It boggles my mind that someone would want to mistreat an animal. I have a dog (he eats meat too, mind you), and he’s not always cooperative. In fact, he’s on behavioral medication, because he’s kind of bipolar. When he’s bad, I’ll yell at him; he’ll get all pouty and I’ll feel guilty. Back when Atlanta Falcons quarterback Michael Vick got in trouble for dog fighting, I was as outraged as everyone else. If I accidentally step on my dog’s paw, I apologize with a handful of treats, soothing words and copious belly scratches. If I’d sent him to die in gladiatorial combat for my own profit, I’d probably kill myself.

So, I’m glad that organizations like PETA exist. While I don’t always agree with their stances, I certainly believe they have the right to push their agenda as aggressively as they see fit. The way I see it is, in this current social climate where everything is so over the top and in your face, you have to be extreme to get your point across.

Whether it’s demonstrations or anti-fur ads featuring naked celebrities (particularly Roselyn Sanchez—good call!), you’ve got to get people’s attention somehow. Recently, PETA has made waves in the news again, and like before, breasts are a part of the equation; but in this case, it’s the functionality of the breast that takes precedent.
In a recent letter, PETA implored eccentric ice cream moguls Ben Cohen and Jerry Greenfield (Ben & Jerry’s, duh) to use milk from nursing human mommas as opposed to cow’s milk. Tracy Reiman, PETA’s executive vice president, wrote, “Using cows’ milk for your ice cream is a hazard to your customers’ health. Dairy products have been linked to juvenile diabetes, allergies, constipation, obesity, and prostate and ovarian cancer.” So much for the old slogan: “Milk, it does a body good.” Reiman’s letter also said that the switch to breast milk would be better for both consumers, and of course, the cows.

Honestly, I’ve often wondered why people drank cow’s milk to begin with. Every so often, there’s a feel good story in the news where some momma dog or whatnot takes in a litter of bear cubs and nurses them, but that sort of thing is rare—life affirming and adorable, but rare. We’re the only species that subsists mostly on the milk of another. Maybe we should take PETA’s suggestion to heart. At the very least, trips to Starbucks would be a lot more interesting if they had to squirt a couple drams of breast milk into your morning latte. On the other hand, I saw a porno once where one actress shot a stream of breast milk into the other woman’s mouth, and I was so mortified, I had to skip to the next chapter. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t breastfed as a child.

Ben & Jerry’s was magnanimous with their response. In an article on Independent.co.uk, author Rachel Shields quoted a Ben & Jerry’s spokesperson as saying, “We applaud [the group’s] novel approach to bringing attention to an issue, but we believe a mother’s milk is best used for her child.” Excellent use of the word “novel,” by the way.

Dairy farmers were not as courteous. Dr. Judith Bryans, director of the Dairy Council, called PETA’s claims “a misrepresentation of science.” Maybe she wasn’t breastfed either.

Post from: Submerge Magazine

If you’re not one of those people, I don’t know what to tell you. You’re getting old, bro. Drink a glass of warm milk and try to get to bed early. I’m sure you have a busy day of work or with the kids or whatever. Maybe you read “college” and you chuckle through your evening single malt scotch. Maybe you think of all those wild parties and promiscuous encounters. I bet you look back on your college years and think, “Gosh, those were the days.” I mean, I don’t, but whatever.

I attended college for a long time. I went to two different schools—the College of Staten Island, a part of the City University of New York, and Wagner College, a small private school also on Staten Island—and plodded through six years before I got my bachelor’s degree…in English.

The winter before my final semester at Wagner (Go Seahawks!), I went to my grade advisor to make my schedule for the spring session. She looked over the transcripts and gleefully exclaimed, “You only need six more credits for graduation!” Her enthusiasm was matched only by my anxiety over the chilling revelation that I was completely unprepared for life outside academia. I managed to bark out an empty, “That’s great!” as I fought back the urge to vomit. I mean, really, the nerve of them. Here I was throwing almost $20k a year in federal loan money at them, and they were just going to kick me out?

