Remind Me to Never Move to New York

Health "experts" tell us that obesity is a national epidemic. There are a myriad of factors associated with obesity, and we would be wise not to generalize the causes, as individual situations may be unique. But as a portly fellow myself these days, I can vouch that in my case, and perhaps many cases, it is simply a matter of choice: I have settled into a lifestyle that leaves little time for exercise, allows for too much time sitting in a chair in front of the computer, and keeps me more or less entrenched in my sedentary ways. I can further acknowledge that this is not a wise set of choices in terms of health and balance, but they are the choices that I make. Inertia is a pain.

However, in that bastion of social policy experimentation, New York City, the mayor has gone on a quest to make New Yorkers the healthiest people in the nation. How? By regulating what food they get to buy, serve, and eat in virtually every corner of their lives. A few years ago, Mayor Bloomberg banned trans fats. Now, he's seeking to restrict the sizes of the sugared drinks people choose to buy:

New York City plans to enact a far-reaching ban on the sale of large sodas and other sugary drinks at restaurants, movie theaters and street carts, in the most ambitious effort yet by the Bloomberg administration to combat rising obesity.

The proposed ban would affect virtually the entire menu of popular sugary drinks found in delis, fast-food franchises and even sports arenas, from energy drinks to pre-sweetened iced teas. The sale of any cup or bottle of sweetened drink larger than 16 fluid ounces — about the size of a medium coffee, and smaller than a common soda bottle — would be prohibited under the first-in-the-nation plan, which could take effect as soon as next March.

Read the whole article at the New York Times. Inside is a handy graphic that illustrates what is allowed and disallowed. No more large size sodas at Yankee Stadium. Of course, if you are thirsty, you can always buy two sodas - and I'll wager it will cost you more at the concession stand than it did before this regulation. Granted, it is still a "proposed" regulation, but that's just semantics. It will be reality soon enough.

You know what is excluded from this ban? Diet drinks. Drinks that have completely artificial sweeteners and other byproducts that have absolutely no value in promoting bodily health. So what, you walk up to the concession stand and get a super large drink - but only if it is diet? How on earth do you enforce that, unless you have inspectors at every spot to watch with eagle eyes what's been put into the cup?

The point is that even with this regulation, people will still be able to buy the amount and type of sugared drinks they want. Only the packaging size will be affected. Which of course raises the obvious point: the regulation will be nothing but a nuisance, but it will come at a cost as all regulations do. And that cost will be passed onto the consumer. Ten years from now, if New Yorkers on average become less obese, you can be sure that it will have nothing to do with the over-regulating impulse of an eccentric mayor, but rather because of the choices each individual makes. I'm sure though, that the mayor would take the credit.

Memorial Day 2012

Scenes from Valhalla Memory Gardens, where Boy Scout Troop 228 assisted in the special ceremony honoring our heroes and their families for their service to our Nation. From my family to yours, a heartfelt Thank You to all who serve: past, present and future.

Some suggested Memorial Day reading:

As Memorial Day Nears, A Single Image that Continues to Haunt
America: Her Finest Hour is Yet to Come

Capture the Dragon!

Dragon-Flight! No, I'm not talking about the beloved Anne McCaffrey novel from my childhood. I'm talking about the first private sector space capsule called Dragon, built by Space Exploration Technologies, or SpaceX. A few days ago, Dragon was launched from Cape Canaveral on a Falcon 9 rocket, with a planned mission to dock with the International Space Station.

I'm working from home this morning, which gives me the benefit of having the television on in the background. Of the large number of otherwise useless channels I get on the satellite dish, one of them happens to be NASA TV. Ten minutes of this channel was enough to send my brand new 9-year old back to his room to play. It may be dull, but there is something mesmerizing in watching the capsule approach ISS with the earth turning steadily below. When I first tuned in, the capsule was at 70 meters and holding, and while I made my first cup of coffee, it moved to 30 meters. According to the mission guide, the Dragon is to close at 10 meters at which point ISS engineers will operate the station's grappling arm to pull Dragon in for docking.

NASA and SpaceX both have gone out of their way to characterize this exercise as a test flight only, but there are various supplies aboard the capsule for the station crew.

As I have said before, I believe the future of manned space flight is going to require a partnership or consortium of government and commercial interests. From what I have read, there are more private venture startups lining up behind SpaceX, which I think is a good thing (not the least reason as providing employment opportunities for NASA employees and contractors as NASA ultimately downsizes due to budget pressures, and the minimization of the loss of institutional knowledge).

There was a fascinating discussion between the station and Houston as Dragon approached the 10 meter point, as the pair was passing into twilight. But not surprisingly, the space station crew has no fear of the dark, so the go to capture in the dark was given. Slowly and steadily, the grappling arm reached out toward the capture (at which point my young son came back in the room, of course). Closer, closer …

And … Capture is confirmed! Historic stuff, and way cool!

Next up, docking. And now back to work for me.

