365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 90

SUNDAY, MARCH 31st, 2013

Spring is now official.  Not only does the last day of March find us eating colored eggs and chocolate bunnies, but also brings in the opening day of Major League Baseball and evenings spent on a boat.

The latter is particularly true if you live in Florida.  If you live in the northern states, spring is represented by evenings contemplating whether or not it's safe to venture out onto a frozen lake for a late season ice fishing adventure.

Nothing against floating around on a slab of ice, but I will not complain at all about a boat being required for waters sports.

This particular late March boat trip revealed a couple of new Jazz Hands variations.  The first variation is the "look no hands!" Jazz Hands while being pulled around on a tube behind a speeding boat.  The other variation is "this is too easy, you can do better than that!" Jazz Hands while being pulled around on a tube behind a speeding boat.

"Look no hands!" Jazz Hands looks like any other Jazz Hands, other than the fact that the deployer deploys while being pulled around on a tube behind a speeding boat, and is a genuine display of extreme enjoyment.  "This is too easy, you can do better than that!" Jazz Hands finds the deployer with hands facing inward while being pulled around on a tube behind a speeding boat, as if to say "BRING IT!"  This version exudes confidence, albeit a tad overtly so and taunts the boat driver.  Personally, I would advise against the "this is too easy, you can do better than that!" Jazz Hands variation, it does not bode well for the taunter.

Today's Jazz Hands look forward to a long, warm season of endless summer days.

Day ninety complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 89

SATURDAY, MARCH 30th, 2013

Deflecting rays of illumination...

In approximately 390 b.c. Plato wrote the Allegory of the Cave.  Or the Analogy of the Cave.  Or Plato's Cave.  Or the Parable of the Cave.  Whatever you want to call it, the idea is that there is this cave with men chained to a rock wall since they can remember.  The chained men face forward and look into complete darkness in the direction of another rock wall.  The only thing these men ever experience are shadows cast onto the opposing wall, created by candlelight.  This is their reality.

As the story goes one man is eventually freed and follows a distant light near the entrance of the cave and climbs his way to freedom.  Upon reaching daylight and freedom, he shits himself and runs back to the safe confines of his rock wall, chain and shadow puppets.  He then gets himself cleaned up and promptly deploys Jazz Hands to express complete, utter joy.  Of course we're speaking of shadow puppet jazz hands, also known as obscured reality jazz hands, also known as jazz hands in the name of false pretense.

I believe what Plato was trying to teach is that reality is what we make of it, that sometimes our perception of reality is confined and that education for education's sake is a worthy cause.  Also known as enlightenment.  Additionally, the underlying message is that what we seek is freedom, without actually wanting freedom.  What we really desire is safety at the expense of enlightenment.  This could definitely fall into the category of cowering (see Rule #8).

What makes us feel free is safety.  What really sets us free is something located at the outer reaches of our comfort zone.  In other words, that which we believe sets us free actually binds us.  To be shackled to a desire for freedom is like having a mental illness...one we all happen to share on some level.  Don't let shadow puppets convince you otherwise.

Today's Jazz Hands were done by candlelight.

Day eighty-nine complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 88

FRIDAY, MARCH 29th, 2013

RULE #8:  Never cower.

If the game ball is spiked toward a player and that player ducks out of the way, resulting in the ball hitting the ground, the ball is deemed "gettable" and the fault falls squarely onto the cowerer.  The guilty player is to lose one life for this act of cowardice and shall be looked down upon in shame by the other players of the game.

Cowering is hand jazzing's polar opposite and where effort reigns supreme, there is no justification for deploying a senseless act of fear.

There are two forms of the cower.  The first category is borne from the fear of pain.  A particularly powerful spike of the beach ball may inflict a stinging sensation that can last for several moments of time.  The amount of time a beach ball travels from spike to the moment of impact is a fraction of a second and the cower is generally a knee jerk reaction.  One does not know if they are brave or a coward until the instant the brain recognizes that a spike is likely heading their direction.  This is considered the moment of truth.  When one comes to the conclusion that they play the game in fear, the psychological pain is much more damaging than the few moments of discomfort that physical impact causes.