I was shaken up, but as G-day approached, I became more and more optimistic. My whole life was ahead of me, after all, and I was going to have a degree…in English. Afterward, I took a year off and traveled America. I took a car, bus and train across the country, and it was an amazing experience. In Flagstaff, some dude I’d traveled on the bus with explained to me the particulars of crystal meth; on the train, somewhere around Chicago, I partied all night in the club car with drunken teenagers from Pueblo, Colo.; a guy who just got out of prison; a one-legged woman with pretty blue eyes and the bartender who wanted to fuck her. I returned to Staten Island worldly, driven, and things were fine until the student loan officers started lurking in the bushes.

In an attempt to stave them off, I went back to school. It turned out to be a big mistake. I realized after the first semester that I really never liked school all that much, and since I never wanted to be a teacher, having a master’s degree just felt like putting on airs. It did get me to move out to California though, which, luckily for you, is why you’re reading this right now.

If you’re looking for words of wisdom, I’m afraid I don’t have any. I’m not going to tell you that these are “the best years of your life,” because if they are, sucks to be you. Seriously, with modern medicine, life expectancies are ridiculously long and will probably only get longer. You don’t want to blow your wad in your early 20s. My best hope for all of you is that you peak sometime in your 50s. At least then you’ll have something to look forward to. The one thing I will suggest is stay in college as long as your parents will support you. This isn’t because college is so great. It’s not. It’s expensive, ultimately not that important and one day, you’re going to have to pay all that free money back. No, you should stay in as long as possible, because college, at the very least, has a definitive goal. You’re working for that diploma. The real world isn’t as black and white. I’m 31 and all I’ve got to look forward to is retirement, and that’s like 40 years away. Maybe more. After that, only the grim hand of Death remains. But I wanted this to be positive. Good luck.

By James Barone
jb@submergemag.com

Post from: Submerge Magazine

I’d lie and say writing this column is difficult. I probably should, because it’s always late. I should say that it takes me days to figure out what to write about, but really, it just takes me days to actually sit down and do it. I’m a procrastinator. And a damn good one at that.

When I do finally force myself to sit down and do what I’m supposed to, it’s actually kind of easy. I just point my browser toward news.google.com, find whatever sparks my interest, and prattle on about it for about 650 words and hope some of you find my take on it interesting. This week was a little more difficult than most, though. After being awe-struck at the opening ceremonies of the Olympics, I’ve been obsessed—watching whatever coverage I could. But as I was marveling at the ability people have to put their differences aside and come together in the form of healthy competition, a far more similar contest was taking place just a thousand or so miles from Beijing. Russia, not content with the U.S. being the only country to flop their gigantic military cocks on the tables of smaller countries, thought it would be a good idea to say a hearty “Fuck you!” to the hope and unity the Olympic games inspire and send tanks, troops and missiles into Georgia.

Of course, there are two sides to every story. The Georgian regions of South Ossetia and Abkhazia are breakaway republics, and Russia claimed that their Aug. 7 invasion was enacted to protect the people of those regions from the Georgian government. Large militarized nation moves in on smaller country to protect its people from their own government: We’ve heard that type of rhetoric before. Oh, and Georgia is vital in the oil trade, too. Bet you couldn’t have guessed that. Its Baku-Tbilisi-Ceyhan pipeline transports 1 million barrels of oil per day from Azerbaijan to the Mediterranean Sea—roughly 1 percent of the world’s oil needs.
What looms more ominous about the situation is the reaction of the west. Strong words have ping-ponged back and forth between Washington D.C. and Moscow. Remember those days? When Rocky fought Drago and pop songs like “The Future’s So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades” and “Everybody Have Fun Tonight” tried to put a happy face on the impending nuclear holocaust? They’re back! Unlike Iraq, Iran or North Korea, Russia actually does have “the bomb” and the capability of using it. I don’t think that’ll happen, mind you. There’s no money in wiping out the human race. Who’ll need to gas up their cars or go to Wal-Mart if we’re all gone?
Still, any time I hear two countries with nukes getting uppity at one another, I think back to that dream sequence from Terminator 2—when Linda Hamilton turns to bones—and I get spooked. When I hit up Google News today to find out if there were any new developments in the Georgia conflict (there was a cease fire), recent developments in the ongoing Bigfoot saga were a lot more abundant.

