So why are people worried about incarcerating former Gitmo prisoners in the Land of Lincoln?

In the English language, words may have both common and technical meanings. In our legal system, for example, a marriage is a particular kind of legal contract--like incorporation. The word "marriage" also has special meaning in many of the world's religions.

There are other words that have different meanings within secular society and in religion. Ones that come to mind are: minister, host, elder, and confession. Context normally indicates which meaning is to be used. However, in a civil court, the religious meaning is seldom meant.

No law should ever dictate the use of the word "marriage" by any religious group. As far as I am aware, no (American) law has ever been proposed that would do so. Changes in contract law have been proposed. This is an important distinction.

Would it be easier to discuss this issue if there were two different words available: one used in legal jargon, the other in religious jargon? Perhaps. But it would be folly to try to change the language now. (Remember the outcry when astronomers attempted to alter the meaning of the word "planet"--a far more trivial matter? It didn't stick.) Unlike some languages, English is not dictated by some judicial panel of scholars. It is a fluid language, which changes naturally if at all. So we are left discussing the difference between marriage and marriage.

Any law restricting the contractual definition of marriage would be an infringement of civil rights. The United States has avoided doing this since the days of Jim Crow. On the other hand, any law restricting the religious meaning of marriage would be void, ignored, and meaningless. Anxiety about the latter scenario is misplaced.

Instead of mace, I think that the heroine should have carried garlic spray. I feel she should have gone with non-blood sucking Native American kid, too. But that's just me.

I'm disappointed to learn that you can see vampires in a mirror. I've been carry a compact (as protection!) for years.

Here's my idea for a motion-picture script: A teenage girl falls in love with a handsome heroin addict. (A-ha, better yet--he comes from a whole family of heroin addicts.) As a token of his affection, he promises her that he'll try to resist mugging her for drug money. She asks him to make her a heroin addict, but he resists. For now. Great angst.

I've got the formula down, right? Oh. I'm told that heroin addicts are not mythological. Too bad.

Richard Heene - Balloon Boy's father

Afghan President Hamid Karzai - He'll steal an election under the eyes of the whole world.

Kanye West - habitual interrupter

Glenn Beck -can dish it out, but can't' take it

(former) AIG CEO Maurice Greenberg - He'll cost you billions.

Maricopa County sheriff Joe Arpaio - tengo miedo

Kim Jong-il - "Dear Leader"

Dick Cheney - a leftover from past Halloweens

sleeping airline pilot

North was interested in everything from archaeoastronomy to medieval astronomy to modern astrophysics. He was a generalist, something to which I have aspired to be.
This probably is not the way to build a career in the history of astronomy. Like most other disciplines, the best move is to specialize in a narrow period, place, or topic. However, I have never been able to do that.

Apparently, neither could North. Yet he became chair of the Department of History of Philosophy and Exact Sciences at the University of Groningen and later a Dean. Outside that prestigious institution he perhaps is known best for his Cosmos: An Illustrated History of Astronomy and Cosmology (2008), which I consider to be superior to the Cambridge Illustrated History of Astronomy.

Not that I agreed with everything North did. I think that his book on Stonehenge is bizarre. Yet its emphasis on three-dimensional interpretation of archaeological sites got me to think, if only in rebuttal. And, to me, that is the hallmark of a darn good book.

I never met John North, last of the generalists. He did not travel much, and I do not get to Europe often. I do expect to one day meet his legacy—his students.

Now that's the guy I want in charge of Homeland Security.

Students will assemble at the crater. (Dr. Potter, bring the Geiger.) We will then proceed to a stream bed where we can pull up pieces of slate. From there we will travel to a limestone quarry to collect chalk.

Graphite from an old coal mine will be smeared on sharp sticks. Wood debris—there will be a lot of this—will be shaved and made damp with non-potable water. The resulting slurry will be spread over lattice works of twigs and left to dry. Natural berry dye will be added to the resulting Blue Books.

After killing a light-furred animal, we will stretch the hide over a wall. (Note: find intact wall.) A nearby smoldering ruin will provide light so that the instructor may make shadow puppets appear. We will call this a PowerlessPoint Presentation.

