I'm an unabashed Larry Niven fan.
Ringworld is still one of my very favorite novels in any genre - and I actually own a first edition copy, the one in which Niven mistakenly has the Earth rotating in the wrong direction, it's a rare and valuable book. I'm a huge fan of the Known Space series. For years I eagerly bought anything with Niven's name on the cover. I loved his clean, crisp writing style. I thought his characters and especially the alien worlds he created were incredibly interesting - I still want to visit Mount Lookatthat and stare down into the 'vast searing black calm' of Plateau. And I want to explore the Ringworld via skycycle under the light of the heaven spanning arch. I want to battle the Kzinti and fly between the stars in a ramscoop.
Then, somehow, somewhere in the nineties, I started to become a little less enthusiastic about Niven's work, somehow the characters in his books started making intuitive leaps that I just couldn't follow, Ringworld Throne was dammed near incomprehensible to me. There were strange jumps of logic in The Integral Trees and The Smoke Ring, I enjoyed both books but there were some chapters where I just had no idea how the characters made the leaps of logic that they had. I still don't get it, despite careful rereading. Crashlander, the fixup of Beowulf Shaeffer stories tied together with the story Ghost, was the same. The characters kept making logic leaps that I just couldn't follow, it became frustrating.
Maybe the change was Niven, or maybe my mind was just no longer agile enough to follow him, but somewhere a few years back I stopped buying Niven in hardcover. I still read him, but I waited until the cheaper paperbacks came out.
Then something funny happened. He wrote Ringworld's Children, I read it in paperback. Then went out and bought the hardcover, because I enjoyed it so much. Then came Building Harlequin's Moon, which he co-wrote with Brenda Cooper, and which was one of the best SciFi books I've read in years. Moon reminded me of the very best of the Niven and Pournelle collaborations. I went back to pre-ordering hardcovers.
Two weeks ago I got my copy of Fleet of Worlds, set in Niven's Known Space, two hundred years before the events described in Ringworld. Co-written with Edward M. Lerner. Once again, Niven shows that his very best work comes when he is working with somebody else. FOWs is outstanding For those who are fans of Known Space, FOWs is a complex tale of deceit, betrayal, furry alien love, freedom, adventure amongst flying worlds, exploding galaxies, and Puppeteers.
The story revolves around what is essentially a group of human servants, descended from a lost colony and enslaved by the deceitfully paranoid alien Puppeteers. The story ties together many loose ends from the Known Space series, reshapes things you thought you knew in strange and interesting ways, and revisits some characters that have appeared elsewhere in Known Space.
I will say that while the story does stand on its own, it will probably be somewhat less enjoyable if you haven't read Ringworld and the Beowulf Shaeffer stories. Also, the ending(s) is/are a little odd. Not the way the story ends, but that there are at least three small chapters past what I thought was the logical end of the book. I'm not complaining actually, I enjoyed those extra chapters and they provided some detail about things I wanted to know - but it really felt like the authors where doing the "oh yeah, and another thing" bit. Still, overall I thought Fleet of Worlds was outstanding, and very much a worthy addition to the annuals of Known Space. I sincerely hope Niven and Lerner do more work together in this universe.
I won't spoil Fleet of Worlds for you. If you're not a Known Space fan, you won't care. And if you are, you'll go buy this book right now.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Thursday, October 25, 2007
A Little Charity
As promised. This is the bowl I was working on last weekend.
I did this one for my wife, who will give it away as part of a charity fund raiser. Anybody who donates to the fund gets their name put in the pot, she'll hold a drawing at the end of the fund raiser and the winner gets this. This is a local deal only, specifically for the division she manages at her workplace - no, you can't get into the contest, sorry (though if it works well, I might hold a "Help Jim raise money to buy a new server to replace the one he fried last week" contest...).
