is healthy. The shows consistently characterize meat and animal fat as prized staples with the highest nutrition value in the local diet. Store-bought meat, or "government meat" as Erik Salitan calls it, likely contains additives such as hormones and antibiotics that are unhealthy, but I conclude meat and animal fat are intrinsically healthful. Update: More on the healthiness of eating meat and animal fats from a weight-lifting blog.

The value of pernil pork shoulder comes from more than the meat. Based on a 99¢/lb sale, the amount of meat yielded by a pernil is a good deal, but not a great deal. At a rough estimate, around 15% of a pernil's weight is skin and bones. However, the skin and bones add different values from the meat. The skin is baked into crackling and the bones are boiled for bone broth. (More about bone broth here.)

I boiled the bones from my latest pernil twice in the Mirro, for 2 batches of bone broth, say about 90 ounces per batch, and then discarded the bones. The 1st batch, seasoned with salt and ginger, was the most oily and savory. I haven't tried the 2nd batch yet. Then I had 2nd thoughts, removed the pernil bones from the trash, rinsed them off, and boiled them a 3rd time in the Salton pot, just to find out how much more I could get from them. According to info on-line, bone broth extracted from beef or pork bones is boiled for many hours, even a day or more. I seasoned the 3rd batch of bone broth, say about 28 ounces, with salt, ginger, and garlic. It wasn't as savory as the 1st batch, but it was good enough that I'm going to boil the pernil bones a 4th time. Update: The 4th batch, again boiled in the Salton pot and seasoned with salt, garlic, ginger, was as savory as the 3rd batch, so I'll be boiling a 5th batch. Update: In the Salton pot, I boiled the 5th batch with starchy pasta water and vinegar I had used to clean a peanut butter jar. The vinegar is supposed to help extract calcium. The bone broth was thick due to the pasta water. I'll be boiling a 6th batch. Update: The 6th batch, boiled in the Salton pot, worked; on to the 7th batch. Update: The 7th batch, boiled in the Salton pot, had noticeably less flavor, but was still adequate. One more batch, this time in the Mirro, and I'm throwing out the bones regardless of the result. The pernil bones are noticeably lighter, bleached whiter, and crumbly. Update: The 8th batch in the Mirro still has body, but I think it's the bone dissolving at this point rather than marrow oil. Most of the flavor is from vinegar, salt, garlic, and ginger. I also boiled fresh chicken bones with the last 3 batches of pernil bone broth. I then threw out all the bones.

Hot oily pernil bone broth with salt, garlic, and ginger is quite delicious.

For adding saltiness, salt works best. I've been using seasoned salt where I should have been using salt, but seasoned salt is more expensive than salt (1.99/16-oz vs .50/28-oz) and is better suited for point-targeted seasoned-salt flavor than for area-targeted saltiness.

Bachelor stew: In the Mirro, 15 oz can of Sunny Sea mackerel ($1.25), 18.5 oz can of Progresso traditional meatball & rice (Albondigas) soup ($1.25), water, and 1 cup white rice as base; then later added 15.5 oz can of Western Beef red kidney beans (50¢), 2 diced Eastern white potatoes, 1 diced carrot, chopped yellow onions and garlic, chopped and shaved ginger, angel hair pasta, elbow pasta, salt, seasoned salt, black pepper, mustard, and hot sauce. The ginger made a notable difference. Unexpectedly, the onion flavor made a difference, I believe because I added it later. The mustard and hot sauce didn't make a difference. The big difference is I waited until the rice was almost separated to add the beans, potatoes, carrot, onions, garlic, ginger, and pasta in order to retain firmer textures and distinct flavors. The sequential method of adding ingredients worked. Next time, I'll take the practice further by first cooking the rice in water only and then adding everything else, including the base components. After I ate about half the stew, I topped off the Mirro with water and added salt and angel hair pasta. For dessert, I ate an under-baked salt-and-vinegar bannock with orange marmalade and sour cream spread, 2 BC milk chocolate brownies, the 1st with sour cream and the 2nd with orange marmalade. I stuffed myself by gulping down all the stew in less than a day.

