Late last week, while Senate Democrats were busy letting Republicans castrate an already neutered stimulus plan, I got pretty agitated. Much of our generation’s future, and the future of generations down the line, depends on this administration’s response to the recession. The quality of our nation’s education system, especially, will determine whether we find ourselves and our children living in an era of prosperity or an era of poverty.

Yet this stimulus, the administration’s first crack at the recession, does not bode well.

As it stood until Wednesday, the Senate threw in a completely ineffective $35 billion tax cut for people who flip their homes and a nearly $12 billion tax cut for auto purchases. Democrats have since returned some sanity, paring back both provisions substantially to approximately $5 billion combined. But at the time, tax cuts in the bill increased by over 27 percent.

Then there were the “adjustments downward” in spending as “Democratic“ Senator Ben Nelson put it. The entire $21 billion allocated for school construction was tossed and higher education took a 14 percent hit on top of the complete loss of $1.5 billion for university research facilities.

Overall, spending on education was adjusted downward by $60 billion. But the most damaging cut was the $40 billion axed from direct aid to states meant to fund our schools, our police and fire protection and other municipal services like garbage pick-up. The compromise bill has again returned some sanity, but it still cuts $25 billion and $16 billion from direct state aid and school construction, respectively.

While all this was going on, Obama came out with a 500 grand cap on executive pay; which only impacts institutions receiving “exceptional assistance“ in the future and does not apply to stock options.

Rather than pulling a PR stunt, how’s this for change: Within any one company, no one, executive or otherwise, is allowed to make more than 20 times the lowest paid full-time employee in the company. End of story.

Audit the pants off firms, and include the market value of any gifts, options, etc. in the deal. So if a CEO wants to make a cool million in 2009, he has to pay all the janitors $50,000. Consider what that would mean in finance alone; the $18 billion paid out in bonuses last year could be turned into an extra $10,000 per year for 1.8 million workers.

Stimulate that.

So all this, along with the anti-labor hang up of Labor Secretary Hilda Solis (now finally out of committee), got me really riled. And when that happens, I have a tendency to vent. This time, I decided to vent to our state’s senators.

Barbara Boxer and Dianne Feinstein are not easy people to get in touch with. When I called their DC offices, I was greeted each time by full voicemails. So I called their local offices. Senator Feinstein’s voicemail was again full. But Senator Boxer picked up; or rather a guy picked up who couldn’t have been much older than me and who sounded positively exhausted. For some reason, I just couldn’t bring myself to obliterate him in place of his boss. So I toned down my rhetoric, and thanked him for his time.

But that got me to thinking; given that I just tried to do my civic duty, and really only got a hold of a 20-something-year-old intern, how the hell do we get through to our government these days? Taking it a step further, how are we supposed to affect change without relying on a president who’s making policy with $116 million of campaign contributions from finance, insurance, real-estate, lawyers, lobbyists and “miscellaneous business“ weighing on his wallet?

The answer, my friends, is George Hayduke. For those unfamiliar with the man, you’ll want to read The Monkey Wrench Gang by Edward Abbey.

George Hayduke is the central character in the most validating novel fathomable for a disillusioned adolescent male with environmentalism coursing through his veins and who also happens to have a penchant for pyrotechnics. In a nutshell, Hayduke’s M.O. is to find something that gets his blood pressure up and then devise a way to destroy it; basically, rat-fucking for hippies.

Now, don’t confuse George Hayduke’s antics with the tree-sitting, intersection-blocking activists we all know and hate. Hayduke doesn’t get in the way of heavy machinery; he blows it up. It’s an elegant strategy; it provides a negative incentive and even helps the economy. Because when you wreck a bulldozer by pouring corn syrup in its gas tank, you keep people at Caterpillar in a job and increase GDP. Call it creative destruction, if you will.

Anyway, there’s a lot of little Haydukes out there, each of them breathing life into the gospel on their own terms. Take Tim DeChristopher for instance. This econ major dropped a massive Hayduke on a Utah oil and gas auction being pushed by the Bush administration in December.

How’d he do it?