As with most of my stuff, this is made from Baltic Birch Heartwood that I harvested in South Central Alaska. It's green turned, i.e. the wood is not dried first. Green turning requires skills and techniques different from turning kiln dried stock, and very, very sharp tools. After turning, the rough bowl is sanded on the lathe and then burnished (polished at high speed using a handful of damp wood shavings) which gives it a deep iridescent glow and satin smooth finish. Then I cut the filigree and texture the outside to highlight the heartwood veining patterns using a Foredom rotary tool. Following that, I add red salmon, carved from cross-grain cut birch scrapwood. The whole thing is soaked in Walnut oil several times to force out the remaining water, and then polished to a glossy finish.
I am particularly happy with how the cross-grain patterns make the carved salmon more interesting.
Update: just in case you're curious, this bowl is about 12 inches in diameter, and about 5 inches deep.
I did this one for my wife, who will give it away as part of a charity fund raiser. Anybody who donates to the fund gets their name put in the pot, she'll hold a drawing at the end of the fund raiser and the winner gets this. This is a local deal only, specifically for the division she manages at her workplace - no, you can't get into the contest, sorry (though if it works well, I might hold a "Help Jim raise money to buy a new server to replace the one he fried last week" contest...).
As with most of my stuff, this is made from Baltic Birch Heartwood that I harvested in South Central Alaska. It's green turned, i.e. the wood is not dried first. Green turning requires skills and techniques different from turning kiln dried stock, and very, very sharp tools. After turning, the rough bowl is sanded on the lathe and then burnished (polished at high speed using a handful of damp wood shavings) which gives it a deep iridescent glow and satin smooth finish. Then I cut the filigree and texture the outside to highlight the heartwood veining patterns using a Foredom rotary tool. Following that, I add red salmon, carved from cross-grain cut birch scrapwood. The whole thing is soaked in Walnut oil several times to force out the remaining water, and then polished to a glossy finish.
I am particularly happy with how the cross-grain patterns make the carved salmon more interesting.Update: just in case you're curious, this bowl is about 12 inches in diameter, and about 5 inches deep.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Things, they are gonna change, part 4
As most of you know, it is my post retirement goal to become Ultimate Emperor of the Universe. For those of you joining us late in the program, this goal is not because I fancy myself as some kind of megalomaniac, but rather more as a public service. I figure that if the human race is to survive as a species, somebody is going to have to step up and fish the stupid out of the gene pool and it might as well be me. Plus, I'm retired, so I've got time on my hands for conquest.
With that said, let's talk applied science. Specifically: physics.
Now, when I say "let's talk..." I mean that I'd like to address my neighbors here in the Matanuska Susitna Valley. Specifically those of you who believe that 'science' is like 'religion,' i.e. some kind of arbitrary belief system who's rules only apply to others and not to you. I'm talking specifically to those of you who spent your entire high school and college years covering your ears in science classes and going lalalalala, least you be exposed to something that would make you doubt that Noah and his seasick relatives could have shoveled shit fast enough to keep from being buried gunwale deep in dinosaur manure. I'm talking to those of you who stuck around school just long enough to learn some basic chemistry so you could drop out and start your very own meth lab. I'm talking to those of you who planned on becoming millionaires from your pro-ball scholarships and therefor were just to dammed cool to pay attention when your teachers were trying to tell you how the world actually works. I'm talking to all of you who just can't seem to comprehend, for whatever reason, a very basic concept of high school physics, namely inertia.
The classical definition: An object at rest remains at rest, unless acted on by an outside force. An object in motion remains in motion along a straight line, unless acted on by an outside force. There's a bunch of math that goes with this definition, but let's see if I can explain it in layman's terms so my mouth-breathing neighbors can understand it. If you take a four ton SUV, put a 300.375lb Valley Dweller in it (the .375lb is the weight of the Valley Dweller's 6oz cell phone), accelerate the entire mass to around 80mph on a frictionless surface like, say, the Glenn Highway into Anchorage during a major snow fall complete with freezing rain - well, then that entire mass is going to keep moving in straight line at 80MPH until it runs into something solid enough to stop it, like, oh, a bridge abutment or a tree or a whole shitload of other cars. But, but, but, I hear my neighbors objecting, what about...? So let's just get those questions out of the way right now shall we?
