The
doctor who finally helped me with migraines, Dr Digre, told me I have
a more "sensitive and easily irritated" brain. Oh, joy. I kinda
thought what she meant was that I was easily amused.
What
happened before she told me that was that I was confronted with a
little black box with blinking LED lights. I was to look at the lights
and tell whether I could still see the blinking or steady on at the
current rate setting. At some point, depending on the eye to
brain interface, the perception of flickering would change into a blur of
speed at which point the interpretive brain would change the perception
from flicker to steady on. And blah blah blah, more scientific tricks that had little significance to me, at the time. Nothing to lose.
The
technician giving the test would manipulate the settings on the box and
then question me if I could still see the blinking. After recording my answers, he would
switch to box to a different rate. The box selected its rate as a
random sequence, in no particular order, varying from high to low and
back again across a whole wide spectrum of rates.
As
I understood, I was impressed with the testing methodology. Simple and
accurate. There was no possible way for the test to be fooled, because the
variation of blink rate changed at random unpredictable sequence, controlled by the machine.
As the test was conducted, enough samples could easily be taken to virtually
eliminate sampling errors. The technician could not even control the
blink rate at the current setting, so bias from the technician was
impossible. Blink blink blink solid blink solid solid blink blink solid
blink blink.
Turns
out that individual perception of the highest oscillation rate varies widely.
Those people with average flicker rate perception tended to lose the
blinking somewhere over 45-50 cycles per second. They rated my perception at among the highest normally measured, more than 90 cycles
per second.
Yeah,
but so what? I didn't get it. Why did they care? I wasn't filled
with any great sense of accomplishment to learn that my perception limit was much higher than average. Just a fluke, I guess. I
never asked for it, that I know of.
After
some more testing methods and questions from the Dr. she explained to
me. The reason they want to determine individual blink rate perception
is that the design of pieces of our whole system of advanced
technology, from fluorescent lights to CRT displays to Game Boys, is
based on assumptions and compromises around calculations of the average oscillation rate perception speed. Are you following this so far? In an
especially significant choice of design specification, the engineers of
fluorescent lighting devices decided that the optimum flicker rate of
their light tubes would be based on their measurements of the average
individual rate perception. For no particular reason but that
somebody had to decide on a rate before they mass manufacture billions
of these things.
Well,
just my tough luck. I don't match the standard design. When the eye
to brain connection encounters flickering rates at speeds near the border of
transition from blink to solid, turns out all kinds of unforeseen and
heretofore unknown things begin to happen.
For
those with more sensitive brains, the oscillation rate so near the limit of
perception begins to irritate that individual brain in some
unpredictable ways. Some develop eye strain. Some become cranky and
irritable for no reason. Some get whopping headaches. And some people
develop chronic migraines, subject to variation in cumulative exposure
and the occultic prediction of next phase of the moon, and other unknown
unknowable and unpredictable factors.
Wow!
So that's one plausible explanation for why I have constant headaches.
And in spite of the fact that other people all around me are not
suffering the same ill effects, I need some protection. Like a bullet
proof suit or something. To protect me from a specific vulnerability
or weakness that is especially my own.
Dr
Digree told me that her researchers had discovered that the sensitive
people were especially affected most often by exposure to high intensity
fluorescent lighting systems, and CRT display devices of a particular
refresh rate lower than around 70 cycles per second.
Damn!
I had been working long hours with CRT display devices under high
intensity fluorescent lighting systems for more than twenty years!
Okay,
so Dr Digre said that in response to the research study, her group had
developed filtered glass lenses that would effectively block exposure
of the eye brain interface from the bombardment of some of this harmful
lighting. The lenses cut out enough of the damaging rays of the right
frequency of blinking light to protect sensitive people from the lights
harmful effects.
Hallelujah!
All it would take is wearing some sort of super glasses, and my
problems would disappear! Well, not so simple. For chronic migranes,
this eliminated only a few of the common triggers that set off some
migrane sufferers anguish. The bright lights of the city are not the
only thing that start a migrane so often in certain people. There are
plenty of others. Who cares, its worth a try in any case.
Dr Digre wrote me a prescription for the optician, and I went off to get me a new pair of funky looking dark glasses.
I
was crestfallen when I started wearing them in places were the risk
factor for me was high. But I conducted a few studies of my own, and
discovered that wearing the glasses in certain places really did make a
difference.
It
wasn't a problem just everywhere. My CRTs had been upgraded to higher
refresh rates long ago, so the glasses made no difference that I could
tell in working for long periods of staring at computer screens. But I
discovered to my surprise that the most consistent offensive place was
LDS chapels everywhere. All across the world, LDS chapel lighting
systems seem to have been built with a cycles per second rate in the
critical range. I started wearing the glasses all the time, whenever I
spent long periods in the church building. The problem started to show
improvement, but not at the end quite yet.