The second category is borne from the fear of losing a life, where any limb or even the entire body intentionally withdraws in the opposite direction of the beach ball's trajectory, spiked or not, as to prohibit contact.  This method of cowering is a calculated and deliberate character flaw and will likely draw the ire of the competitors, resulting in an abundance of spikes aimed at the face.  Not only is one life removed from the guilty cowerer's total allotment, but the lack of good judgment will cast an unshakable, dark shadow.

Today's Jazz Hands did not deflect or compromise rays of illumination.  

Day eighty-eight complete.  

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 87

THURSDAY, MARCH 28th, 2013

Tick-tock, time has ran out on our family vacation.  

With all packed luggage in tow, the family and I say goodbye to our hotel room and head to the elevator.  The elevator begins to travel away from the fifth floor toward the lobby level but stops at the second floor.  The door opens revealing a small child, confused and lost.  A hotel employee, holding the young girl's hand, hopes that we are her parents.  Of course we are not which results in the employee whisking the kid away to look elsewhere.

The elevator travels to the lobby level and the door opens to reveal an extremely upset mother, who frantically asks if we've seen her little girl.  We instruct her to head up to the second floor promptly where a hotel employee has the child, and is looking for the missing girl's family...tick-tock, how quickly a clock can turn into a time bomb, the type of variety I'd personally like to avoid at all cost.  

There are times when you realize that people are not mere numbers.  We can assign as many numerals as we'd like to them with social securities, phones, addresses, tax IDs, hotel rooms, and poolside lounge chair flags, but when a mom can't find her child, it becomes extremely personal, where numbers and statistics do not matter.  

The mother found her child, of course...one family had themselves the type of unique personalized experience so many of us went on vacation looking for.  My guess is that the mother of the once missing, now found child likely enjoyed more than her fair of poolside Gin and Tonics and was happy to be a number, blending into the masses, with her daughter attached to her hip.

All of the routines and the lack of variation in our world creates mental illnesses in all of us...some more extreme than others.  At some point in the near future, someone will ask a mother why she's so insane about knowing the whereabouts of her daughter...she's merely doing her part to avoid  repetition.

My wife and kids were rarely out of my sight today as we headed back to somewhere near Tampa.  The wife and I were rewarded by two relatively wore out offspring that napped on the journey home, leaving us in relative peace and quiet.  The trip certainly presented its fair share of nonsense, reminding us that we have obnoxious kids that are extremely challenging and make us a little more mentally ill than we care to admit.  To be perfectly honest, they provide the type of variety in life we should be grateful for...It's just that sometimes we crave some routine lacking deviation...that's why they put little numbers on lounge chairs and serve overpriced poolside gin and tonics.

Today's Jazz Hands took the long way home to extend our time together.

Day eighty-seven complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 86

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 27th, 2013

One of the locations Jazz Hands was deployed today was on the top of a cement wall.  This wall belongs to Fort Clinch, a Civil War era military installation, protecting our nation's interior via the exterior as several rivers can be accessed from this strategic coastal location.  Situated at the northern tip of Amelia Island in the town of Fernandino Beach, Florida where Georgia's coastline is visible and a mere cannonball shot away.  I can't think of a better place to deploy Jazz Hands.

The second location Jazz Hands were deployed was back at the resort, poolside, in an attempt to summon the waitstaff for a round of beverages.  Poolside Gin and Tonic, summoned via hand jazzing is extremely thirst quenching.  I highly recommend it.

The poolside patron system begins with a little numbered flag attached to a lounge chair so that the poolside waitstaff can properly recognize those in need of overpriced poolside beverages, and properly distribute said overpriced poolside beverages to hundreds and hundreds of poolside patrons looking for that unique, personalized poolside experience.  And this personalized experience allows the patron to conveniently charge all overpriced beverages to the room account by giving the waitstaff the room number.

Numbers on the flags...room numbers...I probably don't have to point out the irony here.  

As I struggle to accept the lack of variation in life and in daily Jazz Hands deployments, I can appreciate the idea of blending in and enjoying commonality between many others at once...especially if that common experience include a warm sunny day and poolside Gin and Tonics.