Yes, inertia applies even if you have a shiny, tricked out GMC Enormous Behemoth or Ford Titanic Leviathan with huge manly tires, a bumper-mounted winch, and 40 roof-mounted halogen lights bright enough blind spy satellites. Yes, inertia applies even if you have a car stereo system that causes caribou herds to stampede from over a mile away and no, the thumping base tones that are causing permanent damage to your brain stem will not melt the ice under your tires, sorry. Yes, inertia applies even if you have 4-wheel drive and generation XV anti-lock brakes and 'traction control' no matter what that Subaru TV commercial with the professional driver on the closed course says. Yes, inertia applies even if you have a Jeebus Fish glued to your tailgate giving the finger to people behind you and a 'God is my co-pilot' bumper sticker. Yes, inertia applies even if you're talking on your cell phone, even if the conversation is 'really, really important,' if fact, there might be a little extra inertia in this case. Yes, inertia is a bitch, that's just how it is.
It snowed last night, and we got more today. It's Alaska, it's October, snow isn't exactly a novelty. In fact, it starts snowing here every year around this time. Strangely enough, the snow is always slippery too, not once in my memory has the snow ever been not slippery here on Alaskan highways. Elsewhere in some alternate reality, snow might actually increase traction, I don't know, but not here. Here in Alaska, snow is slippery. You'd think Alaskans would, after years and years and years of slippery snow on highways, wise the hell up. I counted a total of 14 accidents today, on my trip into Anchorage. Major accidents. Upside down, tires spinning in the air, oopsy I'll have to call you back because the rescue crew is here to dig me out with the jaws of life accidents. Tonight it took my wife nearly 3 hours to get home because there were another dozen accidents. And what did all these wrecks have in common? Every dammed one of them involved 4 wheel drive vehicles. At least half the accidents ended with the vehicle upside down in the ditch. Not one of those vehicles was a Yugo, or a Geo Metro, or a shitty beater Ford Escort - and do you know why? Because people who drive Yugos, Metros, and shitty beater Escorts on icy roads are cautious. They are paranoid in the those little tin cans. They slow down. They pay attention. They understand inertia.
So, here's how it's gonna be: After I crown myself Emperor of the Universe, there's going to be some changes made to the driver licensing process. We're going to be adding some science, maybe something like solve for F=ma where F is the force required to stop the mass (m) of a four ton SUV (a)ccelerating like the puck on an air hockey table as it careens towards the ditch. Remember a couple of years ago, people wanted to keep drunks off the roads by adding breatholyzers to car ignitions? I'm thinking of adding something similar, the Physicsolyzer (tm), solve for P=mv, where P is the potential to hold up traffic for hours resulting from mass (m) stupidity times velocity (v) or the SUV ain't starting.
Or maybe it would just be easier to make everybody drive a shitty Ford Escort. Hmmm, I'll have to think about it.
Things, they are gonna change, Part 3
Things, they are gonna change, Part 2
Things, they are gonna change, Part 1
With that said, let's talk applied science. Specifically: physics.
Now, when I say "let's talk..." I mean that I'd like to address my neighbors here in the Matanuska Susitna Valley. Specifically those of you who believe that 'science' is like 'religion,' i.e. some kind of arbitrary belief system who's rules only apply to others and not to you. I'm talking specifically to those of you who spent your entire high school and college years covering your ears in science classes and going lalalalala, least you be exposed to something that would make you doubt that Noah and his seasick relatives could have shoveled shit fast enough to keep from being buried gunwale deep in dinosaur manure. I'm talking to those of you who stuck around school just long enough to learn some basic chemistry so you could drop out and start your very own meth lab. I'm talking to those of you who planned on becoming millionaires from your pro-ball scholarships and therefor were just to dammed cool to pay attention when your teachers were trying to tell you how the world actually works. I'm talking to all of you who just can't seem to comprehend, for whatever reason, a very basic concept of high school physics, namely inertia.