I should do a cost comparison of dry beans versus canned beans. Update: Answer. Several on-line blogs and forums have asked and answered the dry beans versus canned beans question. The general rule is 1 part dry beans turns into 3 parts cooked beans, or a 1-lb bag of dry beans yields 3 lbs or 48 ounces of cooked beans. Meanwhile, a 15-ounce can of beans contains 12 ounces of cooked beans and 3 ounces of liquid, so a 1-lb bag of dry beans equals 4 15-oz cans of cooked beans, although some home testers have posted there is less than 12 ounces of cooked beans in cans they've drained and weighed. In my 1st foray into purchasing beans, I bought 4 cans of beans on sale for 50¢ each or $2 total. The non-sale price of dry beans in my local grocery stores is 1.50-1.75 for a 1-lb bag. There you go - the choice is easy.

Good meal: White rice, broiled (15/10) fatty pernil chop made with ginger flakes, chopped garlic, seasoned salt, and soy sauce, orange marmalade for dipping sauce, broiled (10) carrots and onions, raw onions, raw tomato, and pernil bone broth with salt and ginger flakes. The fatty part wasn't as crisp as I like it, but I also didn't want to broil the pernil chop longer because the meat was the way I like it and I didn't want to dry it out. A possible solution is to broil a pernil chop fatty side down for the 1st half (15), then on the flip, fatty side up for the 2nd half (10). That way it will cook through in the 1st half and the direct exposure to the heat in the 2nd half will crisp the fat.

For this week's break-fast meal, I ate 2 plates of french fries, 6 turkey patty bannock sandwiches, 2 bannockless turkey patties, 1 mug of pernil bone broth, a handful of deep-oil fried okra, a deep-oil fried slice of fatback, an orange, and spoonfuls of peanut butter and orange marmalade, pudding style. My innovation was to use the Salton pot as a deep-oil fryer with 1+ cup of corn oil. It worked, except I ingested a lot of oil. Too much. It's good to have added the method but I won't use it often. Taking in that much oil feels bad.

There is a variety of opinions about every aspect of making french fries. There is much debate, especially, about the utility of soaking the potatoes. For the 1st batch of french fries in my break-fast meal, I soaked the potatoes in cold water for an hour, poured out the starchy water, then patted them somewhat dry with a paper towel. I then used the 2-temp method of cooking the French fries, which is fry at a lower temp, remove the french fries from the oil, then fry them at a higher temp. There's no temperature gauge on the burner, so I used medium heat, then medium-high heat. I overcooked the french fries so they were all crunch, but they were still tasty; oily, though. I ate them with ketchup and sour cream. For the 2nd batch, I fried the potatoes without soaking and turned up the temp without removing the potatoes. The shells seemed thinner on the 2nd batch, but it's tough to compare since I overcooked the 1st batch of french fries. I cooked a slice of fatback in the Salton pot to add pork flavor to the corn oil, but didn't make another batch of french fries.

The turkey patties were made from approximately 10 ounces of Shadybrook Farms ground breast of turkey (expired 06AUG13, but tastes fine), 1 egg, garlic, ginger, onions, flour, sesame oil, sour cream, salt, and seasoned salt. I deep-oil fried the turkey patties in the Salton pot. They were crispy on the outside and moist on the inside; oily, though. The toppings I used for the bannock sandwiches were various combinations of Hood sour cream, Polaner orange marmalade, Best Yet garden combination spaghetti sauce, Skippy roasted honey nut creamy peanut butter, raw onions, Roma tomato slices, and hot sauce. The ginger in the turkey patties combined well with the orange marmalade. I baked the 2 bannockless turkey patties. The deep-oil fried patties had better texture and tasted better, but the lack of oily after-feeling from the baked patties was better.

The Salton pot turned brown on the inside and outside, which only seems to happen to cookware from cooking with oil and not from water. I accidently dribbled water into the boiling oil from water on the Salton pot lid. The physical reaction was like bombs going off. I think the explosions happen because water sinks below the oil, and when the rapidly heated water changes state from liquid to steam (gas), the steam escapes the oil like buried or submerged mines blowing up. Before I dribbled water into the boiling oil, the oil bubbled in the uncovered Salton pot without a problem - not even a little spitting.