Instead of standing outside waving a stick with some paper on it, he went inside and waved a stick with some paper on it. In the process, DeChristopher inflated the price of over a dozen parcels and won 11 bids. He’s broke as balls, of course, and was summarily arrested on site. But the auction was tainted, corporations cried foul, and a judge put a hold on the whole thing. And after the election, Interior Secretary Ken Salazar nullified 77 of the leases from the auction while the rest remain under review.

Then there’s what happened to Dick Fuld. You might know Dick Fuld as the former CEO of Lehman Brothers, the of the most über-failed investment bank in U.S. history. I know him as the guy who got Hayduked-the-fuck-out by a Lehman employee. According to CNBC, Dick Fuld went to the corporate gym the day after Lehman had gone bankrupt, got on a treadmill and was subsequently knocked to the mat by a shot to the jaw. Whoever did that is a goddamn hero; he got in there, got his hands dirty and took one for the team.

Or how about Bruce Marks.

He runs a nonprofit called the Neighborhood Assistance Corporation of America that makes loans to low-income families and helps people in foreclosure keep their homes. Marks pulls major Haydukage. The guy camps on the lawns of bank CEO’s with hundreds of people, breaks into their country clubs, protests outside their kids‘ schools and exposes their extramarital activities. Not only that, over the years he’s managed to actually do business with banks and has access (for now) to over $6 billion from Bank of America for making loans to low-income families.

Since Obama and Geithner don’t seem too keen on helping those families, he’s just begun a tour of New York and Connecticut to rain hellfire and bullhorns on the likes of Morgan Stanley CEO John Mack to get them to modify the same loans that Obama and Geithner want to use our money to overpay for.

What these stories tell me, above all, is that if we want to affect change our best bet is to engage in highly targeted acts of vigilantism, direct action and civil disobedience. We need more Cindy Sheehans, Army Specialists like Thomas Wilson (“Hey Rummy, why don’t we have armored vehicles?“) and shoe throwing reporters.

What we need are more George Haydukes.

K.C. CODY encourages you to think carefully about the impact of any shenanigans you may pull. He also encourages you to reveal your inner Hayduke to him at kccody@ucdavis.edu.

Well guys, tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day. And if you’re anything like most men on February 13th, you’re hopelessly without a plan and about ready to fake food poisoning. But before you start attempting to inoculate your GI tract by eating peanut paste, take a deep breath and keep on reading. Your last-minute search for something romantic to do with your lady friend is about to come to an end, and I’m going to tell you how.

Now, I’m speaking directly to my fellow attached males for three reasons. One: If you’re single, congratulations; you don’t need much help and you just saved $50. Go buy a Playboy and get a good night’s rest. Two: Men need the advice far more than women, as evidenced by the fact that we buy Playboys. Three: Women don’t listen to me, because when I give them advice they know that what I think they should do may not necessarily be aligned with their best interests or “reputation“ (whatever that means).

So I’ll be sticking to us dudes who’ve sacrificed erotic freedom for committed stability. The first thing we need to remember is that the work we put in on Valentine’s Day is a small price for us to pay for that sacrifice. Besides, we’ve got our own holiday coming up in a month, so be patient. That would be Steak and Blowjob Day, of course, the parameters of which ought to be rather self-explanatory and about which there is really no advice I can give (except, ladies, that a meat tenderizer is for use in a culinary context only).

For the reluctant holdouts who scoff at the sexism ingrained in Valentine’s Day, look at it like this: What you do tomorrow is an investment, the quality of which will become quite clear on the evening of March 14th when both the steak and the blowjob are either a) well done or b) rare and bloody (recall the meat tenderizer).

So here’s the question; what’s a guy to do when he’s got less than a day to concoct plans to compete with the likes of The Notebook? The first thing to do is admit defeat. You are not Noah, nor are you Don Juan de Marco or Cyrano de Bergerac. No, you’re merely a man on a mission and a budget. Therefore, I present the following ideas for tomorrow evening. Good luck, and happy hunting.