Dr
Digre told me that one other problem area her researchers discovered
was a very high correlation of migrane sufferers and extremely high
blood pressure. She called up my regular doctor, discussed her findings
with him, and increased the dosage of calcium channel blocker that I
had already been taking to the thereputic range for this problem. I
left the doctor's office feeling optimistic about the solution to my
problems.
It
worked. A week or so later, the headaches began to dwindle in
intensity. Pretty soon they faded into the background noise. And I
haven't experienced this particular problem since. Happy days!
Next instalment: Abandoning Drug Treatment
Monday, December 10, 2012
Sunday, December 09, 2012
Letters from my dad 3
I remember the night dad was involved in that big wreck that shattered his hip socket. After Uncle Dean brought mom home to clean up, we went back to see him. When we slowly walked into the dreaded shadows of that darkened room, I saw him all strung up with the traction ropes, and bandages on him just everywhere. I remember mom saying to me, grasping me on the shoulder, in a hushed tragic whisper, "Oh Jim! He's hurt SO bad!"
I'd never seen or heard anything that wounded me so deeply with the feeling of absolute grief and distress, although there have been plenty of times like that since. But I tried not to cry, because for some stupid reason I was supposed to be tough, at the time. I thought mom needed me to lean on. Stupid naive teenager. Turns out she's always been tougher than I could ever hope to be. But that's another story, isn't it?
As that instant passed, I remember the feeling that came over me. It was not really comforting or any silly stuff like that. It was just the KNOWING that dad would be all right. Eventually. And realizing that although he was as broken and in as much pain as a man can be and still be alive, I knew he was going to survive. I knew he would be with us for quite a while yet. I've really never felt anything like it, before or since.
Letters from my dad 2
Today I told mom a story about dad that she says she never knew about him before. A silly sentimental story, perhaps. But I thought it characterized him and how he lived, in a fairly unique way.
When the new chapel was built in Manhattan Beach, Cobabe Brothers Plumbing had the contract for the plumbing of the new building. I was on the building site one day, early in the construction. My dad was there working, but I don't remember helping him that day. I guess I was too little, though I did a lot of plumbers helper kind of work with him later on, on other projects.
Anyway, I just kinda recall that he seemed kind of irritated with me all day. I supposed he was mad about something, because I was a little too stupid to understand what was wrong, and I pretty much stayed away from him all day.
I understood that he was working on a bathroom for the workers all to use, while they were there at the building site. There were lots of other people there working at the time, but I didn't really think too much about it.
Later in the day, dad got more and more cross, and I could tell he was in a hurry for something to get done. Of course, I was busy myself, playing with my cousins and friends who were running around the building site.
Later still, I happened to be where my dad was working, and I was shocked to see clear evidence that he had wet his pants. I'd never seen anything like that before happen to my dad, and was still in the stage where I had been thoroughly indoctrinated with the idea that wetting your pants in front of other people is shameful. I started making fun of my dad, and asking him was he still a baby, that he wet his pants right so everyone could see it. He seemed to pay no attention to my teasing, and by then it was obvious even to me that he was working so hard, even in a frenzy, trying to get the plumbing work done. Pretty quickly I got the hint that he wasn't going to respond to my teasing, so I left him alone.
He finally got his plumbing work done to his satisfaction, and I saw many other people come and line up for a turn in his newly finished bathroom, a lot of them in a big hurry. It was almost comical to watch, but I still didn't get what was happening. I should have been more perceptive, because much later I realized what was going on.
His assignment that day was simply to get a functioning temporary bathroom installed. He was working as hard as he could, but it took a long time, for some reason much longer than he had expected, and I'm sure he noticed a lot of them sneaking off into the bushes to relieve themselves, as there was not yet a working bathroom available. I can see now, in hindsight, that he cared much more about satisfying the needs of the other workers than he did about taking care of his own needs. He refused to take just five minutes to step off into the trees and relieve himself, even when his own need could no longer be denied. He simply refused to stop until the bathroom was working. He wet his pants rather than take the time off from the work to serve the urgent need of others who were waiting and depending on him.
I thought about this a long time after it happened, and it finally dawned on me that my dad was a plumber who cared about getting the work done more than he cared about his own comfort. A real plumber's story, perhaps, but a real lesson too, about how much my dad cared about other people.
All his life, I saw this lesson magnified and reiterated many times. I guess I'm pretty dull, but I finally came to realize that he really had sacrificed his own interest countless times, to serve others, and to make other people's lives better, even when it cost him. A lot of people thought my dad was only a plumber. I realized he was something far more important, and that has made a lot of difference to me throughout my life.
My dad was a true life superhero, disguised as a plumber.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Remembering the Teton Dam disaster...
On the rock face at Heise Hot Springs
On belay
I was on an a morning rock-climbing jaunt at Heise Hot Springs when the Teton Dam broke on June 5, 1976.