The classical definition: An object at rest remains at rest, unless acted on by an outside force. An object in motion remains in motion along a straight line, unless acted on by an outside force. There's a bunch of math that goes with this definition, but let's see if I can explain it in layman's terms so my mouth-breathing neighbors can understand it. If you take a four ton SUV, put a 300.375lb Valley Dweller in it (the .375lb is the weight of the Valley Dweller's 6oz cell phone), accelerate the entire mass to around 80mph on a frictionless surface like, say, the Glenn Highway into Anchorage during a major snow fall complete with freezing rain - well, then that entire mass is going to keep moving in straight line at 80MPH until it runs into something solid enough to stop it, like, oh, a bridge abutment or a tree or a whole shitload of other cars. But, but, but, I hear my neighbors objecting, what about...? So let's just get those questions out of the way right now shall we?
Yes, inertia applies even if you have a shiny, tricked out GMC Enormous Behemoth or Ford Titanic Leviathan with huge manly tires, a bumper-mounted winch, and 40 roof-mounted halogen lights bright enough blind spy satellites. Yes, inertia applies even if you have a car stereo system that causes caribou herds to stampede from over a mile away and no, the thumping base tones that are causing permanent damage to your brain stem will not melt the ice under your tires, sorry. Yes, inertia applies even if you have 4-wheel drive and generation XV anti-lock brakes and 'traction control' no matter what that Subaru TV commercial with the professional driver on the closed course says. Yes, inertia applies even if you have a Jeebus Fish glued to your tailgate giving the finger to people behind you and a 'God is my co-pilot' bumper sticker. Yes, inertia applies even if you're talking on your cell phone, even if the conversation is 'really, really important,' if fact, there might be a little extra inertia in this case. Yes, inertia is a bitch, that's just how it is.
It snowed last night, and we got more today. It's Alaska, it's October, snow isn't exactly a novelty. In fact, it starts snowing here every year around this time. Strangely enough, the snow is always slippery too, not once in my memory has the snow ever been not slippery here on Alaskan highways. Elsewhere in some alternate reality, snow might actually increase traction, I don't know, but not here. Here in Alaska, snow is slippery. You'd think Alaskans would, after years and years and years of slippery snow on highways, wise the hell up. I counted a total of 14 accidents today, on my trip into Anchorage. Major accidents. Upside down, tires spinning in the air, oopsy I'll have to call you back because the rescue crew is here to dig me out with the jaws of life accidents. Tonight it took my wife nearly 3 hours to get home because there were another dozen accidents. And what did all these wrecks have in common? Every dammed one of them involved 4 wheel drive vehicles. At least half the accidents ended with the vehicle upside down in the ditch. Not one of those vehicles was a Yugo, or a Geo Metro, or a shitty beater Ford Escort - and do you know why? Because people who drive Yugos, Metros, and shitty beater Escorts on icy roads are cautious. They are paranoid in the those little tin cans. They slow down. They pay attention. They understand inertia.
So, here's how it's gonna be: After I crown myself Emperor of the Universe, there's going to be some changes made to the driver licensing process. We're going to be adding some science, maybe something like solve for F=ma where F is the force required to stop the mass (m) of a four ton SUV (a)ccelerating like the puck on an air hockey table as it careens towards the ditch. Remember a couple of years ago, people wanted to keep drunks off the roads by adding breatholyzers to car ignitions? I'm thinking of adding something similar, the Physicsolyzer (tm), solve for P=mv, where P is the potential to hold up traffic for hours resulting from mass (m) stupidity times velocity (v) or the SUV ain't starting.
Or maybe it would just be easier to make everybody drive a shitty Ford Escort. Hmmm, I'll have to think about it.
Things, they are gonna change, Part 3
Things, they are gonna change, Part 2
Things, they are gonna change, Part 1
Quick Update
Like, I said in the previous post - this week is a bit hectic. Additionally, just for added fun, Murphy's Law is in full effect.
