You know, the Canadian national birthrate is somewhere just under 2 children per family. Lowest it’s been in a long time, though not as low as it has been. Even the CBC is in on reporting this one.

You know what the problem is? You need more than 1.5 children to sustain the population and to care for them as they get older. All around the world, birth rates are dropping, and it would appear that the world population will peak in about 2011. Not bad, especially for those who were predicting calamity due to the world being overpopulated (not that we ever believed them).

People who do not have several children are performing society as a whole a disservice, in light of sustainability figures. Those who have more are not a burden — in fact, as the Canadian population ages, every live birth to add to the totals is a societal boon. Who, after all, pays for the care of the aged? That’s right — mostly the elderly’s children.

I know, it’s a mechanistic way to look at things, but in this era of 2-children families becoming the norm, it would appear that most people’s ideas need to be turned on their ear.

Further reading: Human Population Growth | A Glossary of Terms | Demography of Humans

I am being annoyed at work with a co-worker who wants to know when some tools that have been promised for today will be done. I’ve told him that they’ll be done later today, considering that’s when they were promised for (2:00 on Friday is still Friday, people), and that I’ll tell him when I start on them, but the subject still comes up every half hour or so.

Now, I’m not one one to be stubborn, but I really don’t like being pushed around by someone who is not my superior, to do tools for a small company we hardly do any business for, tools that are nothing, in fact, but standard specials that any numbskull with half a brain could do. So, “later today” is the only answer he’s going to get. Pushy people annoy me.

Speaking of things that annoy people, Electronic arts is really getting into some hot water over its internal practices, such as the way it treats its employees.

In other exciting news, a post I made yesterday on Slashdot was modded +5 Informative. Not bad. That only happens once in a while, because only once in a while to I have something truly lucid to add to the converstation.

Plus those people are a lot like liberal pirhanas. They don’t really know what’s going on, but they’ll strip the flesh off your intellectual bones in an instant.

Before there was anything, there was nothing. But in the the nothing that was, the One who is not one dwelled by himself, happy, in no want of anything. In a moment that was not a moment, he began to draw pictures in his mind of a palace, a place for him to show who he was.

And one day before the were days, he made it. He spoke the picture he had drawn in his mind, and his palace was breathed into existance. Filling it with beautiful creatures, he looked at what he had made, and called it good. Finally, he made a man from the leftover dirt that was piled up against a wall, and gave him life. He made a woman from the man, and gave her to him.

He set the clockwork of time running, and watched his plan unfold. And for a while, it was good. The man and the woman had many children, and they filled the temple. It happened, however, that a great evil crept into that world, and the man and woman died. So it was that their children gradually forgot about the One who is not one, and made their own gods from the bricks of the temple and worshipped them.

As they worshipped, the One who is not one granted their wishes, and the spirits that they reverenced began to exist.

Not long after the people of the temple had invented all the gods they wished, the One who is not one called a meeting of all the gods.

He sat on his throne in a hall high above the temple, and the gods the people worshipped gathered around his table.

“My creations have forgotten me,” he said, and his voice filled the hall.

“They worship us instead!” spoke one of the lesser gods. “They worship what they can see: the sun.” For he was Nadir, the sun god.

“You have no power but what I have given you,” the One who is not one said.

The sun god grinned. “But how are they to know that?”

The One who is not one grew angry, then, and raised his hand toward the sun. So it happened that the sun did not rise the next morning. Terrified, the people of the temple cried out to Nadir, but Nadir was powerless to help them as hard as he tried.

After six, no, seven days of darkness, they remembered the One who is not one, and called upon him to make the sun rise. The next day, the sun rose as it had before, and the people worshipped the One who is not one, and left the other gods.

However, the generation that came after mocked the story of the seven days of darkness, calling it a foolish fable, and returned to the worship of their fathers’ gods.

“See?” another of the lesser gods said, sitting around the table of the One who is not one. “They worship what they know: death.” For he was Draknor, the god of death.

Again, the One who is not one grew exceedingly angry, and pointed a finger at the king of the people of the temple. The king died in front of his shrine to Draknor, and the people of the temple mourned greatly. Yet, the One who is not one had mercy on the king and his people, and sent a great prophet into their midst. The great prophet cried out to the One who is not one; six, even seven times he cried out, and with a gasp, the king came back to life, and sat up on his deathbed. Seeing this, the people of the temple fell down and worshipped the One who is not one, and left the other gods.

Not long after, a generation was born that did not remember the seven days of darkness, or the seven cries of the great prophet. They turned to the gods of their great-grandfathers, and no longer bowed to the One who is not one.

“How long will you bear with these ungrateful wretches?” cried another of the lesser gods from around the table. “They worship what they see: gold.” For he was the Kala’am, the god of possessions.