Growing rupture in earthfill dam swallows Cats
Some time that morning, the as the breach in the Teton dam began to manifest, observers had raised the alarm that the dam was in danger of failing.
A couple of Caterpillar operators had tried to push dirt and rocks into the breach, but were swallowed up by the growing chasm. The men escaped, but the bulldozers were swept into the gulf and lost forever.
The Teton Dam bursts
On returning from the rock-climbing, we noticed that the Rexburg radio stations were no longer on the air. We had no inkling of the flood.
As we stopped at a convenience store on the road back, we overheard a number of people telling each other flood stories. We still had no suspicion about what had taken place while we were out of town that morning.
As we approached Rexburg on the highway, it was a bit of a shock to encounter a farmer wearing bib overalls and hip waders, and wielding a shotgun, standing in the road blocking the way into town. We tried to explain that we were students at Ricks College, and we lived in Rexburg, but he insisted that the way was covered by the flood, and he would not let us pass.
We turned around and followed the dirt back roads into Rexburg, approaching through fields above the town. As we came over a rise, it was apparent that the story was no exaggeration. The vista across the valley was a virtual lake.
Flooded Rexburg
At the transition to pavement we encountered a massive traffic jam of vehicles, driven by people from Rexburg who had gathered there, fleeing from the flood.
The Ricks College campus is built on the slope overlooking the valley, and was not flooded, but the water spread far and wide through downtown Rexburg and other smaller towns across the valley.
I left off my passengers at the Ricks College student union building, and attempted to travel across the main highway on the west side of town to reach my apartment. As I approached, the water was beginning to recede. Crossing the highway in my old Ford pickup, the water just reached up to the middle of the doors.
That summer I had been staying in a basement apartment in the home of Dr Sam Brewster on the southwest end of town. We had been working together on an agriculture research project. I forged through the swirling floodwaters and approached the home, just as the water began to ebb.
Flooded Rexburg home
As I approached the home on the mud-covered roads, everything else appeared to be normal. But as I drove up, I saw that the driveways and sidewalks were buried deep in the slick silty mud deposited by the flood waters.
I opened the garage door of the house, and went inside to inspect the basement. The entrance to the basement was completely filled to the top with water. It looked just like a muddy swimming pool. I descended a couple of tentative steps down into the water, but to my consternation found it to be freezing cold. As I stood there knee deep in the water, I could see my breath steaming out in the frigid air. I quickly retreated.
By this time, most of the flooding around the house had receded, and I made my way through the deep mud into the back yard to see if I could get into my apartment through the basement windows.
All the windows were covered from within by the pool of cold brown muddy water. I managed to pry one window opened, and out flowed a great surge of muddy water. Along with the water, a number of my soggy muddy belongings also surged out into the back yard mud, books and clothing and bed sheets, all wadded up in a sodden, muddy mess.
I gave up on trying to salvage anything of my belongings at that moment, and decided to instead begin work on clearing away the slimy mud that was covering the driveway and sidewalks. I located an old snowshovel in the wreckage of the garage and began attempting to shovel some of the mess out into the street.
Right about that time, Sam Brewster drove up. He expressed great relief on finding me well, as I had been out of contact since the flood hit.
We started in on trying to clean things up. It was a horrible mess, with all that stinking mud, and we wanted to shovel it off before it started drying.
Anyway, after our initial cleanup effort I went back into town and talked to Doc Lowder, one of the Ricks College professors. Doc said I could move back into the Delti Phi house where I had been staying earlier. It was on higher ground and had escaped the flood. So I had a place to take a bath and sleep.
The next day was Sunday, but I had no clean clothes to wear to church. All I had was the filthy stuff I had been wearing to clean up the mud. I went up to the Ricks College gym building, and they had a big collection of donated clothing, so I rummaged through it and found some trousers and a clean shirt to put on.
As I later found out, President Eyring, who was then president of Ricks College, had taken steps to mobilize disaster relief efforts from the Church. He also opened up the facilities of the Ricks College campus for victims of the flood to take refuge. The cafeteria began serving meals to flood victims, and continued for several months.
As I recall, we had a very short Church meeting, and the branch president encouraged everyone to go out and do what they could to help the cleanup effort.
Also that Sunday, the phone company had set up a bank of emergency phones on the Ricks campus, and I was able to call my parents in southern California to assure them that I was okay. They had seen the news about the flood, but were unable to call and find out what was going on, because all the phone service had been discontinued with the flooding.
I asked them to find a pump to send that we could use to drain basements. They found one right away, and my brother Tom travelled to Rexburg the next day to help us empty out basements all over Rexburg. We spent the rest of that summer helping to clean up the mess.
After threading through the houses sitting in the middle of the road road, I approached the crossing of the Teton River. It had been scoured bare by the surging flood water. There were no standing trees or vegetation left. I bounced my pickup through the maze of cobblestones across the bare river channel. What had been a peaceful quiet flowing small stream of water now seemed to be something like a half mile wide.