Imagine the soldiers that at one time occupied Fort Clinch, dressed in the same military issued uniforms, eating the same military issued rations, participating in the same mundane activities day by day by day, with waves crashing on the nearby shoreline, one after the other, on and on and on, serving as a constant reminder of routine and sameness.  All this for a fort that was never physically attacked by an enemy.  I suppose the soldier's lack of variation consisted of much smaller amounts of poolside Gin and Tonics and subsequently less desirable a situation than those choosing to vacation at a beachside resort, with the soothing reminder of routine crashing onto the nearby shore.  

Today's Jazz Hands played a rousing game of beach volleyball.

Day eighty-six complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 85

TUESDAY, MARCH 26th, 2013

Mental illnesses are rough.  I mention this believing I have at least one, but have never been officially diagnosed.  That may be due to the fact that I have never actually been tested for one.  I do not believe that any of my unofficially undiagnosed mental illnesses are cause for any real concern, in fact I believe everybody is afflicted with a mental illness or two of their own.  On a road trip, it becomes fairly easy to pinpoint the mentally ill.

Filling the dashboard of your car with a bunch of tiny, stuffed animals for example, is definitely a sign of mental illness.  Always being in a hurry whether you have somewhere important to be or not, causing the blood to boil, evaporating every ounce of patience is another, potentially more serious form of mental illness.  People that are oblivious to their surroundings and carry on as if their action, or lack thereof, has a domino effect on others around them, like driving slowly in the passing lane, has got to be a sign of a mental illness and it is likely that these are the same people that stand in the middle of the aisle at the grocery store while all of the impatient people, blood beginning to boil and no real reason to be in a hurry, attempt to go around them, in vain.

Only being able to focus on details without the capability to see the bigger picture is a mental illness.  Seeing the big picture without the ability to look at the finer details is a also a mental illness. Convincing yourself that you go on a big family vacation for a unique personal experience in the absence of variation is definitely a form of mental illness.

This morning I sit with the morning coffee watching the waves roll onto shore from our comfortable hotel room.  This morning I sit with the morning coffee watching the repetition of the same event, the very same event that has occurred for thousands of years, without interruption, lacking much variation.  This Florida vacation resort has thousands of rooms with thousands of people hoping to find their own version of a unique, personalized experience on their family vacations, staying in a comfortable hotel room identical to everyone else's comfortable hotel room, drinking the same single serving morning coffee, looking at the same pattern of waves crashing onto the Atlantic shoreline.

My doing Jazz Hands every day has got to be a form of mental illness.  Although one could make the argument that Jazz Hands could also be a form of therapy, but I'll leave room for the possibility that it can be considered the cause, the symptom and the cure of my unique, personalized mental illness.  My awareness and intent may be the only indication of sanity in this case.  If it becomes routine, lacking day to day variation and becomes a mere muscle memory habit, then it is definitely an illness, for sure.  If it becomes a mindless act, oblivious to meaning, if it is only a big picture act, disregarding the finer details, if it focuses on the finer details only, abandoning the big picture altogether, the royal Jazz Hands lost, then hope for sanity is gone.

It is our responsibility to find variation and meaning even where it is difficult to find.  Our unique, personal experience awaits us, even in this world of routine.  We must find the rhythm in the sequences and patterns.  

Just because we see the same waves crashing on the Atlantic shoreline, doesn't necessarily mean that we all see the same waves crashing on the Atlantic shoreline in the same way.  Embrace your mental illnesses.  Just don't do it slowly from the passing lane, please.

Today's Jazz Hands crashed onto shore.  Today's Jazz Hands crashed onto shore.  Today's Jazz Hands crashed onto shore.  

Day eighty-five complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 84

MONDAY, MARCH 25th, 2013

There will only be one Monday, March 25th, 2013.  Ever.  This will be the one and only Monday, March 25th, 2013 and it should be treated as such.  We shall make the most of it.

I did my Jazz Hands old the fashioned style this morning after my morning ritual (no, not that morning ritual), in the mirror as awkwardly as day one.  I wish I could say the intent was to go back to where we began for some higher purpose...but no.  Mostly I needed to get on with things today as the family and I will leave from our home somewhere near Tampa and head northeast to Amelia Island to explore a new part of Florida that we have yet to take in.  