While camping in the U.S. state of Georgia (talk about synchronicity), Matthew Whitton and Rick Dyer allegedly discovered the corpse of a humanoid creature that they claim is the elusive Sasquatch. Delighted by their discovery, they tossed the body in a cooler (with a few living Bigfoots watching on) and kept it in a freezer for two months before alerting the world of their discovery on Aug. 15 at a Palo Alto press conference. Both men were wearing tan hats advertising their Bigfoot-themed Web site, and as you’d expect, the evidence is weak. DNA tests on the body have yielded inconclusive, human and possum results; and photos of the corpse and the creatures surrounding the site are blurry or overexposed. They didn’t produce the body as of this writing, but Whitton and Dyer said that a reporter from Fox News would be the first to see it. Apparently, they don’t have anything better to report on.

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It’s finally upon us. Every four years the countries of the world put aside their differences (sort of) and get together in an overwhelming display of unity and competition. The Olympics are always a spectacle, and over the years have played host to some of the most dramatic moments in human history both on the fields of play and off. There have been boycotts, world records, kidnappings, improbable upsets, doping scandals and athletes battling through unrivaled hardships (be they physical or socio-political) to achieve feats so amazing that they seem almost super human. This year, as you probably should know, the Summer Olympics will take place in the Chinese capital of Beijing, and I predict it will be the most awe-inspiring event mankind has ever seen.

Over seven years ago, in July 2001, Beijing beat out the short list of candidates that included Toronto, Paris, Istanbul and Osaka to become the host city for this year’s summer games. Since then, the world has pretty much gone to hell: 9/11 happened, two wars broke out and Bush was somehow re-elected; catastrophic earthquakes, fires and hurricanes/cyclones seemed to act as harbingers for an impending climate crisis; greedy lenders and rising oil prices have led the world near the brink of economic disaster; Arrested Development got canceled. Like I said: It’s all gone to hell.

And then there’s China. As wealthy western capitalist nations struggle through their doldrums, communist China has seen remarkable growth in that time, economically speaking. The country has become one of the world’s most prosperous nations, and starting Aug. 8, it will shake its moneymaker for the world to see.

Like any burgeoning super power, China has had its growing pains. Its humanitarian record is as dirty as Beijing’s polluted air. Since the announcement that this year’s Olympics would take place in Beijing, the world community has been up in arms in disapproval, thanks in large part to the Chinese government’s handling of Tibet and its seemingly flippant disregard for its own citizens. You may remember that when the Olympic torch passed through San Francisco in April that it’s route had to be secretly bypassed in order to avoid the throngs of angry protesters.

So much for bringing the world together—though I guess you could make a case that it is at the very least united against China. Sure, the country has its shady side, but they’re not the only government who does shitty things to people. I’m sure there are 200,000 Calfornia state employees who might agree.

The stage is set. The proper political intrigue is in place. The drama of the games themselves is a given. But both these aspects don’t really differentiate the Beijing Olympics from the many that have come before. Why will this one be so much more spectacular? China has a lot to prove, and it wants you to know it means business. Billions of dollars have been invested in aggressive environmental policies to reduce pollution and make this the greenest Olympics ever. A weather drill has been constructed to disperse clouds so that rain won’t threaten the competitions. If that wasn’t enough, China has also deployed the Fashion police, because if you’re going to plan an event to stake your claim as the world’s new supreme power, you’d better look good doing it.

According to an article on Telegraph.co.uk, the Capital Spiritual Civilisation Construction Commission has handed out 36-page booklets on how Beijing’s 15 million residents should behave and what they should wear. According to the guidelines, men shouldn’t wear pajamas in public, nor should they prance about with a bare chest and rolled up trousers. Women must adhere to more stringent specifications. They should be mindful of their age-to-skirt-length ratio, not wear outfits that contain more than three colors, and, if they have thick ankles, then they should wear dark stockings to mask the problem (I wonder what the Chinese character for “cankles” is). The booklet also contains words of fashion wisdom such as, “Clothes should not be too small, otherwise this makes people feel you are unreliable.”