We started in on trying to clean things up. It was a horrible mess, with all that stinking mud, and we wanted to shovel it off before it started drying.
Anyway, after our initial cleanup effort I went back into town and talked to Doc Lowder, one of the Ricks College professors. Doc said I could move back into the Delti Phi house where I had been staying earlier. It was on higher ground and had escaped the flood. So I had a place to take a bath and sleep.
The next day was Sunday, but I had no clean clothes to wear to church. All I had was the filthy stuff I had been wearing to clean up the mud. I went up to the Ricks College gym building, and they had a big collection of donated clothing, so I rummaged through it and found some trousers and a clean shirt to put on.
As I later found out, President Eyring, who was then president of Ricks College, had taken steps to mobilize disaster relief efforts from the Church. He also opened up the facilities of the Ricks College campus for victims of the flood to take refuge. The cafeteria began serving meals to flood victims, and continued for several months.
As I recall, we had a very short Church meeting, and the branch president encouraged everyone to go out and do what they could to help the cleanup effort.
Also that Sunday, the phone company had set up a bank of emergency phones on the Ricks campus, and I was able to call my parents in southern California to assure them that I was okay. They had seen the news about the flood, but were unable to call and find out what was going on, because all the phone service had been discontinued with the flooding.
I asked them to find a pump to send that we could use to drain basements. They found one right away, and my brother Tom travelled to Rexburg the next day to help us empty out basements all over Rexburg. We spent the rest of that summer helping to clean up the mess.
Cleaning up a flooded basement in Rexburg
After my brother arrived with the pump, we started working on draining out basements.
My older brother's wife Valerie was from the Hibbard area northwest of Rexburg, and she asked me to try and drive out to Joe and Erna's place in Hibbard to check on them, since they had no phone service and no way to communicate.
I drove out the highway that heads northwest out of Rexburg toward the Hibbard area, and found part of the road obstructed by houses that had been lifted off their foundation by the flood.
Teton River after flooding
After threading through the houses sitting in the middle of the road road, I approached the crossing of the Teton River. It had been scoured bare by the surging flood water. There were no standing trees or vegetation left. I bounced my pickup through the maze of cobblestones across the bare river channel. What had been a peaceful quiet flowing small stream of water now seemed to be something like a half mile wide.
Anyway, Joe said they had climbed up onto the roof of the house to watch the flood. The waters had parted around them, so their little neighborhood was a virtual island. But they were doing just fine.
Flood cleanup efforts continued. Dr Brewster's basement was pumped out and the mud scooped up. We set up a little reclamation station on his driveway, with Wilma running the hose trying to wash off the mud from items we were retrieving from the basement. Initially we tried putting some of the washable stuff through the washing machine, but the mud proved too much for the laundry, and we abandoned that effort.
Sam's academic book collection was not salvageable. The Bureau of Reclamation flood relief team recommeded to the people of Rexburg that floodwater contamination was likely to have spoiled all home-canned preserves, so we discarded hundreds of bottles of food that had been so laboriously prepared by Wilma. There was also tons of food storage wheat that had been in the basement, and was spoiled by the flood waters. Most all of the children's toys had been in the basement, and were ruined by the muddy water. Of course all the major furniture was ruined and beyond salvage.
The water in Sam's basement had just lapped at the ceiling in most places, so none of the upstairs part of the house was too damaged. But all the sheetrock in the basement was ruined by the muddy water, and had to be ripped out.
When we finally had everything cleaned up and torn down to bare studs, there was one final insulting reminder of the flood. Turns out, the flood had carried silt and gravel into the sewers throughout Rexburg, and the sewage was no longer being carried away. Enough sewage backed up through the connection to the house that it began flooding out of the plumbing opening for the toilet that had been there.
Raw sewage began gushing out in a stinking geyser, and flooded the basement with several inches of filthy standing water, and other things the sewage brought. We reported the problem to the city, and they sent a vacuum truck to clean out the local sewer connections in the neighborhood the next day.
As we continued to work on recovering Sam's basement, I eventually had a bit of time to spend ranging around and exploring the area. I was amazed and dismayed at the devastation.
Junk piled up in the front yard, flooded Rexburg home
Prior to the flood, one of the people I had befriended in the Rexburg area lived on a ranch just northeast of town. It was a family with all daughters that for some reason had a number of horses that the girls would no longer ride. I spent a number of weekend afternoons on that ranch, helping exercise the horses for them.
After the flood, I took a trip up to that area to see what had become of them. It was as if the face of the earth had been scoured clean. There was no trace left of the ranch house or barns, not even foundations to be seen. I never found out what happened to those people.
Throughout Rexburg, people had lived in their basements for years. The floodwaters made a wreck of many homes in just a few hours time.