The One who is not one saw that it was true, and grew angry with the people of the temple with a wrath fiercer than any the lesser gods had seen. He sent a great fire into temple, a fire so great that almost all of the men and woman died, and their goods and money with them. For days the fire raged, and then it had grown not six, but seven times hotter than when it had started, the last few of the people of the temple saw they were doomed, and finally prayed to the One who is not one to save them from the flames.

The One who is not one heard their prayers, sweeping down into the temple he had made, as rain. He comforted those that were left, and wrote down what he had done on the walls of temple so that the people of the temple would never forget the seven days of darkness, or the seven cries of the great prophet, or the sevenfold strenth of the fire.

They did not forget, and from that day on, the people of the temple no longer worshipped the lesser gods. Six generations later, however, the people of the temple rarely read the walls, and the few that did hardly believed the stories. They grew wealthy again, and strong, and prosperous. A day came where they bowed before the One who is not one, but did not think they needed him, or that he could see their minds.

“It is useless,” another of the gods seated at his table said. “They worship what they can see: themselves.” For he was Sharmii, the god of self.

The One who is not one stood, then, and spoke. “I am tired of the people of the temple and their pride!” He purposed in his mind to rebuild the temple, rebuild it into a perfect temple, in which evil would not be known or spoken of.

So it happened that the One who is not one came down into the temple, and stopped time. He set his throne in the middle of the temple and began to judge the people of the temple according to what they had done. Those that had died gathered there also, both the good and the bad.

And the One who is not one divided the people into those who had trusted him, and those who had not. Those who had not trusted him were sent to a place outside the temple, a place so horrible is has no name; but he kept those he loved in the temple.

Standing, the One who is not one spoke words that no human can know, and swept his arms around the temple. All was made new, then, the temple, and those in it, and from those words on they knew no evil, and no pain, for the temple was a place of pure joy.

The One who is not one at last looked toward the pitiful gods of the people’s creation, and sent them to be with those who had trusted them.

Then, after the anything that had been, the One who is not one sat down in the temple that is not a temple, to enjoy what he done. In a moment that was not a moment, he began to show the people who he was, and what he had done.

And they agreed: all that he had done was very good.

Ah, this six day vacation to BC was exactly what I needed. A little bit of R&R to make the days go by a little faster. Apart from the jet-lag coming back. It made me stay up till one in the morning when I would have normally gone to bed at eleven. Compound that with the fact that I caught the flu in British Columbia, and I was out cold for eight hours.

On the other hand, the coffee I brewed today is a thing of beauty, and I am thankful to God for that small blessing. Also for the blessing of the fact that my stuff wasn’t stolen from the church or any other parking lot over the weekend. Goodness knows I don’t particularly need my stuff, but I also don’t want to have to pay for having one or more of my windows replaced. Damned thieves (and if you think that’s just a bit of casual cursing, read the passage about no thieves inheriting the kingdom… they really are damned).

Hockey is still in strike mode/hiatus for the winter. Not that I noticed, except that the legion of Toronto Maple Leafs fans seem to have taken up mourning at local sports bars. Also, those sports bars are playing a lot of foreign soccer games. Odd.

If there’s one thing in the world I hate, it’s sour grapes. No, not chowing down on a green seedless and instead getting a Tear Jerker, but the sort of sour grapes that Aesop and his infamous fox got together for.

Take that remark in the context of the recently-declared US election. All the liberals who voted Democrat and lost. On the news, you have the ones talking about fleeing to Canada (like we need more of their type!), talking about how the President is going to ruin the world, and talking about how they’re scared and helpless and building bomb shelters.

I’m sick of the way the Canadian press is making this into a victory for the American Religious Right, which is a surefire Republican voting bloc, but couldn’t possibly have won the election in their own strength alone.

Enough about them — what about the Religious Left?

I know, it sounds sort of stupid to say that, but as much as the Evangelical bloc are intent on their morality and Republicanism, how much more are the supposedly anti-religious types exactly the same? The problem is in their tacit condemnation of Christian morality. Because in condemning something, you’re always positing a system of at least on right and one wrong. Here we have the left wing nutcases and the right wing nutcases squaring off, both calling eachother wrong. The only thing I have to say for the right is that their morality it pretty much correct, and at least they’re honest with themselves about where they stand, at least religiously. The left has a much harder time of things, at least of being honest at how committed they are to a system of morality that they seem to have invented out of thin air; a system of morals that has no basis and no functionality. They’re sitting around in California blowing smoke up eachother’s smokeholes and talking about how President Bush is so bad, but they can never actually tell you why he’s so bad, at least not in anything but pragmatics. And we all know where that leads them.