No matter how you feel about China’s politics, you have to at least admire its ingenuity.

James Barone
jb@submergemag.com

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Batman’s a literary icon if there ever was one, sort of like a Jay Gatsby with a bitchin’ ride. As with any awe-inspiring figure, sometimes the intricacies of their character get lost, but it’s these little details that really make them great. One of my favorite things about Batman is that despite his wealth, costume or bizarre hobby, he’s still just a man. He can’t fly, heave boulders or blast villains with eye lasers. His only weapons are his deductive reasoning, some clever gadgets and, when those fail, his fists. Also, despite being an obvious sociopath, Batman’s not a cold-blooded killer. Sure, he dons a cape and cowl and prowls the streets of Gotham so he may mete out justice upon criminals, but he’s not crazy. He believes in the system. A vigilante, yes, but he still believes the most hardened villain deserves his day in court. He also deplores the use of guns, and so do I, no matter what the Supreme Court says.

On June 26, The Supreme Court, led by Justice Antonin Scalia, decided 5–4 that a Washington D.C. ban on handguns was unconstitutional. In the opinion of the majority, Scalia wrote with great hyperbole, “Undoubtedly some think that the Second Amendment is outmoded in a society where our standing army is the pride of our nation, where well-trained police forces provide personal security and where gun violence is a serious problem. That is perhaps debatable, but what is not debatable is that it is not the role of this court to pronounce the Second Amendment extinct.” He went on to write that though the majority of the court was pretty bummed about D.C.’s gun violence problem, a ban wasn’t the answer. And in that respect, he was right. Despite the 32-year ban on handguns, D.C.’s homicide numbers are still more akin to an old west barter town than an affluent nation’s capital.

July 17 marked the first day D.C. residents were legally allowed to go out and get strapped. In response to the ruling, D.C. officials passed emergency legislation to place limitations on what kind of side arms John Q. Public was allowed to register and where and how they should be kept: nothing that fires 12 rounds or more, and those burners have to be kept at home for self-defense only, either locked in a box or unloaded and disassembled. In the first day post-ban, D.C. police headquarters received 60 citizens looking for gun applications. According to an article written by Brian Westley of the Associated Press, one of the applicants was Anthony Hamilton, who wanted a gun in order to protect his wife and pre-teen daughter. Hamilton, never the victim of violent crime in his 35 years as a D.C. resident, was quoted in the article as saying, “You never know when someone is going to kick the door in.”

Now, this is the type of paranoia I can appreciate. But really, Mr. Hamilton. Is a gun the answer? If an uzi-wielding madman kicked down your door, are you going to be able to assemble that gun and fire a round to take down the intruder before he shoots your wife and defiles your daughter? Are you going to fumble with your key as you try to unlock your gun safe? Are you even going to remember where the damn thing is? Ask yourself, Mr. Hamilton: What would Batman do? You’ll be glad you did.

James Barone
jb@submergemag.com

Post from: Submerge Magazine

The ongoing battle between Viacom and Google entered a cultural quagmire as a judge on July 2 ordered the latter to hand over all records of every video ever watched on YouTube. Google, which owns YouTube, will have to release a staggering 12 terabytes of data (a terabyte is equal to 1000 gigabytes, which is a whole lot of iPods). The information includes user names, IP addresses and what videos were watched and when. A little icing on the cake: Google will also have to turn over all videos that have been taken down for any reason. Even some information regarding videos that are set to private will have to be divulged.

The lawsuit—combined with a similar lawsuit filed by the English Premier League (you know, soccer) and other parties—was filed in March 2007. Viacom is seeking $1 billion in damages for YouTube allowing its users to upload onto its servers copyright-protected material.