Rexburg home basement ruins
On the north end of Rexburg, there had been a sawmill on the banks of the Teton River. Much of the flood damage sustained in that area resulted from sawlogs that drifted on the surge. Logs were jammed up against the side of home and buildings, and many of them gave way under the pressure of the logs in the current.
Log damaged homes in Rexburg
Rexburg gas station on north highway
Some of the Rexburg businesses on the north end of town were farm implement dealers, and they were virtually wiped out.
Wrecked farm machinery north Rexburg
Most of the little town of Sugar City on the bank of the Teton River was virtually swept away in the flood. In many areas, bare foundations were left by the flood waters.
Sugar City flood damage
Some time later, the Bureau of Reclamation set up desks in the gym at the Ricks College campus for people to file damage claims.
People filing damage claims at Ricks gym
Turns out less than a dozen people were killed in the flood, but many hundreds of millions of dollars in property damage were sustained. Tens of thousands of cattle and horses were killed, along with many other domestic and wild animals in the flooded area. Estimates are that the Bureau of Reclamation spent $100 million to construct the Teton Dam, then caused up to $2 billion in damages from the flood.
One of the most disturbing images from the flood aftermath that stays with me is a picture in my mind of thousand of animals being buried in a huge mass grave, being covered over with dirt by a massive bulldozer.
A museum was later created in Rexburg to house flood memorabilia. The museum is housed in the old Rexburg Tabernacle, which survived the flood.
A museum was later created in Rexburg to house flood memorabilia. The museum is housed in the old Rexburg Tabernacle, which survived the flood.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Snail Hollow: The Dark Times
There have been some very dark times, in my life. I spent quite a bit of time in quiet places, behind locked doors. People were trying to touch me, to communicate and understand what was wrong. Which was ever frustrating because I was never sure myself. Suffice it to say some kind of chronic major mental depression afflicted me. Anyway, that's what the Doctors quoted from the DSM. But I suspect that was mostly for insurance billing purposes. None of them had a clue as to what was going wrong, inside of me.
In one instance I spent several weeks in the psych ward at Lakeview Hospital in West Valley. At the time I was totally self-absorbed with my own problems. It was as if looking at the rest of the world all the time through the wrong end of the binoculars. Everything outside of me was much smaller than life. I couldn't muster enough interest in the world to even begin to believe it was real. For some reason I felt hurt and continual pain, not of the physical kind, but agonizing nonetheless, deep in my own soul. I felt hopeless and numb, and was sure I had nothing better to look forward to. I was surrounded by darkness.
Several of the counsellors at the hospital spent time working with me. They attempted to get me to stop being so self-centered, and to begin to see around me again like normal. One woman gave me old videos to watch, and I was supposed to write my impressions. I filled a number of notebook pages with my observations about the problems people in the movies encountered in life. I'm not sure what I was supposed to learn from this exercise, but it occupied a lot of time, of which I had plenty. The staff nurses were watching me suspiciously, because they had apparently been told that I was so depressed that I was a suicide risk.
Anyway, one night I was trying to read my scriptures, but I didn't like the overhead fluorescents, so I was sitting at one of those little reading desks, like they have in the library. It had a light of its own, but it turns out to be unplugged, so the reading lamp would not work.
Attempting to plug it in, I was crawling down on the floor. Need I mention, the room was also equipped with closed circuit camera, to monitor my actions. The nurses were watching me get down on the floor and fuss with the electrical plug. They decided I was trying to harm myself.
Right then they decided that immediate intervention was warranted. One of the nurses slammed the door open and demanded to know just what did I think I was doing. Mystified, I told her I was plugging in the lamp. She accused me of trying to kill myself, and told me they had been watching me trying to do it! I was open-mouthed in disbelief, and unable to respond.
At that time the other nurse returned with an orderly. He was about seven feet tall and weighing in at about the tonnage of a dump truck. The nurse repeated the charge that I was attempting suicide, and they were obligated to confine me in a more secure room where I could be more closely monitored. I felt disinclined to argue with the orderly-truck, so I complied without comment.
They put me in a nicely padded room across from the nursing station, and someone there was watching me all the time. I sat there on the bed for a while, then decided that I wanted water, so I picked up the big hospital cup that I was using for ice water. It was empty, so I flipped the lid off onto the bed, and went out the door to get more water.
Apparently the nurses had been watching me closely. What they said they saw on camera was me emptying the container of ice water onto the bed. They were immediately incensed that I would mistreat the bed so abusingly and threateningly that they resolved I should no longer have a bed.
This bed was not the type they keep in most hospital rooms. It was a heavy pedestal made for psych wards, hundreds of pounds in weight, apparently designed to frustrate any insane attempts to move it from its proper position. Undaunted, they swarmed into the room, ripped off the bedding, and wrestled that platform out of the room. I would just have to sleep on the floor for mistreating my bed.
