HFCS

I've been 'researching' High Fructose Corn Syrup (HFCS) for the past week─ intending to write a blog─ inspired and compelled by information of a dubious feel, propagating through my facebook network.

Honestly, I've felt like I've been banging my head against the wall. Secondary sources along with the echoed, distorted and deliberately twisted opinions & "common" wisdoms abound, freely available on the net. Primary sources, as in the original, peer-reviewed, research articles are not (typically) freely available.

I am fortunate enough to live in a town with a university: I am undecided how I should make use of this resource, for the purpose of a blog. The beauty and power of digital media comes from the novel ability to hyperlink, thereby elevating essays from mere rhetorical theses to a supported syntheses. The inability to link from a blog back to a source, puts a burden of faith on the reader: particularly if the reader lacks access to the source material.

Presidents Weekly Address: The Republican Corporate Power Grab

I believe President Obama is referring to H.R. 5175, which reads as a potent reform of campaign financing, right up until the final clause of the bill:

Title IV - Other Provisions:

Section 401-
Authorizes judicial review of the provisions of this Act by the U.S. District Court for the District of Columbia, and on appeal by the Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia Circuit. Grants Members of Congress the right to: (1) bring an action to challenge the constitutionality of a provision of this Act; or (2) intervene in any action challenging the constitutionality of a provision of this Act, either in support of or opposition to the position of a party to the case.

Section 402-
Declares that nothing in this Act shall be construed to affect any provision of law, rule, or regulation which waives a requirement to disclose information relating to any person in any case in which there is a reasonable probability that the information disclosure would subject the person to threats, harassments, or reprisals.

Corporations are limited liability legal entities and legal personages. These facts combined, are the reason for the majority decision on the Citizens United v. FEC Supreme Court ruling and subsequent outrage from certain factions in Washington DC. All persons in the US have the right to freedom of expression and corporations are debatably people.

So, H.R. 5175, Title IV, Section 402 simply undermines the entire bill: corporations and similar legal entities are legal persons and are therefore shielded by the wording of the section, especially if a boycott legally constitutes a "reprisal."

Image via Wikipedia

There is a perspective, represented by Justice Antonin Scalia, essentially arguing that corporations are people working in unison, therefore limiting corporate rights (in fact) limits human rights. As rational as this perspective may seem, I vehemently disagree.

Corporations are contrived legal shelters─ minimizing taxes paid, limiting legal liability, etc. amongst investors─ people who constitute an elite class within our country. With the benefits that come from incorporating, it seems reasonable that there would be various trade-offs for that entity, but not the individual investors. Limiting corporate rights has no bearing on individual rights. What would be, and has been for the last century, denied to them is the ability to directly fund political propaganda from corporate coffers, under 1st Amendment protection.

The threat here lies in the fact corporations (foreign or domestic) could outright buy elections through direct marketing campaigns and there's little chance the general public will know who financed the winning ad-campaign. Candidates should be beholden to the people who voted for them, not to the corporations that financed their campaigns and this was a major challenge prior to the Citizens United v. CEF ruling.


Researching this, I became extremely disappointed in the Republicans: I want a minority party to act as a firewall for bad legislation, not a brick-wall for progress.

Honest Reflections

On the morning September 11th, 2001, I got out of bed─ showered, dressed and went to the living room to put on my shoes and the intent to read the newspaper before school. As I sat on the loveseat, my mother was sitting on the couch, reading the paper: and noticing the content of front-page, I began to gripe about the lack of real news-coverage by our local paper.

My mom said something along the lines of, “there will be real news in the paper tomorrow,” while she turned on the TV─ I think to Good Morning America─ incidentally, just as the first tower fell.

Honestly, most of that day is a haze. Most teachers had their TV's tuned to some news station, I think some released their classes. A handful number of students had family in New York or Washington; one of my best friend's father worked in the Pentagon.

I felt sympathy; I was trying to be empathetic. At the time, I was also struggling to align (some sort of) theism with a rational world view. I felt guilt (and do to this day) about my gut reactions, my feelings and my thoughts about the attacks.

Adjusting Course

I procrastinated writing this week, because the topic I was most tempted to write about was writing─ who cares to read as an amateur writer ponders upon writing?─ am I writing for some desired audience, myself, or for the sake of writing?─ am I even justified in calling myself a 'writer'?

I think it's obvious, I've been dealing with some self-doubt; likely banal autumnal-existential-depression.

Honestly, I feel justified in considering myself a writer. If asked about my profession, I wouldn't [yet] refer to myself as such, but I do write, and I do publish it to a blog. I'd not claim the title of blogger, because I'm not one of them. That is, my blog doesn't exist to spread information or opinion or feed ego, it exists so I can share my craft and, ideally, receive feedback of some sort.