U.S. District Judge Louis L. Stanton (give him a call: (212) 805-0252!) presided over the ruling. He dismissed Google’s argument that turning over their users’ information would infringe upon their privacy as merely speculative. To add insult to injury, Stanton used Google’s defense of retaining all that data—which is how Google is able to make so much money and rule the Internet with an iron hand—against them in his decision. According to the Sacramento Bee, “Though Google said giving the plaintiffs access to YouTube viewer data would threaten users’ privacy, Stanton referred to Google’s own blog entry in which the company argued that the IP address alone cannot identify a specific individual.” Burn!

The Electronic Frontier Foundation, a nonprofit organization that “[champions] the public interest in every critical battle affecting digital rights,” called Stanton’s ruling “erroneous” and “a set-back to privacy rights.”

I don’t agree with the ruling. As one astute commenter (imagine that!) wrote on the Wired blog, “I don’t see any real need to disclose user identities and other personal information to a third party, especially when Viacom has no claim to the video. How does my personal information help Viacom determine whether a video is or is not its copyrighted material?” My thoughts exactly. Clearly, Viacom is after more than just a billion-dollar payday. The media giant also asked for “YouTube’s source code, the code for identifying repeat copyright infringement uploads, copies of all videos marked private, and Google’s advertising database schema,” according to the Wired article posted by Ryan Singel. I wonder what they could’ve wanted that for…

I don’t care if they have my user information or not. I have nothing to hide. Sure, I like to watch clips of scantily clad women shake it to the pop song du jour while I’m supposed to be editing this here magazine (those girls are of age, right?), but I’m sure that doesn’t make me a criminal…well, reasonably sure. I’ve never seen “Two Girls, One Cup” or “Leave Britney Alone” or even “Chocolate Rain,” so I have nothing to be ashamed of either.

We all had to know this was coming. It’s been a crazy ride on the information superhighway, but I’m sure more decisions like these are coming. There’ll be more regulations, too. The days of the Internet as the new Wild West are numbered. At least you can take solace in knowing that you’re not the intern who has to pore through all that data.

James Barone
jb@submergemag.com

Post from: Submerge Magazine

This has been a busy week for me. In addition to my normal duties, I’ve also been tending to my neighbors’ cats and garden while they’re away on vacation. It’s very rewarding and very stressful work. The cats have taken a shine to me. Now when I approach, they don’t scurry and hide, but they run up all around my legs and meow sweet nothings toward me. The plants have proven to be more difficult. The azalea bush was pink, vibrant and fluffy before it was relegated to my care, but now is shriveled, drab and droopy. On the bright side, the vegetable garden seems to be thriving. The Japanese eggplants are coming in nicely and there are zucchini and squash already coming in. It’s simple, maybe, but it’s very fulfilling work.

While I’ve been busy concerning myself with terrestrial matters, others have been setting their sights toward heavenly bodies. Mars is back in the news again. The Phoenix Mars lander, a space craft deployed by NASA, may have discovered water ice. According to an article by Kenneth Chang published in the New York Times on June 20:

“In a photograph released Thursday evening of a trench that the Phoenix Mars lander has dug into the Martian soil, some white patches that were seen earlier in the week have shrunk, and eight small chunks have disappeared. Until now, scientists were not sure if the white material was ice or some kind of salt.
“When exposed to air, water ice can change into water vapor, a process known as sublimation. Salt, on the other hand, is not capable of such a vanishing act.”

Of course, ice on Mars is nothing new. Scientists have been popping boners over the possibility for years now. Later in the article, Dr. Peter H. Smith of the University of Arizona, the principal investigator of the Phoenix’s mission, threw the scientific method out the window and gushed, “It must be ice! The whole science team thinks this. I think we feel this is definite proof that these are little chunks of icy material!”
In case you were wondering, I added the exclamation points for effect. He just seemed so darn excited. I’m sure his statements were delivered with the proper gravitas.

Water ice, of course, means water. And, as I’m finding out as the caretaker of my neighbor’s garden, water means life—unless of course you live near the banks of the Mississippi, in which case water equates financial ruin and soggy doom.

