Please, don’t vote!

I was walking in the middle of UCSD when a girl walked up to me with a clipboard.  I usually have radars to avoid those people, but I hid the instance with a small smile towards her.  ”I hate to interrupt you, but are you registered to vote?”  ”Yes, I am.  Can I ask you a question though?”  ”Yeah, sure.”  I often take my time in asking a question if I ask permission to do so.  I find that delaying the question raises the anxiety of the questionee.  ”Why do want people to vote who will vote differently than you?  I mean, presumably there are candidates and issues that matter to you, right?”  ”Yes.”  ”So why does your desire to register someone to vote  override your most fundamental beliefs about how the city, state and country should be ran?”  ”I am just a volunteer.”  ”Don’t you think that someone who registers merely because you are bringing it to their attention is likely to be apathetic and uninformed?”  ”Yes…maybe you should go over to the people at the table and ask them.”  I look over and see a small table manned by some students.  I didn’t even bother.

My question is, if the way you vote is informed by the belief that your positions are what is truly best for society and the country, why would you want someone to vote who disagrees with you?  I certainly don’t.  And I don’t mean trying to take away or obstruct the voting rights of people I disagree with.  What I mean is, why would I want to proactively pursue them to make sure they vote?  

The only argument I can muster in favor of registering everyone is the “just deserts” argument?  [Yes, deserts has one s in that phrase, look it up.]  The line of reasoning goes like this, whatever policies and leaders we get should be an actual reflection of the ideological makeup of 100% of the populace, ideally.  The closer we get to this 100%, the more closely we approach perfect representation.  In this view, it matters less that we institute the “correct” policies, and more that we reflect the will of the governed.  Oh, the curse of democracy.

For Yellowbelly, part 1

An impassioned mime of his own daily whims, at daliances eager to comply in a pounce or jab, negligent by glee to unmuss his own fur.  He was always a Cheshire smile when a string was baited with a feather, a milkcap or another hobknob.  If a cat could, and a master, equally alter stationm then that soul and I were by nature completely mutuals.  1 million dollars, my father concluded often, were insufficient recompense for that cat.  “That cat will be waiting for you in heaven, just like the animals of Noah.”

He had a pouch of flesh, a yellowbelly, that in movements would dangle in waves as he paraded lion-like whenever he walked.  This prance was always the disposition of his pride, unegoless and as natural as a sunflower full-faced and erect in the fullness of the sun.  And this his confidence was infused was the motive to all his life; purring in a snug curl, kneading delight in hostage laps, stealing (most rightly) as maverick tidbit from my dinner plate, cursing, to the human ear a hiss, the dogs affronting his meal, gullible again and againto the chamber of an empty box, opening cabinets to leave them ajar by demonstration of his defiance,  nipping sharply at his tail– self-animated snake!

Obama is Latin for what?

A few days ago, Maureen Dowd, the eternally irritable op-ed columnist for the NY Times wrote a piece on McCain and Obama.  The later half of the column was translated at her request into Latin by a professor because of a recent article she read relating the resurgence of teaching Latin in classrooms.

Here is the first paragraph translated by me, more to come, maybe!

Manes Julii Caesaris paucis diebus aderant — “O, most bloody sight!” — cum Ioannes McCainus, mavericus et veteranus captivusque Belli Francoindosinini, et Sara Palina, barracuda borealis, qui sneerare amant Baracum Obamam causa oratorii, pillorant ut demagogi veri, Africanum-Americanum senatorem Terrae Lincolni, ad Republicanas rallias.

The ghost of Julius Caesar for a few days was present – “O, most bloody sight!” when John McCain, maverick and captive veteran (P.O.W.) of the Franco-indonesian War (Vietnam), and Sarah Palin, Barracuda of the North, who love to sneer at Barack Obama on account of [his] oratory, pillory the African American Senator of the land of Lincoln, at Republican rallies.

full opinion piece

If Plato hated Lawyers’ stinking guts, then so do I! Part 2

The defense lawyer followed up with, “Do you believe there are limits to science?” Mostly everyone shook their heads in agreement or replied with a small yes.  A small woman, identifying herself as a chemist looked unsure.  She did not believe that there were limits to science, but then the lawyer began his followup questions.  He was able to steer her, after some confusion, into agreeing with him that science is fallible.  I mean that almost goes without saying, right!