And yes, every destination in Florida, aside from that famous central Florida amusement park ridden with mice, has "Island" in its name, or at the very least is some form of an island.  And for those unaware, the word "key" is another name for "island" and "isla" is Spanish for...yes, you guessed it.

Again, this story is backtracking to where we began and if you've been reading from the start you will recall our trip to the Florida Keys and are likely wondering why I choose to get back into the car for an extended drive and put up with the inevitable ridiculous nonsense from the backseat.  To be honest, why the wife and I punish ourselves in this fashion is a mystery...although seeing the kids as excited as they are for these simple getaways should validate the cause.  Of course if I told you that these trips were strictly for them, I'd be completely lying, but it is definitely a big part of the equation.  

Please don't ask me to break down the percentages this morning...I haven't had enough coffee.

Back to this morning's Jazz Hands deployment specifically, I went back to the beginning, in the mirror as stated previously, and went for the shuffle.  Shuffle to the left...shuffle to the right...of course, "shuffle" is likely the wrong term.  I don't shuffle.  Take two steps to the right, take two steps to the left, and I'll be damned, if you do this just right, it looks like a bonafide dance move.  At least it would in the right dancer's body.  In my body it merely looks as if I'm attempting to get from one end of the bathroom to the other in a sideways motion, hands flailing about.  

Moving on, it's time to pack the tour bus and complete the morning ritual (yes, that morning ritual), not necessarily in that order.

It is quite possible that Jazz Hands will be hand written for the next couple of days, and then typed/posted upon journey's end later in the week.  Upon our return I shall provide updates on all of the fantastical jazz handings that have occurred between then and now, and possibly get off track and fill you in on other loosely related details and how those events make me think about the royal Jazz Hands.

Until then...

Today's Jazz Hands backtracked and carries on.  Day eighty-four complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 83

SUNDAY, MARCH 24th, 2013

It looks more and more like the lime tree situated in our backyard is not going to make it.  It has led a good life and produced limes a plenty, and subsequently, plenty of homemade margaritas.  The tree has nothing to be ashamed of and shall eventually meet its ultimate ending with grace.  But I'm not ready to give up on the old lime tree just yet.  It may die, but not without a good fight.

Facing the lime tree with my feet planted firmly on the ground, I gave the tree a vigorous hand jazzing.  For good measure, I also deployed spirit fingers just in case.  

Citrus trees prefer a soil pH between 6.0 and 7.0.  There is one thing that is proven to stabilize the pH balance retaining the beneficial nutrients necessary for sustaining life in a citrus tree and there is another thing that is thought to be a key ingredient, but is still mainly considered a theory.  One of those things is Jazz Hands and the other is cow poop.  One of the aforementioned allows oxygen and water to penetrate the soil by opening up porous spaces, creating aggregates.  One of the aforementioned uses mystical powers and positive energy to promote growth.  I'll let you decide which is which.

After giving the lime tree the hand jazzing of its lifetime, I considered whether or not my deployment was worthy of the once majestic fixture it was intended for.  To this point I have not perfected my Jazz Hands delivery, in fact, three months in and I don't believe I have improved in style by much if at all.  Poop of all things can potentially save this tree, which begs the question, if my Jazz Hands deployment is considered "shitty", shouldn't that magnify its nitrogen levels and therefor its mystical healing powers?

Today's Jazz Hands were assisted by a certified professional crop consultant with over 30 years of experience and a degree in plant science.

Day eighty-three complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 82

SATURDAY, MARCH 23rd, 2013

We are all destined to fail at some point.  

There is, after all, a time for everything including failure.  Of course that also includes, specifically, scattering and collecting stones...but you get the idea.  Failure is always a part of the equation, and the expectation has to be that everything has potential for equal parts success and disaster.  Just like questioning everything, including your own faith.  What is faith that is not strongly contested after all?  It is nothing at all in the absence of potential failure.

We are all destined to arrive at the end of our road at some point.

Of course the end of the road is a cliche metaphor for death.  At first when I mentioned failure, I thought of it as synonymous with death, but I don't believe that to be true at all.  

If I get to December 31st of this year, and have not perfected Jazz Hands, does that make me a failure?  While there are many days to go, 283 to be exact, I like to believe that the quest will be rewarding, enlightening and most significantly, meaningful in ways perhaps I don't even understand this early in the game.