So did anything ever live on Mars? There is evidence of vast icy material beneath the planet’s surface. There is also a chance that Mars’s environment may have been habitable in the past 10 million years or so. It’s possible, sure, but it’s probably nothing as interesting as the critters from Mars Attacks.

If it turns out Mars is, was or could be inhabitable, we should take it at as a blessing. Shit keeps getting worse here on ol’ Earth. A report issued by the U.S. Climate Change Science Program (got to work on that name, guys) on Thursday, June 19 stated that catastrophes like the aforementioned Midwest flooding—and even the fires that have been raging around us in northern California may become more prevalent and more extreme in the years ahead. Apparently, what was contained in the 162-page report was so gnarly that the vice president and managing director for climate change of the World Wildlife Fund, Richard Moss, called it “really frightening!”

That exclamation point was mine, too. But you should probably grow those gardens while you can.

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It’s not summer yet, but Paramount already took its first shot at its competitors with Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. This Wednesday night, going into Thursday morning, myself and a few alcohol-addled friends got to see a midnight premier of the movie in a packed, rowdy house (though truth be told, we may have been the rowdy ones). There were some radical previews such as Wall-E, the upcoming Pixar flick, and Hancock, the unfortunately titled Will Smith superhero movie; I got chills and applauded during the Dark Knight trailer…July 18 seems way too far away. I’ve seen all of these trailers before, but the atmosphere was pretty electric, and I was frantic with anticipation at the thought of reconnecting with one of my favorite celluloid heroes. Han Solo is cool and all, but I’ll take Harrison Ford as Dr. Henry “Indiana” Jones, Jr. any day of the week.

Crystal Skull takes place 20 or so years after the last film. A good choice considering Ford isn’t as young as he used to be. He’s old, yeah, but give it a rest. I got real sick of people talking trash about a movie they hadn’t seen yet simply because of the age of its leading man. At 65 years old, Ford’s not the brash, roguish silver screen hunk that your mom got all starry-eyed over back in the ‘80s, but he could still probably steal your girlfriend—and he’d probably treat her a lot better than you do, asshole. However, since the movie takes place in 1957, it excludes one of the key elements that made the other films so successful (and whose absence also made Temple of Doom a bit of a disappointment): Nazis! Who doesn’t like seeing Nazis getting the shit kicked out of them by a wisecracking hero? Crystal Skull instead throws Russians into the mix, because back in the ‘50s, they were communists (it’s true…look it up), and Americans weren’t too keen on it at the time. Since I’m a bed-wetting liberal, I can sort of sympathize with communists, and with Cate Blanchett cast as their sexy leader, I found it difficult to hate them too much. But whatever—there were car chases.

I hate it when people give out spoilers, so I’ll leave it at that. Overall, Crystal Skull is pretty dumb, but enjoyably so, especially if you’ve got a few drinks in you and you’re watching it in a full movie theater. I cheered, clapped, howled and laughed. The action’s pretty nonstop and so over the top that physics and common sense appear to be nonexistent. There are plenty of nods to the earlier films—even the Ark of the Covenant makes a cameo. I think the summer blockbuster season has gotten off on the right foot. If you haven’t seen Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull already, you’re probably the only one you know who hasn’t. Seriously—what the fuck is wrong with you?

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“Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s,” as the saying goes.

The profane cartoons set off violent protests in the Muslim world that left around 50 people dead and three Danish embassies attacked. Grisly, to be sure, but you would think that would be the end of it.

No such luck. On Tuesday Feb. 12, Danish authorities arrested three men who they believe were plotting to kill one of the offending cartoonists, Ken Westergaard. In response, 11 Danish newspapers reprinted the Westgaard’s cartoon—depicting the prophet wearing a bomb in his turbin—the following day. As you could imagine, this did not go over well.

Coincidentally, Danish Foreign Affairs Committee were set to arrive in Iran on Monday, Feb. 18 “for a three-day trip focusing on human rights and the Islamic Republic’s nuclear program,” according to BBC.co.uk. Tehran demanded an apology and a letter of condemnation from Danish officials. Instead, the Danish committee cancelled their trip two days before. In fact, leader of Denmark’s Socialist People’s Party took it one step further.