At that point they decided I was acting dangerously, and they called the orderly-truck to come back. He was apparently amused by their hysterics and refused to respond a second time.
The two nurses were so worried, they brought out a restraining device to put me in. It looked something like a cross between a chaise-lounge webbing and a cattle squeeze. It rolled along on wheels, and they placed it in a strategic location where they could capture me when I ran berserk.
After they impounded my bed for bad behavior, I had no other alternative but to lay on the floor. I went to sleep eventually, unaware that the nurses were standing vigil outside the door, all night long.
Well, the next morning, the Doctor arrived and was briefed by the frenzied and terrorized nurses. He watched the video of the surveillance monitor, and laughed at their silliness. After I had a chance to explain my side of the story, he told the nurses to put back the bed and stop being so paranoid. He discharged me from the hospital later that day.
Next instalment: Chronic Migraine
Labels:
dark,
depression,
hospitals,
mental illness,
paranoid nurses,
psych,
suicide
Monday, October 15, 2012
Still bugged about "wiretapping"

I know some continue to entertain serious doubts about the morality of certain government actions being justified under the "defense" clause of the Constitution. It remains a troubling issue, to discern whether it is worse to be under the "protection" of the US Government or to be subject to unannounced attacks by foreign powers.
I used to live in Aurora, Colorado, near Buckley AFB. Home of a major NSA installation for listening to the airwaves. They had dozens of these big golf-ball domes that house sensitive radio equipment for monitoring who-knows-what. And acres of computers to make sure the humans have little to do but turn out the lights at night.
The NSA is currently constructing a much larger facility of similar function in northern Utah, near Salt Lake City. The tinfoil-hat crowd is in hysterics over it, but it's really just more of the same, built bigger and better.
Here's the Wiki background discussion of issues:
NSA warrantless surveillance controversy
Several things about the news reporting of this story just drive me nuts, and I can't get past that exasperation.
The technology being used is not "eavesdropping", it is intercepting broadcast data.
This approach to gathering counterintelligence is not new. It has been in constant use since the advent of radio communications.
Publicly broadcast signals are not proprietary or private. Anyone with the appropriate communications equipment can listen to them.
Since the data being intercepted is a "wireless" broadcast over public radio waves, by definition there is no "wiretapping" involved.
In fact I have a radio set sitting right here beside me that can tune 800MHz cell phone bands. It is perfectly legal for me to tune in the broadcast signals from the public airwaves. I can't understand what anyone is saying because the signals are encrypted. If I knew the encryption key, I could decrypt the signals and hear everything the people are saying.
That I don't really care to do this seems entirely beside the point.
In any case there are obvious differences here between such a practice and the physical "wiretapping" and "eavesdropping" that media reports are so wont to associate. It is a false parallel.
In fact, there is far too much broadcast traffic for anyone to monitor. Imagine trying to scan the Internet continuously. Internet traffic is just a fraction of the data streaming on public broadcast medium. Nobody can monitor all of it, not even Google with their awesome data storage and throughput capability. Not even the NSA, with their antenna arrays and massively parallel data processing.
The fact is, nothing is much changed in this matter since it became a topic of public debate, other than the attention being paid by the media. How did this suddenly become an issue for concern? Just because now you think you know something about it?
I dunno. Maybe y'all have something to worry about. Personally, I've always laughed at the thought of someone monitoring my boring private conversations.
Thursday, October 04, 2012
LDS Liberty; Justifying Anti-Government Practices?
An interesting anti-government scheme is suggested by members of the LDS Liberty group. Since their libertarian roots are supposedly offended by any form of socialism, some of them show their belief by refusing to obtain a social security number, which some of them refer to contemptuously as a "Socialist Security Number". They soon discover that they supposedly need not file a US tax return without one, which has the effect of saving lots of money, and they cannot register for the draft, which they don't support anyway. Here are some members of the group discussing the virtues of being an anti-government activist.
A few words of counsel from one of the Lord's anointed addresses the issues raised here.
Rock Waterman says:
May 12, 2012 at 9:09 pmIt is not widely known that a person who does not have a social security number cannot be called up for the draft, just as they cannot be compelled to pay the federal income tax.
Your social security number is the means by which the government lays claim to your future earnings and your service to pay the obligations of the federal government, including your duty to act as cannon fodder if needed. When FDR effectively moved the United States into bankruptcy in 1933, he pledged the future earnings of the people as collateral on the debt. We were all tricked into obtaining social security numbers, believing it was mandatory to hold a job. It is not. But it is the nexus by which the government claims ownership of the people living within the states. It takes you out of the protection of the state and makes you a U.S. Citizen.
Of course, today it is extremely difficult to function without a social security number, but some manage. The rest of us are in pretty deep, I’m afraid. We’ve sold ourselves to the devil.
You are correct. “We’ve sold ourselves to the devil.”