Go to the DC. Tell her to put on a nice dress and to be ready by six. If she asks where you’re going, tell her that it’s a surprise to die for. Dress yourself accordingly, and show up with a blindfold and ear plugs. Tell her to trust you. Put her in your car and drive around Davis to disorient her. Park the car, and guide her slowly to the DC. Remind her that she trusts you. Then remove the blindfold when you get to the door and validate that trust. This sounds corny, but trust me, by the time you’re eating fro-yo and laughing about how ridiculous you look, signed, sealed and delivered she’s yours. Bonus: sneak into a dorm and hook up in the common room for old time’s sake.

Cook her dinner. If you’re not down for the DC, break out the suit, some candles, some Van Morrison and some red wine (or Sierra Nevada if that’s your style), and show her what a good provider you are. That said, don’t make it elaborate; a somewhat inept, homemade meal with tacky attempts at sophistication (flower vase=blender, candle holders=shot glasses) is far superior to any restaurant. Bonus: synchronize the music in the dining room with the music in the bedroom for uninterrupted sexy time.

Make out in public, in the rain. Whether morning or night, light or dark, grab her by the hand before she has the chance to protest and drag her outside. Kiss until the two of you are completely drenched; hair, clothes, everything. She might not like it at first, but by the end she’ll love you for it. Why? Because by letting her guard down in public she’s making herself vulnerable, yet by being there with you and seeing your confidence to do the same she’s having her feelings both validated and liberated. (OK, so maybe you are Noah. But hey, this one’s easier than building a friggin‘ house right?) Bonus: build her a friggin‘ house.

Scavenger hunt. Big or small as you want; it can be around all of Davis or confined to a single room. Make the clues relevant to your relationship and increasingly challenging. As for the items to find, the first thing should be small, like a Hershey’s kiss. Then move up to something like a mix CD of songs you both like or that remind you of that one time in the back of Chem 194. Finish off with some lingerie or, if you aren’t 100 percent (and I mean 100 percent) sure on her size, a coupon booklet of sorts with IOU’s for massages, ice cream dates and cuddle sessions. Bonus: hide the last item in your pants. Chicks love that shit.

Buy her flowers. But don’t just buy her a dozen and call it a day. Buy a single rose, cut off the flower and replace it with an origami rose of her favorite color. And you can do something unique with the flower you just cut off, like put it in your pants. And if you want to go big, buy the dozen roses, but pull the petals off individually and lay them all over the bed with a few chocolates for added pizzazz. Bonus: save the petals and surprise her later with potpourri.

Hit up the MUGA. Fuck it dude, let’s go bowling. Bonus: go to the In-N-Out Burger.

None of these things should take more than a couple of hours to throw together, and so long as you show the effort she’ll dig it. But should you stray from the path, might I suggest that you never, under any circumstances, ever do any of the following:

Tell her she looks better than usual. Women do not look better than usual; they look good, great, fantastic or beautiful. And whether they look good, great, fantastic or beautiful is directly dependant, not on their actual appearance, but on how long it took them to get ready and how late they made you.

Give her money. All women know that, on some level, they’re inherently selling themselves for something (cash, power, status, etc.). Blatantly reminding them of that fact is a poor business decision on your part. Remember the whole investment analogy? Well, this would be like buying shares of WaMu in the fall of 2007. Be prepared for a rather undercooked steak.

Mention any other female you ever knew or currently know besides your mother. You do not like hearing about Anthony and his band that is “totally getting big.“ In the same vein, she does not want to hear about Sara and her boobs that are already totally big. And unlike Sara, who has blocked your number, Anthony would be more than happy to see your lady friend again. You would do well to remember that.

And finally, don’t claim that you came up with any of the ideas you read here. By all means, do these things; fair use applies. But the next morning when she looks into your eyes and says, “That was the most romantic evening of my life. How did you come up with all that?” Cite the source brotha, cite the source.

K.C. CODY honestly can’t remember how he came up with all that. Let him know how it goes, and whether you made a quality investment, at kccody@ucdavis.edu.

Congressmen are inarticulate, caustic and obtuse. It’s their job, you understand. At least, the job we give them. The voter’s interpretation of what to expect of federal legislators has been set adrift from their own interests. We’ll gladly elect killers and thieves so long as they pay lip service to a few key sentiments to soothe our skepticism.