I spent all day yesterday at the VA, getting probed, scoped, and otherwise examined - with more today, for which I have to leave for Anchorage in just a couple of minutes. The bad news, my shoulder and neck are a mess, my knees are a mess, the nerve damage in my left arm is something of a mystery, and my hearing profile shows "classic sustained noise damage in the mid to high frequency range in both ears" and as such I qualify for hearing aids. Nice, I took a pass on the hearing aid thing for the moment. The good news, I have the blood pressure of "a seventeen year-old girl" - that's apparently very good according to the doctor. So, woohoo and so on and so forth.
Now just to make it interesting: I got up a full hour late - and didn't realize it. I thought it was 5:30 and it was actually 6:30. My son's homework would not print on the back-up printer in the office (the main printer rack in the den is still down, because the Goddammed server is still dead and I can't seem to fix it despite a new motherboard and power supply), and so I was running around trying to get the dammed homework printed out when I realized what time it actually was and that instead of having a hour, I actually had no time at all. Becky had a conference to go to and said she'd drop the kid off at school, giving me a couple of extra minutes. Great! Out the door they go as I rushed to gather up my medical records and headed out to get in the truck. Just then, Becky pulled back into the drive, something odd going on here - yep, flat tire on the jeep. Goddammit! Dump the jeep in the shop, wife and kid in the truck, drop the kid off at school and we headed into Anchorage. I managed to get Becky to the Hilton, where her conference was, and make it back across town to the VA only a couple of minutes late.
Now how my blood pressure was anywhere near normal I don't know.
Rushed home, so I could get the tire off the jeep and to the tire shop in Palmer before it closed. Then back home to remount it. By the time I got done with everything I had a killer headache and really didn't feel like posting. You can thank me later.
Anyway, despite the fact that it snowed last night and the roads are slicker than greased goose shit, I expect today to be better. And now I'm off to Anchorage.
Hope you all have a good day.
I spent all day yesterday at the VA, getting probed, scoped, and otherwise examined - with more today, for which I have to leave for Anchorage in just a couple of minutes. The bad news, my shoulder and neck are a mess, my knees are a mess, the nerve damage in my left arm is something of a mystery, and my hearing profile shows "classic sustained noise damage in the mid to high frequency range in both ears" and as such I qualify for hearing aids. Nice, I took a pass on the hearing aid thing for the moment. The good news, I have the blood pressure of "a seventeen year-old girl" - that's apparently very good according to the doctor. So, woohoo and so on and so forth.
Now just to make it interesting: I got up a full hour late - and didn't realize it. I thought it was 5:30 and it was actually 6:30. My son's homework would not print on the back-up printer in the office (the main printer rack in the den is still down, because the Goddammed server is still dead and I can't seem to fix it despite a new motherboard and power supply), and so I was running around trying to get the dammed homework printed out when I realized what time it actually was and that instead of having a hour, I actually had no time at all. Becky had a conference to go to and said she'd drop the kid off at school, giving me a couple of extra minutes. Great! Out the door they go as I rushed to gather up my medical records and headed out to get in the truck. Just then, Becky pulled back into the drive, something odd going on here - yep, flat tire on the jeep. Goddammit! Dump the jeep in the shop, wife and kid in the truck, drop the kid off at school and we headed into Anchorage. I managed to get Becky to the Hilton, where her conference was, and make it back across town to the VA only a couple of minutes late.
Now how my blood pressure was anywhere near normal I don't know.
Rushed home, so I could get the tire off the jeep and to the tire shop in Palmer before it closed. Then back home to remount it. By the time I got done with everything I had a killer headache and really didn't feel like posting. You can thank me later.
Anyway, despite the fact that it snowed last night and the roads are slicker than greased goose shit, I expect today to be better. And now I'm off to Anchorage.
Hope you all have a good day.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Full Schedule this Week
Posting here at Stonekettle Station may be a little light this week. I've got a fairly busy schedule - yeah, yeah, I'm supposed to be retired. You'd think I'd have some friggin' time, but no.