Pops passed on as what many people would consider a failed attempt at life.  They might call him a bum, and that's likely not the worst thing he's been called, probably by a large margin.  Perhaps we've got his story completely wrong.  Maybe Pops has the jazziest hands of them all.  

We can not always control our failures, as we shall all stumble from time to time.  We can however, control how we respond to those missteps.

Today's Jazz Hands were seriously flawed, but a slight improvement from yesterday and a vast improvement from where we began our journey on January 1st.

Day eighty-two complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 81

FRIDAY, MARCH 22nd, 2013

RULE #7:  All disputes are to be settled the old fashioned way...with Rock Paper Scissors.

It is the only fair way to settle disputes.  There are three options, with all parties involved having every one of those options at their disposal...fair is fair.  

If you throw rock on your first throw, you are bold, but predictable.  The smarter opponent will throw paper if they assess their inexperienced opponent adequately.  If you throw paper on your first throw you are revealed as a seasoned veteran that understands that the vast majority of first throws will be a rock, if facing an inexperienced opponent.  If you throw scissors on the first throw, you either understand that your opponent is inexperienced, or you believe that they are fairly seasoned and will throw paper if you think that they think you are inexperienced and will throw a rock.  If you believe your opponent knows you have experience enough to understand that he thinks that you think he is experienced, then both of you would logically both throw scissors because an experienced Rock Paper Scissors competitor would assume that you would not throw rock, and assume the other would definitely NOT throw paper due to the fact that the other would understand their opponent is seasoned and assumes the other is seasoned and/or experienced, and therefor would throw scissors.  

Therefor, if you believe your opponent thinks you are new to the game, throw scissors.  If you think your opponent thinks you are experienced, but thinks he/she is inexperienced then throw the paper.  If you believe that your opponent is experienced, and also believe that he/she believes you are experienced, as well, then throw the rock, just like the newbie would.  

If you think that your opponent thinks that you think that he is as experienced as you, then both of you will likely throw the bold, predictable, newbie rock.  Therefor, you should throw paper.  Which means you should really throw scissors.  Which means you should actually throw rock.

That covers the first throw.

RULE #7.1: All Rock/Paper/Scissor battles must be resolved in a best of three series.

If you have won the first throw with the rock, your opponent will think you are either a newbie, or an EXTREMELY experienced, contemplative opponent.  The latter will occur if your opponent is egotistical and at the same time respects your game.  

If you believe your opponent is egotistical, go ahead and overwhelm them with the landslide.  The landslide, obviously, is a series of three rocks consecutively.  If your opponent respects your game, and believes you respect his game, there is no way they will see this deployment coming.  The Landslide is the least respectful series of three throws you can deploy against an RPS veteran.  But it works.

If you believe that your opponent is experienced and respects your game, but not egotistical, you can throw three papers in a row, which is called the Executive.  

Three throws of scissors is volatile and is definitely not recommended.  Unless of course you believe that your opponent thinks that you think that they think that you think they are experienced and egotistical, and don't believe you have the gall to deploy the volatile suicide move of three scissors in a row.  

Assessing your opponent is key, obviously.

If you throw paper while deploying Jazz Hands, you are daring, bold, and deserve the accolades fit for royalty.  But if your opponent throws scissors, you're still screwed.  

Jazz Hands may be stronger than a rock or able to save the world, but they are not all powerful.  Jazz Hands are not indestructible.  Jazz Hands are not immune to defeat.  If you deploy Jazz Hands and lose to scissors in an RPS battle, at least you have lost with your dignity intact.

Next time a beach ball lands in between two players and was gettable by both parties, the loser of a Rock/Paper/Scissors battle will be required to accept blame and subsequently lose one life.  Your hand jazzing will be applauded and appreciated...but if you lose to scissors, accept defeat and move on.  We are all destined to fail at some point.  You can fail respectfully, or lose your dignity in the process.  the choice is completely yours.

Today's Jazz Hands was a landslide.  Day eighty-one complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 80

THURSDAY, MARCH 21st, 2013

And just like that, they are gone.