As economic and environmental issues loom larger every day, we’ve got to call in the pros, people with real substantive knowledge and expertise. Yet, these people are far from Capitol Hill. Scientists shouldn’t be advising Congress by dropping ‘urgent‘ warnings that interns just run through the shredder. Scientists should be Congress.

The overwhelming majority of our elected representatives are selfish, unlikable and can’t dance. And what would you expect? They’re lawyers. Since 1960, lawyers have outnumbered doctors and scientists in Congress by 40 to 1. This has got to change.

A lawyer’s job, in a cosmic sense, is to distort reality. They’re paid big money to make an innocent man look guilty or a guilty one innocent, weaving confusion into persuasion through the magic of legalese. By contrast, doctors save lives. Scientists create knowledge. And we elected WHO? Granted, very few Ph.D.s ran for office, but they’d be much more motivated to run if there were public sentiment on their side. Maybe they’re too comfortable in their jobs. If that’s the case, they should know that as much money as there is in medical or physical science, there’s certainly a lot more in screwing the taxpayer.

American politicians currently have very, very few useful skills. Posturing, speechmaking, signing things, waiting 3 hours in makeup and making sure to tell dirty jokes where there aren’t wiretaps are their primary duties. We should be asking them for more.

Political negligence of science can broach “irresponsible“ to “bat-shit.” “Loco” Nancy Reagan relied on the readings of an astrologer, Joan Quigley, to dictate her husband’s schedule of public appearances. To hint at the impact that goat-sacrifice and stargazing may have had on Reagan’s policies, Nancy Reagan made a ton of people uncomfortable at a publisher’s luncheon in 1987. “This morning I had planned to clear up U.S.-Soviet differences on intermediate-range nuclear missiles,” she said, “but I decided to clean out Ronnie’s sock drawer instead.“ Science, save us.

Should more Ph.D.s get elected, this would mean substantial change to many current policies. Ethanol subsidizing, for one, would never be on the table. Scientists would understand that the conversion of food crops into fuel has more than doubled global prices of grain and feed and that if we combusted 100% of U.S. grain, only 15% of demand would be satisfied. Health care would be much more efficiently managed by doctors with experience and know-how to implement coverage and estimate cost and benefit.

We do have federal scientific agencies like the EPA and the FDA, but the funding and purpose of these programs are entirely at the discretion of non-scientific lawmakers. Reform and regulation is in trouble, then, but research has been completely shafted.

The National Science Foundation and National Institute for Health are historically under funded. Every year, the biggest national entities for scientific research routinely receive less than $40 billion. This is about 1 percent of the money we devote to the Department of Defense, that is, the science of blowing people up better. These two institutions got their stimulus slashed by $3.1 billion in the Democratic Senate’s cowardly attempts at appeasing the bitter antiscientific GOP.

Specifically, we should be looking at getting biologists into Congress. The four scientists we have elected have been three nuclear physicists and one non-doctoral chemist. Sure, smashing particles together is tons of (expensive) fun, but unless sustainable food starts flying out of CERN’s Large Hadron Collider, physics is a curiosity that doesn’t directly serve the people. Biology and environmental science are of much more use to contemporary issues of sustainable development and ensuring the provision of fundamental resources. It’s also a massive emphasis here at Davis.

With frightened eyes meeting new headlines of “crisis“ and “recession“ every day, it offers no solace whatever to know who we charged with defending our welfare. While force-feeding cash to corrupt financial giants, our legislators stop to haggle, piss and moan about giving a smaller amount to social services and job creation. They even overlooked an easier, populistic and honest way to resolve loan defaults and toxic assets: bail out the consumers, then let us pay our own debt off. That way, no fakery. But no. Good social economists would never let this happen. Congress in its present incarnation is not our friend.

So what to do, then? The next Congressional elections are in a good two years, so we’ve got time on our hands to plan a move. Encourage your favorite professors and doctors to consider running for state Senate. It’s far-fetched that they’d enter the arena, but if they hear it enough, they may commit. There’s also a much more direct way you can start a scientific revolution: study hard.

CHEYA CARY wants you to listen to “God’s Away On Business,“ by Tom Waits. Just do it. He’s reachable at cheya.cary@gmail.com.