Actually I'm not bitching here, the VA has finally gotten around to me (can't fault them, I at least have all my fingers and toes - I'd be pissed if they gave me higher priority at the expense of some poor Dog Face who's missing significant portions of his anatomy). I've got a number of appointments at the VA this week, a bunch of medical exams to assess some ongoing injures as part of the disability assessment process. Hopefully this will lead to a fix for some of the problems two decades of Navy service have inflicted on me. As I've mentioned elsewhere, I'm in fairly constant pain these days, mostly low grade stuff, but it's irritating and distracting and I'd really like to get it fixed, especially the shoulder which is killing me at the moment.
So, anyway, I've got to drive into Anchorage for the next couple of days and I've got to leave early to make the appointments. On the other hand, I'm sure my visit to the Veteran's Administration will lead to some interesting posts, so hey, no downside here.
Today, I've got to finish a project in the shop, a carved birch heartwood bowl that I promised my wife she could have tomorrow. It's for a charity raffle she's doing at work. I'm fairly tickled with how it's coming out - I may even post some pictures of it this afternoon.
Once I've got that done, I've got to outline my project for NaNoWriMo. I have an IDEA I've been playing with for a while, it's been gathering dust and cobwebs in the idea bin. So my intention is to pull it out, dust it off, and flesh it out for National Novel Writing Month. I promised myself that I would get back to professional writing full time come November 1st, and NaNoWriMo is the perfect excuse.
So, what are you guys doing today?
Actually I'm not bitching here, the VA has finally gotten around to me (can't fault them, I at least have all my fingers and toes - I'd be pissed if they gave me higher priority at the expense of some poor Dog Face who's missing significant portions of his anatomy). I've got a number of appointments at the VA this week, a bunch of medical exams to assess some ongoing injures as part of the disability assessment process. Hopefully this will lead to a fix for some of the problems two decades of Navy service have inflicted on me. As I've mentioned elsewhere, I'm in fairly constant pain these days, mostly low grade stuff, but it's irritating and distracting and I'd really like to get it fixed, especially the shoulder which is killing me at the moment.
So, anyway, I've got to drive into Anchorage for the next couple of days and I've got to leave early to make the appointments. On the other hand, I'm sure my visit to the Veteran's Administration will lead to some interesting posts, so hey, no downside here.
Today, I've got to finish a project in the shop, a carved birch heartwood bowl that I promised my wife she could have tomorrow. It's for a charity raffle she's doing at work. I'm fairly tickled with how it's coming out - I may even post some pictures of it this afternoon.
Once I've got that done, I've got to outline my project for NaNoWriMo. I have an IDEA I've been playing with for a while, it's been gathering dust and cobwebs in the idea bin. So my intention is to pull it out, dust it off, and flesh it out for National Novel Writing Month. I promised myself that I would get back to professional writing full time come November 1st, and NaNoWriMo is the perfect excuse.
So, what are you guys doing today?
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Hatcher's Pass
We decided to head up to Hatcher's Pass this morning, to see if there was enough snow for the kid to try out his snow board. Nope, not yet. But it was a nice drive. Hatcher's Pass is about 10 miles from our house, you can see it out the front window. The Pass was part of the original trapper/gold/mail trail from Seward on the Inland Passage to Fairbanks and points north. The Pass was also home to a number of gold mines, the most famous being the Independence Mine, which is now a state historical site. Nowadays the Parks Highway skirts the around the bottom of the Alaskan Range, making the pass road obsolete. It's closed in the winter, and barely passable in the summer. If you don't have a 4x4, don't even think about it.
This first shot is looking south from the lower pass, just below the mine. That's our house, right there, in the middle. That little dot. What? You can't see it? Yeah, well it's down about 3000ft and about seven miles away. As always, you can click on the pictures to get higher resolution enlargements.
The headwaters of the Little Su run through the bottom of the valley you can see in the above photo. Up close, it looked like this today.
Believe me when I say that water is Goddammed cold. How do I know this? Don't ask.
This first shot is looking south from the lower pass, just below the mine. That's our house, right there, in the middle. That little dot. What? You can't see it? Yeah, well it's down about 3000ft and about seven miles away. As always, you can click on the pictures to get higher resolution enlargements.