I used up the last oil in the Salton pot by making 2 deep-oiled fried bannocks. The 1st deep-oil fried bannock was made with salt and flour only. The 2nd deep-oil fried bannock was made with salt, baking soda, vinegar, onions, and garlic. The 1st one was better. It stayed flat and crisped up, crunchy and dense. The 2nd one sucked in all the remaining oil in the Salton pot and puffed up like a sponge or 油条 (yóu tiáo).

I've learned that rice cooks at a relatively low temperature. Rice cooks at high temperatures, too, but I need to use the low setting on the burner in order to avoid a hard brown layer of overcooked rice at the bottom of the Salton pot. That a hard brown layer of overcooked rice didn't routinely occur in the Salton automatic rice cooker tells me that automatic rice cookers use a relatively low temperature. This also explains why my experiment with deep-oil frying potatoes in the Salton didn't work: the temperature was too low. Water boils at 212°F. Oil for making french fries is heated to 300-400°F depending on the recipe.

I've sped my way through the Polaner orange marmalade, a third of a jar of Smuckers grape jam, 3.5 jars of peanut butter (Associated crunchy, Western Beef creamy, Skippy honey nut roasted creamy, and now Peter Pan crunchy), and 2.5 containers of Hood sour cream due to eating them straight from their containers like pudding. I should restore them to their proper roles of spreads and toppings.

Bachelor meat sauce: In the Mirro, 1 chicken thigh, 1 28-oz can of Red Pack crushed tomatoes (with basil, garlic, and oregano in thick puree), 1 15.25-oz can of Farm Fresh golden sweet whole kernel corn, 1 10-oz box of Birds Eye frozen chopped broccoli, white rice, 1 diced potato, 1 chopped carrot, ginger flakes, chopped onions, chopped garlic, starchy pasta water, elbow pasta, angel hair pasta, seasoned salt, salt, and pepper. I cooked the rice with the chicken thigh on low heat until the rice puffed up before adding the rest of the ingredients. I stuffed myself by eating up the whole batch in a day.

Good meal: 1 broiled (15/10/5) fatty pernil chop with seasoned salt, ginger flakes on one side, and garlic and onions on the other side, and Smuckers grape jam as dipping sauce; steamed carrots, onions, garlic, and okra; white rice; 1 juice orange, sliced. I re-broiled the last chunk of fat for 5 minutes. The broiled pernil chop was delicious, although the grape jam wasn't as tasty a dipping sauce as the orange marmalade. The orange was sweet, and I've taken to eating the seeds, which negates the only drawback of juice oranges, which is a lot of seeds. I cooked the rice in the Mirro using low heat. I became impatient and bumped up the burner switch to low-medium heat for a few minutes at the end, likely unnecessarily. I steamed the vegetables in the Mirro using the Nesco rack while cooking the rice. It was the 1st time I made rice outside of the Salton pot, although the rice component of my bachelor meat sauces and stews showed the method should work. I ate the meal while watching a playlist of a young Ray Mears's 1st BBC show, Tracks.

My break-fast meal dessert was a banana topped with sour cream, peanut butter, and grape jam. It wasn't bad, like a room-temperature, poor man's version of a banana split. I don't think the sour cream made a difference. The break-fast meal was okay: fried vegetarian Vietnamese spring roll with mint; small pizza bannock with ginger, garlic, and onion; egg, fatback, onion, garlic, and onion fried rice; salt-and-vinegar bannock with onion, garlic, ginger and brushed with fatback grease; and pernil bone broth with ginger. The egg fried rice, which usually rises to comfort food, was disappointing, I think because I added too much water to the leftover rice.

Bachelor cooking shortcut: I cooked rice on low-medium heat in the Mirro. At the same time, I placed 2 chicken thighs and a whole carrot with the uncooked rice and water at the start. When the rice was done, the carrot was softer than I like. The chicken thighs were cooked fine, except as expected, the skins weren't crisped. The rice was cooked in the chicken oil, which wasn't a big difference but still a small bonus. The rice didn't burn nor stick. I'll try the shortcut method with the pernil chop for form's sake, although I don't have high expectations due to prior, underwhelming experience steaming a pernil chop. Update: The shortcut method worked as expected with the pernil chop. The pernil chop was cooked adequately, but was the texture of airline food meat, kind of dry and no char.