I am a writer (by certain definition), but why then, do I write? I'm not going to make a cliched appeal to a contrived notion of the Art of Writing: it's not majik, in any-sense. And I frankly don't care about the science of writing either, to met it's a craft which I practice.

So, I write for myself, it's a compulsion that leads to self-satisfaction. Altho, yes, I would like to garner a following, I'd like to make a living from writing and doing as much would fuel my ego: such is the nature of succeeding in any practice. Still, I will not pander to an audience, because it is not in my nature to do so. I will write, endure and perhaps find some measure of success.

I am proud of what I've written here and I'm proud of my previous postings on this blog: whether they garner an audience or not. My efforts have been spent writing earnestly and respectfully on topics I care about. The internet is filled with enough snark and rage, which I've little enough interest in reading, let-alone contributing to.

This marks a change in this blog's function. My poetry will henceforth be found at 'Emarald Wordsmith'. I'm not concerning myself with short-fiction, for the time being, but if I write some it will likely be posted to that blog as well.

'Figuring it Out' will be devoted to essay/journal style writing.

A Meta-Story

It will be winter soon, that will be an easier time for me. I won't have to struggle against happiness, consigned instead, to the drizzled-upon contentment of the season, which is the lot of those who live in the pacific northwest.

Life is, what you make it. Or, some such bullshit. I wonder what would happen if I ever managed to give myself over to some particular philosophy- fully embraced some stereotype. Geek or Goth or Emo or Hipster; then I might, at least, be able to tell you who I am.

As it stands, it's late summer; which isn't a metaphor, of any sort. Nah, I'm 26, it's maybe late spring/early summer. I'm too old, regardless, to be so wracked by indecision. Hell, I don't even know where this story is going, if anywhere.

I'm in a restaurant.

There's a cute girl, at the next table. She keeps making eye-contact, the darting sort, like maybe she's coy, but interested, or something. But, she had a ring on the wrong finger, it looked like it was probably costume jewelry, but there it was.

I could be a brilliant anti-hero, bitter and jaded. That would make for a good story. But not some misanthrope. I'd need some motivation and some compelling twist. I could be gay, or black, or atheist, maybe Muslim. All of the above? Hell yeah!- if I were a Black-Lesbian-Muslim-Agnostic trying to reconcile all that shit, that would be the most compelling mind-fuck of a story ever. Or I could just be a 30-something virgin or whore, that would tweak your sensibilities too.

All of that conflicts with how I began my story, with a cogitation intended to lead to a challenge of masculine stoicism.

Besides, I'm him and the rest would be him, even those of them which you think may be you, are in reality him. Sure, they may have your eyes or he may have borrowed some of your mannerisms, just superficial similarities, to mask some aspect of him. He could be a her, but it's the author regardless and in this case, it is him.

So, here I am, a self aware, do-nothing, slacker of a character, analyzing my roll in this story, which isn't a story at all. This is pointless self-indulgence, I suspect. A self-portrait.

The girl left. I followed, readying a cigarette, so it looked as if I were heading out just to smoke. She stopped at the counter to pay, I continued on to the outside.

Moments later, she emerged and I said “Hey,” then inhaled from the cigarette. We chatted a couple moments, she took off the ring surreptitiously, which I'd not have noticed, if I'd not been intensely aware of that jewelry.

Eventually she said, “Well, I've got to go. Maybe next time, you won't be so shy.” And it seemed to me, the right response would have been to kiss her, but I didn't. There was a pregnant pause, before she hugged me. During the embrace, I was hyper-aware of the warmth of her breasts pressed firmly against mine, I think it was deliberate on her part.

She pulled back, smiled, then frowned, before she turned and bounded into the night.

Anyway, the Star of David was chained around her neck, so she's probably Jewish. And the verb-tense is all wrong.

Critical Thought: Iraq War v. 8/28 Malarkey

Image via Wikipedia

Read an article shrugging off the continued (political) importance of the Iraq War, because polls say only 7.5% of Americans still "care" about it, one way or the other- that's 22,500,000+ people. Assuming that 7.5% of Americans is evenly distributed across states that's 2,773,625+ Californians, alone.

No back links to the cited polls, no mention of polling practices, no disclosure of poll questions.

I think that 22.5 million people are worthy of political pandering, especially while the media has dedicated too much coverage to Glenn Beck's 8/28 malarkey. We'll have a week or so of quibbling over the attendance. As if it matters- if Beck gets his 100k, I still think of the Tea Party movement as being a self-selecting and wholly insular minority; though they have a great press machine, even in their detractors.

Introspective Musing

I feel wholly insufficient,
to art - so egoistic.
Possessed of virtue-altruistic,
the muse developed a wart.
Beauty marred, her artist starved,
or changed to vocation-scientific.