Apparently this game of question-mongering was intended as much to influence the rest of the jury pool as it was to disqualify certain jurors.   He continued on.

“Does an objection by the defense predispose you to think that we are hiding something?“  Everyone answered “no”, and I smirked inside, “Of course not!“

After these generalities, the lawyers went on to query specific jurors about their backgrounds and jobs.

I am a student at UCSD.

Blah, blah, blah.  What is your major?

I am a classics and philosophy major.

Who is your favorite philosopher?

Plato?

Blah, blah, blah. Why?

He achieved a level of literary grandeur and philosophical insight that moderns have not been able to duplicate.

Wasn’t Plato highly critical of the Sophists?

Yes.*

Let me explain to the members of the Jury who the Sophists were.  Blah blah blah.

Cross-questioning by the prosecution.

Mr.  Philagon, you won’t hold it against the prosecution or defense that we argue on behalf of our respective sides, will you?

No, in fact, I think the Sophists are unfairly maligned.  Recent scholarship has raised the objection in defense of the Sophists that we have very little primary material from the Sophists themselves.**

Ten minutes later.
The prosecution excuses Mr. Philagon from the jury.

*Let the record show that a lawyer himself initiated the parallels between ancient sophists and modern lawyers, not I.

**Perhaps a little too desperate here to show that I want to be included on the jury.

If Plato hated lawyers’ stinking guts, then so do I! Part 1

In between my summer session class and this Fall quarter I was summoned for jury duty.  As hundreds of citizens were sent to their trial areas I was sent across the street to the county courthouse.  I was one of few of 70 who affirmed that I actually wanted to be there when the court clerk asked my prospective pool.  I was eager to serve.  He made lightweight banter as he came and checked on us occasionally.  We into the afternoon we were finally seated.  The actors on this stage were all set: lawyers, judge, jury, defendant.  And then the gravity of the duty was thrust upon us all: kidnap, torture, and murder.  This was going to be a horrible trial, both legally and emotionally.

Through the process of voir dire I was able to make it down to the prospective juror pool of 21.  I was actually seated in the very middle of the front row of the jury box!  If it were a Laker game, I would be Jack Nicholson.

In the process the defense and prosecution alternate, with the judge’s governance, asking questions to the prospective jurors.  The defense’s aim is to root out any any candidate whose prejudices might unfavorably predispose them to convict the defendant, or in the case of the prosecution, to reject someone whose bias might favor exoneration.

Rejections abounded:  an artist was too skittish to see photos of the murder, a man was previously arrested for drug offenses with the last 15 years, a woman was too senile for deft manipulation by the lawyers.  As you can imagine, when a juror is excused no explicit reason is actually given for, rather it is up to a clever observer, like me, to infer the reason for dismissal based on their answers.  Actually, for mostly everyone I listened to, their line of answering the question was sufficient to uncover a blatant area of disqualification- their disqualification was not hard to see.  I believe a few of them had some poorly disguised excuses which were intended to provoke dismissal, “I am a single woman who lives alone and I can’t handle the details of the trial” “I am an artist, I can’t see graphic photos of the scene.”  Whether contrived or not, such blatant confessions did indeed get them dismissed from the jury pool.

One woman was temporarily exuberant when told she was being dismissed.  She let out most of a “yes” before subduing herself.  It was as if she thought she were going to be fined for wanted to be dismissed.

Here are some of the questions the lawyers asked, along with my psychological response at the moment:

1st question, from the defense:  do you believe that the phrase, “where there is smoke, there is fire” has any truth to it?

I know he wants everybody to say “no” and we oblige, everyone in unison saying “no” or shaking their heads.  But in normal circumstances I am sure everyone would say yes, and most everyone has probably used the phrase at least once in their lives.

The defense lawyer was, I thought, purposely trying to endear himself as human to us jurors.  Before he said a word, he grabbed the cliched water jug that we all know sits on the counsel’s table, filled a cup and took one quick sip.  Now we understand that the man is fully human, he drinks water like us!

He proceeded to probe the jury with more questions.

Part 2 by Friday.