I should mention that I attended the LA Press Club party last night. It was down by the Convention Center, at the Hotel Figueroa on…Figueroa. What a shocker.

Next to the Convention Center.

It’s deceptive. It looks a little seedy from the outside, and the neighborhood is less than great, but inside it’s a classic LA hotel from, I’d guess, the twenties, in a Moroccan theme. It was a little weird to go into an Arab-themed hotel, given current events, but what are you gonna do?

Anyway, I don’t have a lot more to relate, nor do I need to, because Luke Ford has a great description of the event.

Unfortunately, Luke being stuck in the twentieth century with Dreamweaver, he still has no permalinks (though he did threaten to eventually get Moveable Type at some point). So those of you reading this from the twenty-third century, just scroll down to June 25th, 2003 (you may have to convert to star dates…).

I was a little concerned about one thing in his writeup, however.

Calm on the surface, these parties are savage affairs where the cool people flee the losers all night and seek refuge with their own kind.

You could argue that all parties where there are cool and successful and attractive people as well as losers (physically, socially, monetarily, emotionally) are savage. True. But there’s an extra degree of savageness to LAPC events because the LAPC is such a big tent. Almost anyone can join and attend the parties. Therefore, you get lots more losers at LAPC events than at exclusive parties where losers are kept out.

I like to spend my time talking to winners like Mickey Kaus, Cathy Seipp, and Denise Hamilton. Most of the group wants to talk to winners and to avoid the losers who clutch and bore and suck the life out of you.

Now, I like to think of myself as a good person. Therefore, I am willing to spend up to a third of my time talking to losers (I even go out of my way to talk to people who are alone and sad), but I must admit I grow testy after a few minutes and yearn to get away to talk to people better than me (some of whom look at me as a loser).

[VOICE=”Homer Simpson”]

Hahahaha…HAAAHAHAHAHA…

It’s funny because it’s true…

[/VOICE]

But then, I got to this:

I spend much of the evening chatting with Foxnews columnist Rand Simberg.

I have to wonder. Was I a loser on whom he was taking pity, or a winner to whom he was sucking up? I’m not sure my fragile ego will survive the answer. But, he did whip out his tape recorder on me once or twice, so I must have said something worth preserving, if only to mock later.

He tried to convert me to Orthodox Judaism, or at least ethical monotheism. I wasn’t buying. At least not last night. I’ll stick with ethical naturalism for now.

I also told Mickey Kaus, as potential fodder for a future Gearbox column, about my visceral reaction to a test drive of the Mercedes C series. You’ll have to remind me to blog on that sometime…

[Update at 7:54 PM PDT]

I should add that I talked for a little while to Luke Thompson, who utterly misunderstood me and thought that I was interested in astronomy. I’m not, any more than in any other natural science. I’m a space policy guy, trying to figure out how to get you (and me) up there. Stars are not that fascinating to me, frankly.

And actually, I didn’t need rescuing from Luke Ford–I like debating religion and teleology, as long as my debater does as well.

I also realize I really should expand on the description of entering the hotel.

As I said, it was Moroccan themed. The younger among you may not quite appreciate this. Go rent Casa Blanca, watch it, and then come back.

It’s OK, go ahead. I’ll wait, and still be here when you get back.

OK? Back already? Hope you enjoyed it, and didn’t fast forward through some of the slower parts, just to get back to my blog.

OK, I lie.

Anyway, now cast your mind back to, say…1942. Imagine walking into a hotel to attend a social event. You walk down a long darkened hallway, laden with beer steins, and imperial eagles, and the overture to Lohengrin is playing in the background. The bellhops are wearing lederhosen.

The gift shop is selling custom-made lampshades…

OK, that last was a little over the top.

It wasn’t that bad, but it was, as I said, a little weird. I hope all eventually goes well and that, in time, I’ll be able to drive a high-performance Arabian auto, just as today I drive a Honda and a BMW (I really do…).

Anyway, once I got to the party, everything went well, particularly since the only hors d’oeuvres that seemed to be middle eastern (besides an obligatory bowl of hummous and pita) was a filo-cheese thing. Everything else (aside from some microquiches and strange asian what-nots with dipping sauce), this being LA, was a variation on a corn-meal bread with spiced vague-meat filling, usually fried (i.e., Calimexican).

Thus, in a devastating attack on my digestive system, was I put at emotional ease.

I should also add that I owe Emmanuelle at least one drink, because she not only procured one for me gratis, but had it personally delivered via the lovely Tiffany Stone. Next time, mon cher.

[OK, one more update]

Luke posts some details of our conversation, though (I don’t know whether this is a good or a bad thing) his tape recorder didn’t seem to capture it. Because in the intervening few hours since his last post, Luke still hasn’t installed MT, you’ll have to scroll down almost as far, but not quite (though different orders of infinity are still infinity, aren’t they?)

Rand Simberg writes a blog largely about space. He dreams about space. He longs for space. Space is Rand’s substitute religion.

He’s right, though I don’t think that it requires any adjectives.

Here are my recollections of our discussion:

Luke: “Why don’t you believe in God?”

Randy: “I see no rational basis for doing so.”

Luke: “What created the universe?”

Rand: “I don’t know.”

Luke: “I believe I have an answer – God. Yet you think that having no idea of what created the universe is more rational than positing God. I believe that intelligence created intelligence.”

Rand talks about his belief in the transcendent but when I pin him down, he has no belief in anything beyond the material. His transcendance, like his ethics, like the meaning he sees in his life, is all made up. His meanings and ethics are the equivalent of characters in a novel. Yet Rand and Amy Alkon and Toby Young believe this made-up approach is so much more rational than following an objective transcendent moral code, proved to work over millenia, rooted in an eternal Creator who has an interest in how his creation treats each other. I’m sure Rand’s Moral Code has just as much wisdom as the works of 3000 years of Jewish tradition.

He gets it almost right, according to my own recollection. Interestingly, the part that doesn’t quite jibe is his last response. If he’d really said that, mine would have been “…and what created the intelligence that created the intelligence? Is it turtles all the way down?”

My problem with accepting the moral code of the Jewish tradition is the same as my accepting the moral code of any other tradition–the fact that there are many traditions. How am I to choose? They can’t all be right, and some of them seem to get by without a God (that doesn’t beg the question of a progenitor Himself).

I also have to wonder at the oxymoronic phrase “objective transcendant” moral code.

If Luke can explain to me why he would have been an Orthodox Jew himself without being being born into the Jewish faith (in a manner other than Dr. Laura, who did it after marrying a Jew)–that is, he chose his religion after going to the religion mall, and putting together a matrix of pluses and minuses of all the alternatives, and doing an analysis, and deciding on some rational basis which was the True Faith (since he seems so big on rationality), then I might be interested, but otherwise, as I said, no sale.