See, Christians should be more liberal than we are. I firmly believe it. There’s no sense in us being anal about details anymore. We don’t live in the 1950s, in case no one noticed. And we, of all people, have the most reason to be compassionate, caring, and generous with what we have. We have the most cause to be environmentally friendly. We have the most foundational reasonings for keeping tight reigns on large corporations. We have the most eloquent example of all: Jesus Christ. We have the Book that dictates our morals and their applications, that dictates our applications and the resulting morality. And we are charged in it to be the guardians of culture.

So this is a good question amidst all the whining: where is the Christian left? We’ve got our act down, yes, but do we have the compassion? In all of our seeking after the mind of Christ, do we not also need his heart?

I’m going to blog this as if it were a novel, written in the ever-popular third person.

He woke up to the insistant voice of his mother calling from the living room door. That was something new, sleeping over on the couch in the living room, but goodness knows how much better an idea that was than insistant pounding on the door of his house.

Sleep in his eyes. No sun yet. Everything blurry. Cramped muscles.

You people need to buy longer couches.

The car was frigid to the touch, just another in a litany of reasons not to touch the thing. But you have to get in somehow, and touching that brittle, frozen plastic is the only way to do it short of explosives.

Can’t fall asleep sitting upright. He’s always had this. Never, in his history of sitting upright, has he fallen asleep. Standing, once. But sitting, never. Can’t fall asleep in church either, even in the most dull of Reformed services.

How does a person eat cereal and drive at the same time? Not very well, that’s how, and the adventure of letting his father drive started getting to be too much for his nervous system. Like letting Timon drive the Range Rover. People weren’t made to multitask.

Airports. Why were there so many twisting on and off ramps? Someone should have informed the designers of What Is a Grid and How to Use One. He stared out at the new terminal, all curves and glass. He thanked God that the 70s were a distant memory of Communist-style buildings.

They walked inside, him and his mother, walked to the que of people waiting to be boarded. No vanilla crowd here: it was like the United Nations squished into a line.

Security ran his computer through the x-ray machine. Not supposed to do that, he thought. They didn’t confiscate his pipe tool, though he didn’t even have a pipe to use it on. Have the bloody thing, he almost said when they were examining it for sharp edges. Have it and smoke a pipe with it. It’ll relax you. And you need it.

Endless. It’s not a concept easily understood, except when contemplating eternity in heaven with visual aids like a terminal. At the terminus of the terminal was Gate 143. It was an understated affair, boarding the aeroplane. No trumpets, no cake for the first-time flyer. It was instead like being processed. Like cattle.

They sat in the steerage, where there was nothing to do but randomly unpack and repack the carry-on. Do a half of a crossword puzzle. Shut the book and try the laptop. Broken. Damn. Read some half-interesting book about leading a business. Almost finish it.

Suddenly pressed back in the seat — acceleration, finally — and then takeoff. Another understated affair. Even the popping of ears wasn’t as bad as they make it out to be. A little swallowing and it’s fine. Yawn.

The flight seemed to take days, not hours, he thought. Below, pretty squares in drab light-deprived colours parallaxed by. Over the prairies.

Finally, the mountains. They lay below like great mounds of sand, some awash in snow, others drowning like abandoned islands in pools of liquid cloud.

The mountains, and then the ocean. Descent came quickly, before anyone really knew it. Touchdown.

The building was a legacy to the 70s. Another legacy to the 70s. Brick everywhere. Stone mortared to cement, looking like some autistic child had been given a gluegun. Artistic brilliance. Architectural madness.

They put the luggage on another flight. He didn’t know if he’d see it again. Needed those pants. How is a guys supposed to shave without a razor? No gel. No antiperspirant.

The hotel is another understated, maybe even ubiquitous affair. These things dot the continent, providing comfortable brand familiarity. The room was comfortable. Not too comfortable; certainly not luxurious. No web connection.

He collapsed onto the bed, after lunch. So this is jet-lag.

I’m always on the prowl for foods that aren’t often made, or esoteric recipes that require odd ingredients or consist of unusual favour combinations. Little did I know before today that a thing such as Ginger Mint Chicken actually exists. Ta-da:

Ingredients

chicken, cut into small pieces
ginger, finely chopped
mint, chopped
green chillies, chopped
fish sauce
lime juice
sugar
peanuts, ground
sesame
tapioca flour (or other starch) for thickening

Method

Heat oil in pan and fry ginger and chili peppers. Add chicken and fry for several minutes. Add fish sauce and let it sizzle. Add 1/2 cup water, cover and cook till done. Add a pinch of sugar, lime juice, mint, and peanuts. Thicken with starch, sprinkle sesame seeds, and serve.

It would appear as if Bush has won this election. Of course, the Democrats aren’t going to go down without a fight and a lot of whining. Have I ever mentioned that I don’t like Democrats? I also don’t like Republicans. And if I lived in the States, I’d be voting for the Libertarian candidate, Michael Badnarik.