A Walkman Will Survive

Back in October 2010, I blogged about Sony's decision to discontinue the once-popular Walkman (portable cassette player for you young-uns). In that post, I wrote:

I still have my Walkman, packed away in a box somewhere. How well do I remember that beloved player, which more than once came to my aid as I pedaled my way 5 miles into a fierce 40mph Dakota headwind between the bowling alley on base and the sleepy town I called home, about which I've written previously. It was the Rocky IV soundtrack, as I recall, plus a number of other tapes I still have shoved in a closet. That Walkman also help pass the time on some long family trips. I used it up until my first year or two in college.

Ah well. The Walkman was my generation's iPod, I suppose. Am I now officially "old"?

Yesterday, while continuing the arduous task of sorting through items rescued from my former home, I found that Walkman. I put new batteries in this morning, and put in some Boston (also recovered from the wreckage). And what do you know, it still works! Acquired in 1983, my Walkman may very well be the only device we have left that will play cassette tapes (my wife's may also have survived).

It may be a relic, but it works, and that's just fine with me.

I Am Prodigal

What follows is a chapter of a personal nature, associated with a project I began many years ago called "A Portrait of Me." I have not blogged all chapters (nor do I intend to), but links for those that I have may be found at the end of this post. In these, I lay myself bare and open to scrutiny. It is, after all, my story. What follows is not a happy read, but it is critical to what came later.

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from Pole to Pole
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud,
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how straight the gate,
How charged with punishment the scroll.
I am the Master of My Fate;
I am the Captain of my Soul.

-- "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley, 19th century

Relief floods my senses as I punch the clock and head down the stairs, past the popcorn machine and out the door. The restless spirit that has plagued me these many months is percolating once again in the chambers of my teenage heart. It pounds and it pounds, feeding the angst that threatens to unhinge my mind, held together only by the sheer will of my stubborn pride. On this warm summer night, I crank down the windows, put the car in gear and go from zero to 60 in a quarter of a tank. These nights, I drive by instinct. It is the same almost every night: up and down the main roads for half an hour, through the McDonalds (never stopping), before cutting a well worn path first to the north, then west by the school, down back through town (still don't see anyone I know), to the south out by the paper mill, before finally working my way back home. Windows down, Eagles blaring (sometimes Boston, sometimes Def Leppard), headlights leading the way as I cruise. Most nights, the driving sedates the restlessness, but not so this night.

Out in the dark and away from lights, I finally pull off the road. I hop onto the trunk of the car and look up at the starry night, gazing at friends in the sky who now are virtual strangers to me. Yet even here, there is no respite from the pounding, the torment of a lonely soul who gave up his friends for others, all for the promise that was supposed to come with faith, with surrender, only to leave this feeble newborn alone in further isolation, his salvation merely a trophy on somebody else's wall, as if that alone was the prize to be won. The utter hypocrisy, the damaging words, the rationalized behavior of these deluded disciples was too much to bear. Is this what You expect of me, to walk through life as if nothing matters beyond a pathetic expression of belief? Am I supposed to believe that all this has no greater purpose than putting on airs of self-righteous snobbery? No. I refuse this. I refuse to be subject to such falsity. Let this be my declaration: You may be Lord, but You are not mine. I shall be the Master of my fate and the Captain of my soul. I alone have the power and the will to be good, and should I fail, the responsibility is my own. I cannot be perfect, but I can aim for perfection, and I shall live with the consequences of my success and my failure. For I shall not be conquered, and this restlessness shall cease. I will do it, because I will it. And I will it. With my fist and my tears, I will it.

I drive home, my path and my purpose now clear. There is no escaping what I have done, even as I revel in the darkness of my declaration of rebellion. What folly! To entertain the fantasy that the finite can control the infinite. But my pride keeps me steadfast: I cannot be conquered. Nor can I be victorious. I am Prodigal.

Yet lurking in the quiet recesses of the night, the claim upon my life is not yet revoked. There will come a reckoning, to lay my folly bare, to set the course of a future now clouded from view. There will be but one option: Surrender. But on this night, and for the next two years, I will remain invictus.

"My Father, who has given them to Me, is greater than all; and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father's hand." (John 10:29, NASB)

"You did not choose Me, but I chose you …" (John 15:16a, NASB)

A Portrait of Me: The Key
A Portrait of Me: River Walk
A Portrait of Me: Journey's Dawn
A Portrait of Me: I Am Prodigal
A Portrait of Me: This is My Story (coming soon)

Supermoon

What do you do when it has been 10 days since your last post, and the mental faculties aren't functioning well enough to write extemporaneously? Why, post a picture of the moon, silly. I missed the supermoon on Saturday, in part because of some cloud cover. But the photo below by Tavi Greiner, courtesy of Universe Today, captures the moment. Follow this link to see other shots of the oversized satellite.

(h/t): Universe Today
Image Credit: Tavi Greiner