Happy belated eastertime <Dom> & see you down the road.
Do you btw know when the candidates start !?

About 100 years ago, circa 1910, somebody had a theory that there was another planet in Earth's orbit, but always on the far side of the sun. This alt-Earth was even given a name, Vulcan ... which I gather was later appropriated by a popular TV show.

Yes, I know that feeling. But I 'believe' that you have many mental states. Occam's razor demands I adopt the intentional stance. Otherwise you'd be doing what you do by accident, which is most improbable.

Maybe somewhere in the multiverse ... in a world where Elton John becomes Queen of England after the royal weeding. Sic. Or where Lenny has a brain. Sicker.

As long as you're not insulting Mssrs Cohen or Nimoy. ;)

Growth is not a concept I'm entirely comfortable with.

But, er, yes, of course, will do.

Maybe Obama needs a Promethean challenger. Or maybe I've picked up more American arcana (and Texarkana?) than is good for me.

<Leo-Nard Act-or Ni-Moy is another matter. Much as I like Vulcanism.>

The best, by far, of the ST movies was #IV - the one with the whales?

Yes, please. I wuz gonna email you to confirm ... uh, tomorrow? ;)

Nimoy is/was -- didn't he turn 80 recently? -- a better director than Jonathan Frakes ... who graduated from being the 2nd most unlikeable character in Next Generation to directing movies. But Marina Sirtis as the Emotional Fish (Troi) was the one I rilly could not abide.

Heh, yeah.

That, and "everybody, remember where we parked!" - Kirk, referring to the invisible Klingon bird of prey.

Bloody genius. :D

I never liked STNG (aka "to baldly go where no man had gone before"). At all. :s

<Yes, please. I wuz gonna email you to confirm ... uh, tomorrow? ;)>

Another image that comes to mind, having shifted slightly from "mast", is of a tribe dancing around a totem pole, war-paint and all.

One of my longest-surviving personal possessions - not counting any survival things may have had before becoming mine - is a picture of "Indians with Totem Pole", sent from Vancouver by my seafaring uncle around 1963.

The citizens of Poland who volunteered to carry the Wojtyla Litter - or the Papal Palanquin - were <Tote 'em Poles>.

<Tote 'em poles, tote 'em barges Get a little drunk
And set his pants on fire
So they'll add it to the charges...>

Also connected to the Potlatch, or culture of competitive gift-giving. A Potlatchkey Kid is one whose parents kept giving him away.

Didn't Freud write something called 'Totem and Taboo'? I can't remember whether it was phallocentric ("I say, guys, Dick goes in the middle!") or phallocratic ("King Richard") or the whole phallogocentric Monty ("Hell, man ... mayonnaise have seen the glory of the coming of ... cut!").

What would Freud have made of AJ, I wonder? I shouldn't speculate ... Mr Goldsby sez I'm cruel, and he's right. But I'm not a practicing sadist. More an opportunist, and I've never seen so many opportunities.

"So, Mr Aurums-Bee, you already have a Life, yes? But you want more. You want a Grand?"

<What would Freud have made of AJ, I wonder? I shouldn't speculate ...>

Eh? But that's simple, he's a classic clinical case -

http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/na...

Specifically, this sudden attack of "chess blindness" set upon me while I was perusing the winning move <51...f5>. At the point that I was going to overflow with joy and realization, the disease struck with frightening rapidity: For some still unexplained pathological reason, the pawn on <g7> was actually on <g6> and <51...f5> allowed the sudden <52.Rh7+> mate.

At the board, my energy level drops, I persuade myself that my winning attempt has failed and that I've run out of steam. Then I either blunder the game away or fail to put up resistance when my opponent counter-attacks.

And the win is often objectively easier than several of the 'hard' moves I found earlier in the line.

I've prepared/analyzed a couple of examples, which I think I'll post here. Definitely a recurring problem, and maybe related to the last-round-loss syndrome. Tiredness? Bad energy? Failure to eat bananas?

Nimzowitsch used to do exercises with clubs, based on a Danish exercise book called 'My System'. Mebbe I should invest in a billyclub.

- You hussy. You ... j'adoube.

- Eh? Your move, bud.

- Very well, minx. Are you descended from the Goldsbeaugh clan of Much-Sodding-in-the-Marsh, perchance?

- Truly Shakespehearean, Sir, but quite illegal. You touched your j'adoube first, so ya gotta move it. Rules.

- Nonsense. J'adoube is not a move, it's a waiting strategy. Slut.

- Hey, did you know that means something nice in Danish. You sure you know how to play, Auntie Stauntie? Anyhoo, rule 47, laws of correspondence slander, says that j'adoube is a move. So there.

- Do you know who I am?

- I know you just left your reputation en prise and I took it. They gonna name chess sets after me now.

- They will *not*!

- Will so.

- Won't.

- Will.

- Enough. I claim a draw by Reputation.

- You ain't got one, Howie. You're out for a duck.

- Curses, I resign. Tell Mr Morphy I've gone to Capablanca for the waters.

- You and Ingrid? Sure. Good postal service to Africa these days.

- Er, I meant Kalamazoo. You cheat well, for a patzer.

- I'll slander your ass but you seem to do it yourself ... you one of those master baiters?

- A mere servant of the Bard, Madam. Why, in Aleppo once ...

- Game over, Bilbo.