Statistically speaking, it is unlikely to see a ghost.  Some people go their entire life without ever interacting with one.  Some will hear the footsteps, perhaps witness a door mysteriously close or hear disembodied whispers in the dark, but the odds are definitely against seeing a ghost, or two, in broad daylight during a seemingly routine commute to work.

I am definitely not an expert in ghostistics or ghostology, but the odds of seeing a ghost in one lifetime are likely somewhere in the 20-1 range, or if you prefer percentages, off the top of my head, the chance of seeing a ghost is roughly 4.8%.  But that figure is based on the one lifetime having a higher than average opportunity factor.  A higher opportunity factor may include residing in a geographical location that is dark most of the time.  For example, if you live in a region that is in the dark 65-75% of the time and live near a graveyard, your odds go up considerably, due to the fact that there is a 90% chance that at least 70% of all ghosts prefer darkness to light 80% of the time and also frequent graveyards because they likely need to stay close to the physical remains of their body...that last part is not proven fact, I'm guesstimating, but it seems logical.

Imagine if you are in a daylight savings time period, or for you old schoolers between the equinoxes, where the days are long.  Additionally, imagine that you are located relatively distant from the nearest graveyard.  On top of all that, you find yourself in a heavily populated area with cars zooming by.  Now imagine your chances of seeing a ghost.  By my calculations your odds would diminish by 67% on the conservative end, and as much as 85%.  So let's just call it a 76% diminished chance of seeing a ghost in broad day light at a busy intersection nowhere near a graveyard.

Long story short, I was at a distinct disadvantage.  I had considerably less than 4.8% chance to see a ghost yesterday.  In fact, the figure is likely much closer to about 1.5%, or 66-1 odds chance of seeing a ghost.  If I were a betting man, I would have definitely bet against it.  Although the sky was gloomy and the air cool and damp.  That fact alone probably increases the chances slightly to 2% or 50-1 odds, which is slightly more favorable, but the word favorable used relatively speaking.

Today was bright and sunny and even less ghostly than yesterday and I subsequently saw none.  That gives me a 0% chance of seeing a ghost on day 80 since it's 11:59pm...although it is dark, one minute is just not long enough to increase my odds for the entire day.  Even if I multiply my chances by the minuscule chance I could see a ghost in the next minute, zero times anything is still zero.  You just can't argue with math.

The good news is that I did 100% of my Jazz Hands obligation today.  That is 1-1 odds that Jazz Hands were deployed, by me.  Although there is a 0% chance that anyone saw my Jazz Hands deployment.  If you translate to ghost spotting, it's logical to say that there was a 100% chance that a ghost was not spotted, even though there were likely ghosts floating about.

To sum, a ghost was likely doing its ghostly stuff, like haunting and whatnot, even though there were no witnesses, in the same manner that I did my jazz handing stuff sans witnesses.

Today's Jazz Hands had a high probability factor.  Day eighty complete.

  

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 79

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 20th, 2013

Do you believe in ghosts?

Defying logic, there he was just standing there on the south side of the intersection of Kennedy and Dale Mabry.  The elder Pops, motionless and vacant.  On the north side of the intersection stood the younger Pops, staring off into space.  Both of them buried deep in their own world.  

As I passed by there was no hint of life behind those chestnut eyes of his.  A still life of catharsis as the world whirred by.  There was no sign of intent to interact with the material world, no sign that Pops was even attached to it.  If I was not mistaken, I am pretty sure that I could just barely see through him...both of them.  I did not have an opportunity to offer Pops his care package, but I'm not certain if ghosts have any need for nutrition or desire bite size, cheese filled pretzel snacks.  

Perhaps I will get another opportunity to offer the spirit of Pops his Combos tomorrow, while he haunts me with the details of his death and what the afterlife is all about.  There's an outside chance that I may be able to coax a ghost to deploy Jazz Hands, which would certainly be a first for me.

Today's Jazz Hands were translucent.  Day seventy-nine complete.

Moral Dilemma - Brain Teaser - Bonus Post

BRAIN TEASER

From "Brain in a Vat," in issue number 13 of bOING bOING, a quarterly published in Los Angeles.  The scenario was originally posted anonymously on the Internet.