The headwaters of the Little Su run through the bottom of the valley you can see in the above photo. Up close, it looked like this today.
Believe me when I say that water is Goddammed cold. How do I know this? Don't ask.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
And Another One
It's a day for pictures apparently. This is a little to the right of the picture in the previous post, about 6:30PM just as the moon was rising over Pioneer Peak.
And that's going to do it for today.
And that's going to do it for today.
One More
Looking South, out my sunroom window towards the Knik Glacier. Just as I was heading back out to the shop the sun broke through the clouds, this is what it looked like:
See? I told you so
I warned you, I said it was gonna snow soon ('cause my lumbago was actin' up). We got an inch or two last night. It'll probably all melt off by the end of the day. Made Jumper happy though, she loves the snow (Jumper is the dog, the dog!). That's her in her stylin' snow boots.
My son and I spent the morning putting the plows and chains on the 4-wheelers, which is what I planned on doing this weekend anyway.
And the new motherboard showed up today. Woohoo. Guess what I'll be doing.
Wrong.
I'm going out to the shop to turn a bowl for my wife. She's giving away some of my work as a prize for a charity deal at her work. Got to have it done by Tuesday, so I'm off to the shop. Have fun with your day, I know I will.
My son and I spent the morning putting the plows and chains on the 4-wheelers, which is what I planned on doing this weekend anyway.
And the new motherboard showed up today. Woohoo. Guess what I'll be doing.
Wrong.
I'm going out to the shop to turn a bowl for my wife. She's giving away some of my work as a prize for a charity deal at her work. Got to have it done by Tuesday, so I'm off to the shop. Have fun with your day, I know I will.
Friday, October 19, 2007
30 Days of Cliche
"...an isolated Alaskan town ... is plunged into darkness for a month each year when the sun sinks below the horizon. As the last rays of light fade, the town is attacked by a bloodthirsty gang of vampires bent on an uninterrupted orgy of destruction"
Yeah, OK, I can see that, sort of. Vampires fear sunlight. During winter at high latitudes there is no sunlight for a long periods. Makes sense for the photophobic undead to winter over in northern Alaska. I'd bet you could write a whole story around the idea, a good story. I suspect 30 Days of Night, an "Uninterrupted orgy of destruction," isn't that story, but I think it could be done. Though it might be kind of hard to bite people on the neck when they're bundled up in long underwear and three layers of polar fleece topped by a hooded parka (yeah, that's right, when there's no sunlight for a couple of months, there's also no heat. It's 40 to 60F below zero, have fun with that, Bloodsuckers). Ever been out in that kind of weather? All that vampire drool and glycerin blood that movie directors are so fond of these days, would freeze your fangs. Biting somebody at those temperatures would be a lot like licking a metal flag pole. I don't recommend it, though it does present some interesting comedic possibilities for a vampire movie. This isn't my kind of movie, though I imagine I'll see it eventually just out of morbid (heh) curiosity, when it shows up in the bargain bin for $3. Reason I bring it up is that it's supposed to be set in small town Alaska. Hell, I live in small town Alaska, naturally a Vampire movie set in Alaska gets my attention, which brings me to yet another of my pet peeves. Where was this movie filmed?
Auckland, New Zealand.
New Zealand? Land of Hobbits, oh yeah, New Zealand looks just exactly like northern Alaska. Probably no shortage of quirky local oddballs willing to work for cheap either. Put some Carharts on 'em, add a bad Minnesotan or Canadian accent and some ersatz snow and viola, instant Alaskans!
This movie continues a long, long trend of making movies and TV shows supposedly set in Alaska pretty much anywhere else but Alaska. I will say that at least Auckland is something new, usually movies about Alaska are filmed in Canada or California. Need some examples?
Mystery, Alaska: A funny movie. I actually like this movie a lot despite the fake "Alaskan" accents (God sakes!), far too much winter daylight for the supposed location, and Mike Meyers. Filming location: Alberta, Canada
North To Alaska: I like this movie too, I'm just a sucker for John Wayne formula flicks. But for crying out loud, filmed in Big Bear, California, USA? Oh yeah, just exactly like Nome.
