I was reading in Wired magazine how Boeing and Lockheed are competing to get the U.S. government contract for the new generation of fighter planes. They’re trying to standardize the plane’s design, so you don’t need to build different planes for each branch of the service, which needs different things in a fighter. This will presumably save money through economies of scale, which in itself is a good thing.

Except each plane will cost $75 million. And they are going to build 6,000 of them.

Six thousand new fighter planes to drop bombs on a world at peace, a world with no credible threat of any kind. They’ve already spent $1.2 billion just building the two spec planes from scratch. And we spend our time wondering how public schools can cost so much and how welfare mothers are draining our national coffers dry.

Technology is evil. Here’s the proof.

Those who’ve read my about page know the story of the infamous cheese identification test. Well, now, courtesy of the web, you can find out if you were a cheese, what kind of cheese you would be. How useful this information is, will have to be a personal decision. (via Dangerous Monkey)

I’ve been reading Barbara Ehrenreich’s eye-opening book “Nickel and Dimed,” where she took a series of minimum-wage jobs so she could report on the lives of people who work in those jobs. I’m not very far along, but already I’m fascinated by a segment of society that many people don’t even think about. For example, one of the waitresses Ehrenreich works with lives in a van parked at night behind the restaurant, and she showers in the motel room of another waitress.

At the same time, as I was eating my oatmeal this morning, I was watching Regis and Joy Philbin talk about how their lives have been turned upside down by their house being photographed for Architectural Digest. Also, their electronic pool cleaning machine is on the blink.

We live in a land of contrasts.

Big Brother 2 is coming – lord help us all. What’s especially hi-larious is their tagline: “The most original show on television.” Someone’s pants were definitely on fire when they wrote that.

Fun Flash thing – too simple to be called a game. The electronic version of tossing a ball against a wall. Addictive.

Where does writing come from? My father was an artist and photographer, but not a writer. My mother would rather be tied to an anthill covered in honey than write so much as a business letter. My mother’s side of the family are avid readers and word lovers, but that’s not the same as loving to write. I used to be a newspaper reporter, and my favorite thing about it was writing something in the morning, and seeing it in print in that afternoon’s edition. Now, with this weblog, the result comes nearly instantly, and it’s addictive. I can’t wait for the next chance to put my thoughts down for other people to read. Where does that urge come from?

I admit that I wouldn’t enjoy writing just for myself, like in a private journal, something many people devote their lives to. (My grandmother on my mother’s side kept a diary, writing out the day’s happenings for about 70 years. After going to secretarial school, she wrote out several years in shorthand that even she couldn’t read years later.) So maybe it’s ego. But I also enjoy the craft of writing – picking out just the right phrase, just the right word. I would much rather write an e-mail than talk on the phone, frankly; if I talk to someone, I’d like them to be there. Why is my brain wired this way? Nature or nuture? If you’re a weblogger or a writer, where does your love of writing come from?

Last week I saw an old, beat-up, grey Chevy Caprice Classic with an all-white Apple logo sticker in the back window. That made me happy.

Those of us thinking of jumping ship from Blogger, but who will miss the hits you get from the “recently updated list,” might want to check out Linkwatcher. It scans registered sites continuously to list them on the “fresh blogs” list when they are updated. Pretty cool.

An acquaintance’s grandmother died this week, and she was asked to give a eulogy to her grandmother as part of the service. Her father’s report after the funeral was that she did a wonderful job, in contrast to her uncle, who “kept breaking down” and “couldn’t get through it.”

What is this genetically engineered Lutheran stoicism we have in this culture? Why should someone be criticized for crying at a funeral of a close family member? Another phrase you hear often about family members is “she just couldn’t keep it together,” accompanied by much nodding of heads and clucking of tongues. My feeling is, why should she “keep it together”?

Outward displays of emotion of any kind are frowned upon in our society, but especially grief. It makes us uncomfortable to have to witness intense emotions in others, especially when we can’t deal with our own. Maybe if we lived in a culture where we spent several days wailing and tearing our clothes after someone close to us dies, we could start working things out. Just an idea.