Consider the following case: A brain in a vat is at the wheel of a runaway trolley approaching a fork in the track. The brain is hooked up to the trolley in such a way that the brain can determine which course the trolley will take. There are only two options: the right side of the fork or the left side. There is no way to derail or stop the trolley and the brain is aware of this. On the right side of the track there is a single railroad worker, Jones, who will definitely be killed if the brain steers the trolley to the right. If Jones lives he will go on to kill five men for the sake of thirty orphans (one of the five men he will kill is planning to destroy a bridge that the orphans' bus will be crossing later that night). One of the orphans who will be killed would have grown up to become a tyrant who made good, utilitarian men do bad things, another would have become John Sununu, and a third would have invented the pop-top can.  If the brain in the vat chooses the left side of the track, the trolley will definitely hit and kill another railman, Leftie, and will hit and destroy ten beating hearts on the track that would have been transplanted into ten patients at the local hospital who will die without donor hearts. These are the only hearts available, and the brain is aware of this. If the railman on the left side of the track lives, he, too, will kill five men--in fact, the same five that the railman on the right would kill. However, Leftie will kill the five as an unintended consequence of saving ten men: he will inadvertently kill the five men as he rushes the ten hearts to the local hospital for transplantation. A further result of Leftie's act is that the busload of orphans will be spared. Among the five men killed by Leftie is the man responsible for putting the brain at the controls of the trolley. If the ten hearts and Leftie are killed by the trolley, the ten prospective heart-transplant patients will die and their kidneys will be used to save the lives of twenty kidney transplant patients, one of whom will grow up to cure cancer and one of whom will grow up to be Hitler. There are other kidneys and dialysis machines available, but the brain does not know this.

Assume that the brain's choice, whatever it turns out to be, will serve as an example to other brains in vats, and thus the effects of its decision will be amplified. Also assume that if the brain chooses the right side of the fork, an unjust war free of war crimes will ensue, whereas if the brain chooses the left fork, a just war fraught with war comes will result. Furthermore, there is an intermittently active Cartesian demon deceiving the brain in such a way that the brain is never sure if it is being deceived.

Question: Ethically speaking, what should the brain do?

Harper's Magazine, May 1996, pp 26-30.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 78

TUESDAY, MARCH 19th, 2013

How do you know who you are, or more appropriately, what you are?  How do you know that your experiences are not mere perception or simulated reality?  Are you a living, breathing member of the human race, or are you programmed to believe you are?  Is pain and love and experience of virtually any kind all just written code by some master programmer?  That's hard to fathom, I agree wholeheartedly.  If we are merely programmed into existance, why then are we governed by natural, physical laws?  Why don't we float, for example, or fly or why would we die at all?  What's the point?  I suppose the same questions can be asked if you believe in an all-powerful, omnipotent being that created man in his image, having the ability to create anything at all, with no real rules until He creates them for us.  If He can alter physics, or define them any way He deems fit, then why can't we fly?  Why do we die?  Why are we anything at all?  

Believe me when I say this:  The subject I am writing about today is not a religious one.  I have no authority to speak on behalf of centuries of organized religion.  I would gladly have that discussion with you ANY TIME you like, but this is something completely different.  Today's entry may use some very religious ideas to illustrate points, but the concept applies to many facets of our existence.  This entry is more philosophy than it is religion, no matter how closely the two may be intertwined.

Faith in anything, whether it be the existence of God, or god, or gods, or Big Foot, or big foot, or big feet, or your father's love, or Jazz Hands, the royal version or the standard one, should not be based on the suspension of disbelief.  The true test of strong faith is to never be afraid to ask the hard questions.  To test yourself and question everything.  Asking questions should never be confused with defiance.  

Today I will deploy my Jazz Hands as I have done for the past seventy-seven days in a row...you do not have proof of any such deployments, other than the rare first hand account.  All you have is the written testimony you see before you describing my hand jazzings in written form, sometimes vaguely.  You may choose to believe that I jazz my hands every day, or you can choose not to believe.  You may question it all you want.  After all, I question the activity every day, myself.  Even the royal Jazz Hands gets questioned by me from time to time.  That's all part of the game.   