“We are not the ones to apologize,” he said “If anyone needs to apologise for freedom of speech, human rights, imprisonments, executions and lack of democracy, it is the Iranians.”
Meanwhile, back in Denmark, youth violence erupted in ethnic neighborhoods in Copenhagen and other Danish cities. Rocks were thrown at cops and trash bins and cars were set on fire. AP reported that a notable Danish Imam, Mostafa Chendid (probably the only voice of reason in this mess) called for everyone to just chill out.

“The Prophet has not taught you to burn down schools, or burn cars or infrastructure,” he said. “Mohammad has taught us civilization.”

Also in Copenhagen, a radical Muslim group exercized their right to free speech and organized a peaceful protest—800 strong—the Friday after the cartoon was reprinted.

Obviously, I support freedom of the press and freedom of speech. If I didn’t, I’d find another line of work. And I understand that supporting free speech applies as much to the things I agree with as it does to the things I hate the most. But when does free speech become willful incitation?

“We are doing this to document what is at stake in this case, and to unambiguously back and support the freedom of speech that we as a newspaper will always defend,” said Berlingske Tidende, one of the newspapers that reprinted the cartoon.

However, two years ago, when Jyllands-Posten, the paper that originally ran the cartoons, was dealing with the fall-out, they issued an apology saying it wasn’t their intent to offend the Muslim community. In that light, reprinting the cartoon almost seems like retaliation for the attempt on Westergaard’s life. Is that free speech or just simple petulance?

I don’t know. It’s a slippery slope no matter which way you try to climb it. I certainly can see both sides. I don’t find the cartoons offensive, but I’m not a man of faith. I also try to turn the other cheek. Perhaps the grimmest statement to come from this whole incident came from the artist himself. Westergaard said that his “fear” of being murdered had turned to “anger and resentment.” And the rift keeps getting wider.

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According to Lyons’ article, the signal, for those of you who may be traveling into deep space at the time—or will be there however long it takes for the signal to reach its destination—will be the strongest 431 lightyears away from Earth in the general direction of Polaris. This is only the second time mankind has sent a broadcast into space, but regardless of how you feel about The Beatles (I hear they’re pretty popular), this will undoubtedly be a more entertaining beacon than our last attempt to contact extra-terrestrial life. The first message was written by Francis Drake, a professor at Cornell University, in 1974 in commemoration of the remodeling of the Arecibo telescope in Puerto Rico. The transmission (a colorized version is pictured here, stolen from Wikipedia, the original was colorless) only lasted about three minutes and consisted of a mess of bits that are, among other things, supposed to represent numbers from 1 to 10, the formulas for the bases and sugars in the nucleotides of DNA, a human figure and a crude map of our solar system with Earth slightly displaced to show the planet from which the signal came from.

“Across the Universe” is a pop song, a good one at that, and I’ll take music over some crude blips and bloops any day of the week, no matter how informative they are. Both Paul McCartney and Yoko Ono agreed to let the song be used, saying in press releases, “Amazing! Well done, NASA! Send my love to the aliens. All the best, Paul,” and “I see that this is the beginning of the new age in which we will communicate with billions of planets across the universe,” respectively.

For those of you who plan to be Earth-bound for the foreseeable future, there’s no reason for you not to get caught up in the fun. At 4 PM today, NASA is encouraging lowly terrestrials worldwide to crank up the song on their reel-to-reels, boom boxes and iPods. It’s nice to think that a song can bring the world, or worlds as the case may be together. It sure seems like something the late John Lennon would approve of. The opening verse of the song goes:

Words are flying out like
Endless rain into a paper cup
They slither while they pass
They slip away across the universe
Pools of sorrow waves of joy
Are drifting thorough my open mind
Possessing and caressing me

I’d like to believe that aliens would hear this and think humans are a swell bunch of folks, capable of profound thoughts and emotions…or maybe just a bunch of drug-crazed hippies. I guess either way is fine.

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