I made a bachelor stew (can of mackerel, rice, etc) with a chicken leg for stock rather than a can of soup. It didn't produce enough grease, significantly less than a chicken thigh. So, a chicken leg is for baking, not for greasing up a bachelor stew or meat sauce. Update: Hm. I made my next bachelor stew with a chicken thigh that also seemed short on grease, though better than the chicken leg. Chicken thighs work for bachelor meat sauce. A cooking temperature issue, perhaps? A can of soup for bachelor stew is reliable, but I'd rather figure out how to use a piece of meat.

I added hot sauce, 2 ripe bananas, and ginger flakes to a batch of Pillsbury chocolate fudge brownies. I don't taste the hot sauce. I can taste the banana and ginger flakes; they're good additions. The bananas made the batter more runny and the cooked brownies more pancake-like. I considered adding flour to thicken the batter, but opted not to for the risk of diluting the flavor. I bought a 48-oz carton of Turkey Hill rum raisin ice cream on sale for $2.50 to indulge in brownie a la mode, but I gobbled up the ice cream before I mixed the brownie batter. Oh well. It would have been good. I wonder how brownies would taste with orange juice mixed into the batter? Update: I added 3 tablespoons (1.5 ounces) of Minute Maid low pulp orange juice in place of water to a batch of Betty Crocker milk chocolate brownie batter in which I also added sour cream, ginger flakes, and 1 banana. I can't taste any orange juice flavor in the brownies.

Lesson learned: Don't make crackling in the Salton pot, at least not without an intermediate layer (eg, the pernil skin in the 1-qt mixing bowl). The fat burned into a bitter-tasting, stubborn-clinging, black char stuck to the pot and the crackling. If the char had tasted good, I wouldn't have minded, but it was bitter. I had to clean it off the crackling with a paring knife. My original plan was to leave the oil rendered from the crackling in the Salton pot to make french fries. Instead, I poured the oil into a sour-cream container while trying to leave behind as much as the char as I could to dispose, which meant also losing a good amount of the rendered oil. Oh well; now I know. I was impressed again at how much the pernil skin shrinks when cooking crackling, at least a 1/4, maybe a 1/5 of the size. It may have shrunk more in the Salton pot than usual. A lot of white vaporous smoke was produced while cooking the crackling in the Salton pot. I don't recall whether that happened when I cooked crackling with the Nesco and Mirro.

Lesson learned: Disposable aluminum pans and pan covers mysteriously grow pin holes. While making onion rings, I experimented using a disposable aluminum pan directly on the burner. The onion rings cooked fine, except the oil leaked out through pin holes in the pan onto the burner. I needed to use a rag to control the light, low aluminum pan in order to maneuver the onion rings and a rubber elastic part touched the burner and melted. It was an easy clean up, fortunately, but breathing the fumes can't be good for me.

Based loosely on this recipe, I made onion rings with batter made from flour, oil, water, 1 egg, baking soda, and salt, which are brownie ingredients. The texture of the shells were too cake-like. Next time, I'll leave out the oil and egg and maybe the baking soda and go with bannock-like batter. The onions were soft and the raw-onion tang wasn't there, which tells me the onion rings need to be cooked faster: dip into hot oil until just brown, flip, just brown, and remove. Update: I used a flour, salt, and water to make a purposely watery batter. I baked the onion rings with corn oil. The batter crisped up fine but it slid off the onions. They tasted right, but they were cooked onions on a crispy bed rather than onion rings. Maybe thicker batter will stick better.

Lesson learned: Long-time storage of ginger in a plastic bag tied shut in the refrigerator results in moldy ginger. I cut off the moldy parts, removed the skin, rinsed, air dried, and am storing the remaining ginger chunks in the freezer except for the chunk I'm using. Update: The chunk I'm using also must be stored in the freezer, except I store it in a separate bag. Once frozen, the ginger can't be unfrozen. When thawed the chunk turns into a wet sponge.

Lesson learned: To retain sausage flavor, cook sausages whole, then slice them. Slicing first, then cooking, causes the sausage to lose flavor. I wonder if cooking a sausage whole first, refrigerating and slicing (or slicing and refrigerating), then heating will retain the sausage's flavor.