Here’s a little something _Steve said on the rumour forum, something I think is worth repeating here:

My party lost tonight. We lost the Presidential race, we lost a seat or two in the Senate. At the end of it all, I have to congratulate the other party on a good race…and I’m okay with that.

I’m a person prone to paranoia. When I see a party, any party, become as militant as both of these parties have become this election, I fear for my safety. I’d be lying if I haven’t been afraid, if only for a split-second, that supporters of the losing party would be rounded up and incarcerated for supporting the loser. I suppose this paranoia is grounded in the increasing vitriole that both sides display towards the other. Dehumanization and demonization are the new political tactics; antiquated things like “debates” or “issue discussion” have become merely public vehicles for personal attacks and libel.

President Bush is not a blood-thirsty warmonger; Senator Kerry is not a treasonous murderer. Even so, the politics of hate and fear have gripped both sides so thoroughly that I have truly been disgusted by this election. Both the Kerry and Bush campaigns are guilty of leading America into the kind of deep, resentful division that tore us apart as a nation in the 1850s. We aren’t heading in a positive direction; we’re heading, as a nation, down a path that ends in a popular non-recognition of the legality of an American election. I can’t stress that point enough…if our democracy becomes the democracy of the third world, we as a nation will have lost something crucial, something ineffable…something uniquely American.

I have seen, with my own eyes, Democrats refusing to interact on a day-to-day basis with Republicans, and vice versa. I’m not talking about political operatives…I’m talking about common people. I’ve seen families ripped apart at the seams because of party affiliation; I personally know a girl, here in Arkansas, who was threatened with being disowned if she voted differently than her parents. Unfortunately, these sad tales are not as uncommon as they once were.

As citizens, as demoi, we have a duty to be concerned about the operation of our government. But I truly believe that we have made politics too important. Politics should NEVER rip a family apart. Politics should NEVER hurt a friendship. Politics should be, in my opinion, like sports; you and your best friend may root for different teams, and you may tease each other over any particular game, but you don’t throw away a relationship for football or baseball. We don’t treat the political process like this right now, we take it more seriously than that…and while that has positive effects, the negative effects cannot be ignored. As each day passes, we are increasingly becoming two nations - one Democrat, one Republican. We use language for the opposition party that historically Americans have only reserved for national enemies.

The hate must stop, or this country will rip itself apart again. And in an era when there are no Abe Lincolns left, I don’t think this country - which for two centuries has stood as the world’s leading light of liberty - would survive another split.

Also, this is my last day of work this week before I fly out to BC. And I’m taking it off early. So it would be my last 3/4 day of work, the 3/4 day of work in which I receive some sort of paycheque.

Picture my bank account smiling.

From _Steve’s blog (on the sidebar to your right), a sentiment I heartily concur with:

I awoke from this dreadful reverie just now and had a revelation - life never has and never will play out like the perverse performer wants. You never get a tragic phone call while with a large group of friends; you get it while you’re doing the dishes. You don’t get in a wreck while driving somewhere with your wife, only to awaken seconds later and have her die in your arms while an orchestra plays in the background; you’re just driving along somewhere, and then you wake up days later, only to find out that the love of your life is gone forever and you missed the funeral.

And, from JDR’s blog, something that makes sense to various species of literate monkeys:

Bored Bored Bored - Old People EVERYWHERE! It’s like I’m in a nursing home, but in nursing homes there’s TV, and Jello… and drugs. Hey! I like TV…. and Jello… and drugs… okay maybe not drugs… okay yea, drugs are Bad - JUST SAY NO, NANCY! Yes Virginia, There is a Santa Clause! And it’s SATAN! Now Shut up and eat your stinkin’ Jello!

I felt like ranting about this a little, but I won’t, just out of compassion for the human race. But I would like to say something: be generous.

You only have so much time in your lives. You only have so much time to give and be given to. You only have so much time to be a blessing to other people.

Your money is not your own.

Your time is not your own.

Your life is not your own.

It’s a strange thought. I know I don’t give enough money to the church. I know I don’t give enough time to my friends. I know I don’t often enough live my life in perspective.

But this much I can say, and that is that I am not a tightwad. It may run in my circles, it may be embedded in my bloodstream, but I am not. I’m not afraid to shell out some money to my church for, say, a Young People’s book, especially since I have enough and more left over. The church doesn’t exist to bear the costs for me. I exist to serve, not to be served. I exist to give. The fact that I receive is merely secondary to the fact that I give, even though it’s a result.

That’s all I have to say this morning about generosity. But the scriptures aren’t done quote yet. Psalm 112 says, “Good will come to him who is generous.” Deuteronomy 15 tells us, “I command you to be openhanded toward your brothers and toward the poor and needy in your land.” Proverbs 11 is just as clear: ” A generous man will prosper; he who refreshes others will himself be refreshed.”