You cannot be a faithful LDS and be a Socialist. The Prophets have said so since the 30s.
If you want to send the 666 SSN back to them you need to use the Religious Freedom Restoration Act.
I have not filed a 1040 Return in over 34 years. I have letters from the IRS that I am not required to file a 1040. I know I am exempt and my lawyer tells me I am exempt. My children do not have SSNs. I sent the number that they assigned to me back long ago. Remember…SSN belong to the government. They are NEVER YOUR number. Read the instruction card if you don’t believe me. They OWN it…Not you.
The Church supported the RFRA. Elder Oaks spoke to Congress telling them that the Church supported it. God allows those that seek liberty to find it but only if you REALLY want liberty enough to do anything to get it except be immoral or violent. No need for that God provides the way.
With 31 USC Section 5112(e) and the RFRA every Latter-day Saint that wants to be free from the IRS and Social Security and other Federal entanglements can be free. But you have to WANT to be free and WORK to be free. Freedom is not free.
Any man or woman that is not willing to risk what the Founding Fathers risked are not really worthy of liberty nor celestial glory IMHO.
Mormons need not apply. Only Christian Latter-day Saints. (See 3rd Nephi Chapter 27)
“Next to being one in worshiping God, there is nothing in this world in which this Church should be more united than in upholding and defending the Constitution of the Unite States. If members of the Melchizedek Priesthood allow the U.S. Constitution to be destroyed, they not only forfeit their rights to the Priesthood, but to a place in this highest degree of glory as well.”
(David O. McKay, The Instructor, Feb. 1956, p.34)
Why be LDS and a Socialist with their card? You cannot serve two masters. Either liberate yourself or EXPECT to lose your priesthood.
Over ten years ago my sons became ALMOST eligible for the draft. I called the Draft Board or whatever they are called and told them that my sons were old enough to register but that they did not have Social Security Numbers and asked if my sons could register without them.
The nice guy told me how to get them Social Security Numbers.
I informed him that I had religious objections to such numbers and so did my sons and that they would NOT be applying for Social Security Numbers.
I was told that my sons COULD NOT register for the draft without Social Security Numbers. Naturally they never registered.
Did you know that without a Social Security Number that you cannot file a 1040 Tax Return either?
The Income tax is “voluntary” because you have to volunteer just like you have to volunteer to be drafted. The prophets and apostles have repeatedly told us to eschew Socialism. A Social Security Number is how you become a Socialist.
To him that has eye to read let him understand.
A few words of counsel from one of the Lord's anointed addresses the issues raised here.
First, Elder Oaks refers to "one note hobbies":
Next, he cites the example of one who favors certain isolated words from selected prophetic counsel:
Lastly, he warns against those who takes too much pride in a particular individual strong point. Note that he makes specific reference to spiritual gifts:
...My first example concerns Satan's efforts to corrupt a person who has an unusual commitment to one particular doctrine or commandment of the gospel of Jesus Christ. This could be an unusual talent for family history work, an extraordinary commitment to constitutional government, a special gift in the acquisition of knowledge, or any other special talent or commitment.In a memorable message given at the 1971 October conference, Elder Boyd K. Packer likened the fulness of the gospel to a piano keyboard. He reminded us that a person could be "attracted by a single key," such as a doctrine they want to hear "played over and over again." He explained:
Some members of the Church who should know better pick out a hobby key or two and tap them incessantly, to the irritation of those around them. They can dull their own spiritual sensitivities. They lose track that there is a fulness of the gospel, . . . [which they reject] in preference to a favorite note. This becomes exaggerated and distorted, leading them away into apostasy. [Boyd K. Packer, Teach Ye Diligently (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1975), p. 44]
Next, he cites the example of one who favors certain isolated words from selected prophetic counsel:
...A related distortion is seen in the practice of those who select a few sentences from the teachings of a prophet and use these to support their political agenda or other personal purposes. In doing so, they typically ignore the contrary implications of other prophetic words, or even the clear example of the prophet's own actions. For example, I have corresponded with several Church members who sought to use something President Benson is quoted as saying as a basis for refusing to file an income-tax return or to pay income taxes. I have tried to persuade these persons that their interpretation cannot be what President Benson intended, because both he and his predecessors in that sacred office, and all of the General Authorities, have faithfully filed their income-tax returns and paid the taxes required by law. The servants of God are under the Master's commands to follow him and to be examples to the flock (1 Timothy 4:12; 1 Peter 5:3). We should interpret their words in the light of their walk. To wrest the words of a prophet to support a private agenda, political or financial or otherwise, is to try to manipulate the prophet, not to follow him.