Once class begins, faculty not responsible for the lesson will hum quietly behind the students--thereby simulating the ear buds that the students are used to wearing during lecture. Teaching faculty may omit the obligatory, “Class, please turn your cell phones off, it’s time to begin.” A “No Food or Drink” sign probably will not be necessary. If a student asks about parking stickers, slap him across the face.

Notice that the gavel is really a mallet. German speakers will note the pun within the text on the plaque I'm being handed. (Photo by Joe Tenn)

“The Panthers,” on the other hand, sounds as if it was pulled at random, out of a book called Inoffensive Team Names for Dummies. It is a very commonplace name. A Google search of panther+sports yields twenty million hits. Moreover, the panther has little to do with Iowa—and vice versa.

How about replacing it with something more novel? More local? Like the UNI Soybean Aphids? Now, those critters are fierce! Or the UNI Crop Dusters? Those daredevil pilots who defend us against—well—the aphids, I suppose. Or the one thing that Iowa is known for nationally? No, not gay marriage; I haven’t figure out a way to fit that into a sports franchise. I mean the Northern Iowa Caucusers.

I don’t expect any of my suggestions to get much traction. After all, they just spent money erecting a statue of a panther in front of the Student Union. The statue is meant to evoke action, but to me it looks like a cat peeing.

There are a few chickens here and there, as well. You even can spot horses. We don’t eat them, but they still are used here and there in the production of the list above.

Occasionally you can spy, running between the fields, turkey, pheasant, and deer. Invisible from the car, the trees along the rivers nonetheless shade mushrooms. Berries and rhubarb grow wild, too.

Is that an apple orchard in the distance? Or is it a pumpkin patch?

And what was I eating as I pondered this plenitude around me? A banana. You see, Iowa also grows Wal-Marts.

"Feel like an unpaired electron?"

[Physics Today September 2009]

Cute yet nerdy. Talk about targeting your audience!

Arthur A Hockey’s (1906-1976) father, Alfred, immigrated
to a farm near Barnes City, Iowa, from England. Arthur
Hockey graduated from Iowa State Teachers’ College
(now UNI) in 1928. His degree was in Industrial Arts
Teaching, a program later housed in Latham Hall.
Hockey went on to obtain a Master’s Degree from the
University of Iowa. He taught, and served as principal,
at several Iowa secondary schools.

Upon the outbreak of war, Hockey enlisted in the United
States Navy and earned the rank of Lieutenant. His
assignment was to teach meteorology to naval aviators.
Thus, he likely is to have been one of the first meteorology
instructors from Iowa.

Hockey’s uniform is displayed here. The label reads
“Bremer’s, Iowa City.” The table of logarithms in the
pocket was compiled by a professor at Iowa State College
(now ISU).

The textbooks are those from which Hockey taught. The
slide rule provides all the functions now incorporated into
an (electronic) scientific calculator. The “playing cards”
are in fact teaching tools and identify friendly and enemy
aircraft by their silhouettes. The small ship models are to
help pilots recognize vessels from above.

After World War II, Hockey was a professor of mathematics,
and chair of the Mathematics Department,
at Tri-State College in Indiana. He retired in 1971. His
widow lives in Cedar Falls.

I got on my bike late yesterday. It was a Sunday afternoon in August. So that meant--to my horror--golf on television.

To me, watching golf on TV is one of the warning signs of major depression. However, I convinced myself that I was not watching golf--golf was the background noise to my exercise bicycle. I rationalized and "clicked."

And what did I see? Well, golf. It was the commentary that disturbed me. A professional golfer would hit the ball to within a few feet of the hole, and the announcer would say something like, "That will give Tiger a birdie."

How does the soft-voiced analyst know? The golfer could miss his next (easy) shot. Or he suddenly could need to expel a kidney stone. Or something else. Golf commentators are not really prescient. With the present so boring, they are forced to predict the future.

Golf on television. It is a futile existential exercise. Next time, I'm going with the infomercial.