I like lots of things that happen "for no good reason".

I like that trees grow any which way (within the limitations of their species and circumstances), thereby producing lumber no two pieces of which look quite the same.

I like that prime numbers are distributed haphazardly--at least, within the limitations of how their frequency declines as numbers grow.

I like that Darwinian evolution relies on random mutations, without which natural selection wouldn't have much to choose from.

I try to honor the world as it is. As best I can tell, a lot does happen for no good reason--and that's fine.

I've always thought stochastic was a cool-sounding word. And I like some of the counterintuitive consequences of the axiom of choice.

I'm going home tomorrow, ending what's likely to be my last visit to New York for a while. I expect I'll be missing the place. It's not just that I grew up here; it's that this is New York.

I like that New York City has four bridges that were each the longest in the world at the time of their construction.

The Empire State Building isn't just tall, it's cool. It looks great from up close and far away. It is a cynosure par excellence.

The culture and pace of New York City aren't everyone's cup of tea, and indeed it's not my choice for home at the moment. But it's been an inspiration to me in several ways.

Now, to move on.

Solstice was today, at four minutes after midnight PST.

My father's first diary turned up in cleaning out our house, a diary he started on January 19, 1925 at eleven years old. The first four days' entries are short accounts of what he did that day, how good sleigh-riding conditions were, and the like. The fifth day's entry reads

Something of importance happened to-day. Mother found a letter of dad's written to a girl he had on the sly and she took it to a lawyer and she is going to get a divorce and so we are staying down Grandma's.

My father's dad had written the letter in question while sitting with the family at their dining room table after dinner. My father's mom was suspicious and steamed the envelope open before he got a chance to mail it.

The diary's sixth entry describes a total eclipse of the sun that my father saw. After that, it goes back to simple everyday matters.

Today, I demolished a deck that my father had built some 30 years ago. It had to go so that we can sell the house (the deck had been built without a permit). Selling real estate in this part of New York is more closely regulated than it is where I live in California.

People ask if it's tough to be selling the house that I grew up in; it's unsettling but I'm okay about it. The house should be in the hands of someone who has a good use for it. I feel fortunate that I don't have too hard a time letting go of (some) things.

In moving stuff, my brother and I came across a locked box he'd gotten as a Christmas present way back when. He couldn't remember the combination, but a hammer and chisel were available.

I got the same kind of box as a Christmas present a couple years after my brother had gotten his. I tried to take the lock apart to change the combination (figuring that my parents might have kept a copy). I found out later that my brother had done the same thing. We had independently concluded that the combination couldn't truly be changed without destroying the lock, but the dial could be reinstalled at a 180° rotation--good enough for the purpose.

I came across some math exams I'd taken in a 12^th grade class. One question:

PROVE: If G is a group and x²=e for all x∈G, then G is Abelian.

It's way cool that a teacher presented group theory in high school.

First things first: Dweezil Zappa and his band were superb last night. Standing ovations from the crowd after many of the songs. Small venue; I was sitting six rows from the stage. This was a special date; part of Frank's Roxy & Elsewhere album had been recorded at this location 35 years before.

Today's air travel: y'all knew I was jinxing it when I wrote

At least my trip begins with favorable conditions.

yesterday, yes?

I get to the airport (BUR). The flight is delayed because of equipment trouble. I walk to a park about ½ mile south of the airport and chill for a while, then have lunch, walk back to the airport, board the plane. The flight is delayed another half hour due to conditions at the destination (JFK). We taxi to the runway. "We're #1 for takeoff." A woman two rows ahead of me loses consciousness. Flight attendants try to revive her. (I'm impressed with the staff's professionalism.) "Is there a doctor on the plane?" Rather than taking off, we return to the gate. Paramedics board and take the woman (who is now conscious) off the plane. Paramedics then attend to another passenger, giving him oxygen, taking him off the plane in a wheelchair.

All this takes a while. At no point do I hear any complaining. No sighing or whining passengers.

Flight attendant gets on the P.A. system, asks if everyone is feeling well enough to fly. We taxi again (seemingly hastily; the captain seems as eager as anyone to get going). We take off, some 3.2 hours behind schedule. The rest of the flight is uneventful.

JFK is tranquil at our late night arrival time. JetBlue's brand-spanking-new terminal 5 looks nice--everything's new and clean.

Now, sleep calls.

I leave tomorrow for a week (or so) of labor: my brother and I will be cleaning out the house in New York that we'd both grown up in. This will include another round of U-haul action--although this will be a short trip. My brother's moving to the next state over, not across the USA.

The weather is great here in the desert. At least my trip begins with favorable conditions.

And I can start out fortified by music tonight.

Someone I know who's gone through some hard times told me today that she thanks God for peace--as in peace of mind, centeredness, equanimity.

The challenge for me was to express assent about our common ground (I'm all for equanimity) without opening the can of worms that is belief in God. It paralleled a challenge I continually face, of feeling gratitude without knowing that there is anyone or anything that it would even make sense to offer thanks to.

He looked down once more upon the ruined city, then continued, "And if after all there is no Star Maker, if the great company of galaxies leapt into being of their own accord, and even if this little nasty world of ours is the only habitation of the spirit anywhere among the stars, and this world doomed, even so, even so, I must praise. But if there is no Star Maker, what can it be that I praise? I do not know. I will call it only the sharp tang and savour of existence. But to call it this is to say little."

from Star Maker by Olaf Stapledon

Sometimes (e.g. yesterday) I just feel like posting music instead of words.

Germans don't have total freedom in naming their children. Germany frowns on first names that are inappropriate for a child's gender or otherwise likely to get a child into trouble. From a Bundesgerichtshof ruling:

Disallowed are designations that are offensive, unintelligible, or unsuitable as names (e.g., "Moon Unit", "Stone", "Pebbles", "Verleihnix", "Windsbraut", "Woodstock", "Schröder").

Unzulässig sind anstößige, unverständliche oder als Namen ungeeignete Bezeichnungen (wie z.B. "Moon Unit", "Stone", "Pebbles", "Verleihnix", "Windsbraut", "Woodstock", "Schröder").

Moon Unit Zappa (supposedly) once said

I grew up with too much freedom. You can't define yourself.

I have a ticket to see Dweezil (probably also not an option in Germany) Zappa's band in Los Angeles a week from today. I can't comment on how hard it was for him to define himself, but he plays a mean guitar.

Last (and least), the server that hosts Tommyjournal moved from LA to San Diego last night, getting a new IP address in the process.

Two weeks ago, I remarked about a blog that had said "Clinton as Secretary of State, then, is either a brilliant move or a dunderheaded one...".

An editorial in yesterday's Wall Street Journal started as shown to the right. Heh.

I can't resist commenting on the typography. I like the Journal's graphic design in general, but the way the first four lines all end with hyphenated words is just icky. I know, newspapers operate under time pressure.