Young Republicans

While engaged in intense discussions with a rebellious youngster over the weekend, a memory wafted up of my own rather small days. I was seven when my family bought its first house -- to general sighs of relief since three kids with one on the way begins to get tight in a two bedroom apartment.

After much thought, I brought my parents my current savings (perhaps twelve dollars -- a great sum when your weekly allowance is $0.50) and announced that I wanted to help out the family by paying for my room in the new house.

My parents thanked me gravely but suggested that I keep the money for my own purposes. I insisted, and eventually they brought forward the argument that houses were actually very expensive, and so the twelve dollars wouldn't pay for a whole room. (It wasn't really going to be my room, since all three of us were to share a bedroom, but as the oldest I considered the others mere visitors or interlopers.)

Not to be deterred, I countered by asking if I could buy a closet or maybe just a corner. Since I persisted the money was eventually accepted, and I asked if I could look over the corners when we visited the house so I could pick out which one would be mine.

However, the next time I had a falling out with my parents (which with seven year old's is likely to happen over the smallest -- indeed usually only the smallest -- pretext) it came out that I had it in my head that, having bought myself a corner of the house, I would thus have parental-level authority in that corner and could do whatever I liked there and could not be punished when taking refuge there.

At that point it was explained that the entire house belonged to the family, and in the family mommy and daddy ruled without rival. My money was returned, and I was cast out into the darkness of non-property-ownership for another twenty years.

How shocked my freedom-loving little mind would have been to know that even when you do buy your own house, there are legally instituted busy-bodies called homeowners associations watching like hawks to see if you haven't mowed your own lawn, built a playhouse than can be seen over the back fence, or otherwise treated your own property as if it was... your own. But that's another topic.

Welcome to the Chic-lette

Go congratulate Literacy-Chic, who gave birth to a bouncing baby girl this morning, and has already blogged about it. That's a strong woman!

Image Conscious

Green has been fashionable the last couple years, but like any popular piety the green revolution has brought in plenty of opportunity for hypocrisy as well. Enter the Lexus LS 600h L hybrid, the ideal ride for he who wants to stand apart and pray, "God, I give thanks that I am not like other men: greedy, wasteful, emitting more than my share of carbon dioxide."

Today's Wall Street Journal reviews this wonder of luxury and green technology (subscription only):

The biggest con running in the auto industry right now is the notion that hybrids represent some sort of quantum leap in green transportation. Not only is this patently untrue -- hybrid technology is actually decades old -- but it shamelessly plays to the hypocrisy of our society. If we really wanted to save the planet, instead of buying hybrids we would start walking. Or riding bikes. Maybe a few more of us would try public transportation. How about starting with slowing down to the speed limit on the freeway?

But let's be honest: Most Americans aren't willing to change to conserve energy. Even lifestyle choices like driving a small car, carpooling and living in the vicinity of where we work are largely anathema, which is why I'm not the least bit shocked by the Lexus LS 600h L.

This is a hybrid limousine with a base sticker price of $104,765, meaning that it's the perfect way for a captain of industry to show the little people that he, too, will sacrifice nothing in his attempt to demonstrate to the world that he sort of cares about the environment. (And of course he does, as these days there are profits to be made by selling all manner of "green" products, whether they have any tangible environmental benefit or not.)

Toyota is bullish on the LS 600h L's "Super Ultra Low Emissions Vehicle" rating, the EPA's tightest standard for gasoline-powered vehicles. Of course that standard has nothing to do with carbon-dioxide emissions, which are strictly tied to fuel economy. And with an EPA combined rating of just 21 mpg, this 16.9-foot, two-and-a-half-ton sedan isn't doing a lot to combat global warming. It will get two miles per gallon more than the nonhybrid LS 460 L on which it is based, a car that costs $33,000 less.

Cost-benefit analysis clearly doesn't figure into the allure. We did the math: The hybrid version will save its owner enough on gas to break even after only 2.1 million miles.... [emphasis added]

So for a mere 100k, you can have all the fuel economy of our family's roomy Town & Country minivan, and rather less economy than my fifteen year old Toyota Camry.

Glancing around through other recent car models, this new "green" entry has exactly the same EPA fuel efficiency rating as the current BMW 525 (not exactly a light eater in the gasoline department) and 25% less fuel efficiency than a standard Toyota Camry.

What exactly is the point, other than having "Hybrid" emblazoned on your rear end?

String Theory and Eternal Questions

Jen of Et Tu is reading up on String Theory (via Brian Greene's The Elegant Universe) and has some interesting thoughts on the question of why the success of methodological materialism in areas such as physics encourages many to conclude that methodological materialism is the only way one can possibly achieve any knowledge (and thus that reality is strictly material.)

All Souls Day: Praying for the Dead

Today being All Souls Day, it's not a bad time to take a look at the traditional Office of the Dead. As with all of the Divine Office, the Office of the Dead was revised heavily after Vatican II. In the case of the Office of the Dead, it was shorted considerably, and the daytime hours were added. Originally, the Office of the Dead contained only Vespers, Matins and Lauds, providing a vigil-through-morning set of prayers for the dead.

While the modern version can be found in the readily available Christian Prayer books and the full Liturgy of the Hours, the traditional Office of the Dead is not widely available in print. However, there are several good sources online.

The easiest to use (in parallel English and Latin) is on Breviary.net, though the site is unfortunately run by "traditionalist" schismatics. (Not that the hours themselves are different, but if you lood into their other matierals elsewhere on the site, you'll note they are sedevacantists.)

The Office of the Dead is also available on the Hypertext Book of Hours on Medievalist.net. Their edition doesn't have as many options for the Collects, but it is otherwise complete, and the Hypertext Book of Hours has a number of other prayers and hours traditionally found in medieval books of hours (all in nice, Latin/English parallel format).

Local Man Says Fun Project With Kids Would Be Easier Without Kids

"I thought building a playhouse would be a great way to spend some time working with the kids on a project," reports local homeowner Mr. Darwin. "The project is great, but a major carpentry project with power tools doesn't turn out to be as good an opportunity for spending time with the kids as I'd thought. Most of the time I find myself wanting to say, 'Will you get out of the way, kid? I'm trying to build this redacted playhouse for you!'"

The walls of the playhouse are now rising, and we find Mr. Darwin cutting a sheet of plywood for the subflooring of the playhouse. His eldest daughter, Eleanor, is perched in the stand of poplar that rises next to the playhouse, bouncing the branch she is standing on so that it thumps against the playhouse roof, showering leaves down on Darwin as he measures the distance between floor joists and marks the plywood.

"What's that, Dad?" asks Julia, the middle child, as he prepares to mark the plywood with a chalkline.

"What? What? What? Dad! Dad!" choruses 20-month-old Isabel.

All three girls gather round to help smudge the chalk.

Once the line is more-or-less drawn, Darwin hefts the circular saw. "Okay girls, give Daddy some room."

"The saw!!!!" The girls run in excited circles, but they are out of reach so Darwin hurriedly cuts his piece of plywood.

"Can we jump on the floor now, Daddy?" the older girls ask, as Darwin tests the fit.

"No," replies Daddy.

Darwin lays the plywood down on the grass and starts to spray what will be the underside with outdoor enamel, to prevent moisture from destroying the floor from underneath.

"That smells funny," declares Eleanor. "Can I sniff the can of paint?"

If this means nothing to you, you didn't watch enough TV in the 90s