You may be a computer program, you may be a brain in a vat, or you may actually be human.  If I ask you to prove one scenario over the others, would you be able to?  Does it even matter?  If we're experiencing something, or virtually experiencing something, the bottom line is that we may as well embrace our existence regardless of what we are.  It is amazing that we are anything at all, simulated or not.  

Today's Jazz Hands questioned its own existence.  Day seventy-eight complete.  Or is it?

PS:

I will be posting a brain teaser titled "Brain in a Vat" published in Harper's Magazine, as a "non-Jazz Hands bonus post."  If this sort of Matrix/Inception concept is interesting to you, please give it a read.  Let me know your thoughts on what the answer is.  I have my own ideas...

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 77

MONDAY, MARCH 18th, 2013

Rule #6:  Nothing random allowed.  No exceptions.  I really mean it this time.

I have only stayed at so many rented cabins in my lifetime.  This relatively small number compared to the frequency they burn down is confounding.

I have frequented a slice of heaven in the upper peninsula of Michigan on many occasions.  Last spring when my family planned a return trip to the mouth of the Two-Hearted River, it burned down in a ferocious fire one month prior to our planned trip.  In the summer of 2011 this same extended family of mine stayed at a beautiful mountaintop lodge in Tennessee, which burned down today.

In this same span of time, a house in Detroit burned to the ground.  This is the same house that members of this extended family grew up in.

Either I am the relative of a pyromaniac that runs around burning places they've spent time in, or there is a very strange, very hot energy associated with the places my extended family visits and/or lives.  

This is not the universe trying to tell us something, I'm sure.  But I'm also sure that the events are not random.  The string of seemingly unrelated yet related incidents raise more questions than it does offer answers.  Maybe we haven't asked the right questions yet.  Maybe that's always the problem.  Maybe there are great questions that never get asked.  

You can't blame my Jazz Hands deployments.  Although they do seem to set the world on fire, metaphorically, in the 'royal' Jazz Hands way, the Two Hearted river fire happened way before my involvement with the hand jazzing ever got underway, therefor I am exonerated.

This family of mine, they must be careful of what they do and where they visit.  Destruction is sure to follow in their wake.  The good news is that destruction is commonly accompanied with creation, which we've covered extensively in these here blogs.  

Today's Jazz Hands are on fire.  Unfortunately, so is Tennessee.  

Day seventy-seven complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 76

SUNDAY, MARCH 17th, 2013

2nd Amendment to RULE #5: Never, ever, ever apologize, no exceptions...unless it's in the form of sarcasm.  If forgiveness is requested, a loss of one life will follow unless blood has been drawn from an opponent.  If no blood is drawn from an opponent then that apology had better be snarky.  Or smarmy.  Or oozing with sarcasm.

Oozing blood, or oozing with sarcasm...otherwise no apologies.

Today's Jazz hands are not oozing with blood or sarcastic nor are they sarcastically oozing with blood.  They are, on the other hand, distracted.  That's not an excuse.  That's not an apology.  That's just the way the shamrock shakes.

Today's Jazz Hands were deployed in the presence of corned beef, cabbage and Jameson.  Happy St. Patrick's Day seventy-six complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 75

SATURDAY, MARCH 16th, 2013

Pops is dead.

It has been a good long time since seeing Pops, and the only logical explanation is that he is dead.  I have not seen young Pops and I have not seen old Pops, which proves beyond a reasonable doubt that when you die all versions of you vanish, regardless of time travel.  Your echoes running around alternate realities...gone forever.

It took some time to come to terms with this realization, moving through each phase of the grieving process, but I now accept the fact that the intersection of Kennedy and Dale Mabry will now be a home for someone else.  The sun will shine and a new leaf will sprout.

I have have a care package in the car that rides to and from work with me every day.  Combos, popcorn, apple, can of ravioli, fork and a napkin.  For nobody.  

I don't know when it happened, and I can not say for certain how it occurred.  Were my words his ultimate undoing?  Regardless of when or how, I hope that Pops has found a comfortable home on the back of the big duck in the sky, eating his Combos and joyously deploying Jazz Hands with the Snorks.  He has had a long, tough road...he deserves a vigorous Jazz Hands dedication.  

Today's Jazz Hands are in honor of the man they called Pops.  Day seventy-five complete.