I bought 2 pernil pork shoulders on a 88¢/lb sale. To fit them in my freeze, I cut open the vacuum-sealed plastic bag, removed 1 pernil, stored it in a thin supermarket produce bag and 2 shopping bags. I now have 3 of them in my freezer, stacked side-by-side upright, not yet butchered, taking up most of the bottom shelf. I thought I might have to move something down, but rearranging the freezer did the trick. I'm set for meat for a while.

My faith in the integrity of my blog and my trust in Blogger was shaken by the discovery that my 26FEB2013 post reverted to an earlier version. There was no notice nor any warning of the change. There's no saved draft of the correct version in my account. Fortunately, the correct version of the post was cached on google. I don't know whether other posts have been replaced without my knowledge. It's scary because I don't remember all the additions and changes I routinely make to posts. Because the older versions of my posts are familiar with my ideas and writing style, a reversion may not even catch my attention as having changed. I need to back up everything I've posted onto my hard drive. Update: I tentatively believe the 26FEB2013 post reverted because, while experimenting a few days ago, I did a Revert to draft of all my 'Thoughts of the day' labeled posts from the posts list and then immediately republished them. I didn't know I risked altering the posts. However, several help requests in the Blogger troubleshooting forum say that Revert to draft caused a blog post to revert to an earlier version of the blog post - not only change the published status. Now I have to compare all of my 'Thoughts of the day' labeled posts to cached versions to find out whether other posts changed. Update: My 30AUG2012 Thoughts of the day also reverted to an earlier version, which is probative but not dispositive evidence the Revert to draft was the culprit. All the other 'Thoughts of the day' labeled posts matched their cached versions on google. I need to recall what other posts I've reverted to draft. The next time I use Revert to draft, I first have to save a back-up copy of the post on my computer. From now on, especially when I pull up an older post for which I don't recall my last change, I'll have a nagging worry that I'm reading an older version missing later additions and edits.

To remove the sticky, rubbery adhesive used to attach labels to plastic or glass jars, such as for peanut butter or pasta sauce, rub off the adhesive using cooking oil, then remove the oil with dishwashing soap. Vinegar, rubbing alcohol, and dishwashing soap do a poor job of removing the glue.

I cleaned splashed on grease stains on a cotton dress shirt by scrubbing them with a toothbrush, dishwashing liquid, and water. Backstory: I was boiling bone broth with pernil bones after butchering a 9-lb pernil pork shoulder I had just purchased. I was using a fork and spoon as improvised tongs to lift the bones out of the broth. I shook the bones before removing them to a plate. I dropped one and it splashed oily broth onto my shirt. Cleaning the shirt: I hand washed the shirt normally with other laundry items (1 ball cap, 1 pair athletic socks, 1 pair polyester shorts, 1 pair cotton boxers, 1 washcloth, and 2 pillow cases) after pouring laundry detergent directly onto the stains. When the shirt air dried, the grease stains were still visible. I then used a toothbrush to scrub the grease stains with laundry detergent and water. When the shirt dried, the grease stains were still visible. Then I scrubbed with the dishwashing liquid and water. When the shirt dried, the grease stains were gone or at least sufficiently faded.

I eat on the desk holding my computer and, over the years, splattered droplets of grease built up on my monitor screen. I applied this suggestion to use a cloth, water, and vinegar to clean the monitor screen. The grease stains cleaned off satisfactorily, but the cloth and cleaning solution left streaks, likely because I used tap water rather than distilled water. Perhaps filtered water would work, too; next time. Update: After wiping down the monitor screen with a cloth wet with vinegar and water after splattering some chicken bits on the screen, I saw a pixel burned out on the left side, middle portion of the screen. I'm perplexed because I don't recall doing anything unusual on that part of the screen while I did wipe more and harder on other parts of the screen.

I take my thumbs for granted. After I cut the tip of my left thumb and wrapped an adhesive bandage around it, I tried to avoid touching it. It was harder than I expected. I ended up gripping with the bandaged part of my thumb, which meant making the bandage wet, dirty, and useless.

Getting older physical changes: First noticed last winter, body cold and unable, as I was able when younger, to warm up with body heat alone under the covers. I've resorted to long underwear, sleeping bag, comforter, and heater on. However, I think I can skip all that by warming up with some brisk exercise. Tinnitus that comes and goes that sounds like the buzzing of a hearing test or a high-pitched machine hum.

Eric