Lastly, he warns against those who takes too much pride in a particular individual strong point. Note that he makes specific reference to spiritual gifts:
...A person who engages in self-congratulation over a supposed strength has lost the protection of humility and is vulnerable to Satan's using that strength to produce his or her downfall. In contrast, if we are humble and teachable, hearkening to the commandments of God, the counsel of his leaders, and the promptings of his spirit, we can be guided. We can be guided in how to use our spiritual gifts, our accomplishments, and all of our other strengths for righteousness. And we can be guided in how to avoid Satan's efforts to use our strengths to cause our downfall.
General apostasy everywhere (except for US GOOD GUYS)
Here is another discussion typical of LDS Liberty. Their belief is:
If you can make any sense out of this, you're better than I. Incredible. Just beyond weird, This is like "The TRUTH is OUT THERE" kind of stuff!
- the general body of the church is in apostasy
- except themselves, of course.
- the only true church is apostate
- except themselves, of course
- Isaiah writes all about this
- Avraham Gileadi is intimidated
- he "reports" being an Isaiah expert
- nobody should be concerned about being "cast out"
- ELITES intimidate church authorities with the threat of murder
- authorities and ELITES are "in cahotz"
- Mormons are brainwashed and delusional
- but she loves them
- there is a curse on Ephraim
- but it ended in 1996
- we must study and learn these things on our own
- church leaders are drunk and blind
- Temple ceremonies are Masonic rites
- it is a good thing to write letters to everyone
- even though they ask her not to
- the Jews are Israel, the covenant people
- some mixed-up babbling about the Sealed Book of Isaiah
- revealed to her in an inspired podcast
- who will teach these things if she doesn't
- on and on, too many arbitrary things to mention
- you get the gist...
Good morning. Thomas and Leona are asking me for specifics about the LDS church and its apostasy.
Before I say anything, I would like to make it very clear that:
1] I believe the LDS church is the only true church on earth, with great truths and blessings, with the restored priesthood authority and that Isaiah writes about this church in particular as being apostate in the last days. Avraham Gileadi, who reports to be an Isaiah expert, does his best to highlight the issues, but refrains from making pointed remarks towards the LDS church, because he is afraid of being cast out again. But no one should be afraid of being cast out, as Brigham Young has already addressed this issue of latter day saints who know certain sins of the church speaking up and being cast out. Those saints do not lose their membership in the true Kingdom, but find themselves in a little boat with our Master Messiah, while the Old Ship Zion continues to go in the wrong direction, never making it to the celestial goal.
2] I believe there is a true Temple endowment ceremony, but that it has within it, masonic rites that originated in the basement of King Solomon's Temple and he got those from his Egyptian wives, of whom were not given to him. Scriptures state that Solomon sinned. I believe for everything holy, there is a counterfeit. I believe the ELITES in this world have power over the leaders of our church and if they speak up, they will be murdered. This is an absolute 100% surety. What the ELITES are afraid of is a rising number of saints dispersed throughout the world, who come to realize that the LDS church leadership is in cahotz with the ELITES, as they are under duress.
3] I love all Mormons. I love the gospel of Jesus Christ. I love the organization and framework of the church and have a high opinion of Mormons who work hard and are loyal. My complaint though, is that they are too loyal to their leaders, they use the church as more of a social club and they do not look past what their leaders tell them and have grown lazy. This is the majority of Mormons and not the minority. I think Mormons are brainwashed and delusional concerning many issues and are not thinkers, because they fear if they 'think' they will lose their salvation. So let me assure those who are afraid....a decision made by unrighteous dominion is NOT binding on earth or in heaven, as our Heavenly Father is NOT a liar. If we lean on our leaders in this 'good old boy' club for our direction, we will fall with them.
4] We must study on our own and learn truths that have been coming forth since 1996 due to the curse of 2730 years ending upon Ephraim. Our leaders have been unable to teach us, as they are drunk and blinded according to Isaiah. Here is a podcast, sharing these truths that we need to learn, while we continue to ingather as many Jews and Gentiles into the proper baptism for their salvation. The wheat are with the tares and we are not to leave the church, but lift our voices and if we are ex'd for doing so, we do not lose our salvation. But if we do not lift our voices when we know truth, we will be considered a wicked and lazy servant. When the end of the times of the Gentiles arrives, the times of the Jews will begin. I tell you the truth, there is a HUGE remnant of Jacob who know their Hebrew Roots, who began awakening to truths they had been without since 1996, and they will be unblinded to the role of Joseph at the END of the times of the Gentiles and they are going to trample upon Mormonism doctrines that are not accurate and build the New Jerusalem. They do not have 'one up' on Mormons, as Mormons have the true baptism and authority, but once their eyes are opened divinely in Isaiah 29's marvelous work and wonder, we all need to be warned, that they will arise in glory, as they are Israel, the covenant people who are about to be remembered.
http://judahandjosephnetwork.podomatic .com/entry/ 2011-10-08T14_26_55-07_00
If you can make any sense out of this, you're better than I. Incredible. Just beyond weird, This is like "The TRUTH is OUT THERE" kind of stuff!
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