Men in Trees: Thank god this cliche-ridden piece of HBO crap didn't last past the pilot season. Minnesota accents and raccoons! Yeah, we've just got shitloads of raccoons in Alaskan, and no hair dryers. Filmed in British Columbia, Canada - and they can keep it.
Northern Exposure: Every town in Alaska is filled with billionaire ex-astronauts, angry female bush pilots, and philosophical radio DJ's - all desperate to highjack a real doctor from Outside, you know, because there aren't any doctors in Alaska, or Jewish people apparently. I hated this stupid show. Filmed in Washington, USA.
Alaska: Admittedly a kid's movie, but the pre-teen protagonists befriend a wild polar bear? Yeah, from the inside maybe. And just FYI, polar bears don't range south of the Brooke's Range. Idiots. Filmed in British Columbia, Canada.
Snow Dogs: Again a kid's movie. Typical Disney piece of crap. Poor acting. Silly, cliched done to death plot. Even the sled dogs are Hollywood fakes, prize team my ass. Filmed in Alberta, Canada.
The Call of the Wild: When I first moved to Alaska I was advised to always carry a copy of the Jack London novel whenever I went into the bush - because the paper pages make a dandy fire starter. Filmed in Washington, USA
On the Beach (TV version): Filmed in Melbourne, Australia, which I can see because the story mostly takes place there, but there is a critical scene where the submarine skipper and his XO explore radiation killed Anchorage looking for the source of a radio transmission. I don't know where that was filmed, but it sure as hell wasn't Anchorage, Alaska. I will say this about On the Beach, improbable science aside, this is one dammed scary movie - it actually gave me nightmares. Armand Assante had the part of a sub skipper down cold.
Now there have been plenty of movies filmed in Alaska, mostly documentaries where you just can't fake the location. But there was the big budget Al Pacino flop, Insomnia, which was filmed in Alaska, sort of. At least a couple of the location scenes were; the rest of it was filmed in Canadian studios. I actually liked this movie - not for Al's phoned-in acting and the whiny "I can't sleep because it's light out" bullshit - but because somebody shoots Robin Williams in the end. [I originally called this a "Dinero Movie." Sorry Bob, no insult intended. You rock, Sir]
And then, of course, there's Grizzly Man, actually filmed mostly in and around Katmai National Park, Alaska. A biopic, based on the king of all drooling misguided eco-freak whackjobs, Tim Treadwell, who managed to get both himself and his idiot girl friend eaten alive. Actually I would have preferred that they'd filmed this well made tribute to utter stupidity somewhere else, say like Malibu.
No matter where it was filmed, I doubt 30 Days of Night will be a big hit here in Alaska. All real Alaskans know that there's nothing to fear in the dark of the arctic winter, the real bloodsuckers come out in summer, when the sun is in the sky 24 hours a day - they are called Mosquitoes and they will drain you dry.
Oh, the horror, the horror!
Yeah, OK, I can see that, sort of. Vampires fear sunlight. During winter at high latitudes there is no sunlight for a long periods. Makes sense for the photophobic undead to winter over in northern Alaska. I'd bet you could write a whole story around the idea, a good story. I suspect 30 Days of Night, an "Uninterrupted orgy of destruction," isn't that story, but I think it could be done. Though it might be kind of hard to bite people on the neck when they're bundled up in long underwear and three layers of polar fleece topped by a hooded parka (yeah, that's right, when there's no sunlight for a couple of months, there's also no heat. It's 40 to 60F below zero, have fun with that, Bloodsuckers). Ever been out in that kind of weather? All that vampire drool and glycerin blood that movie directors are so fond of these days, would freeze your fangs. Biting somebody at those temperatures would be a lot like licking a metal flag pole. I don't recommend it, though it does present some interesting comedic possibilities for a vampire movie. This isn't my kind of movie, though I imagine I'll see it eventually just out of morbid (heh) curiosity, when it shows up in the bargain bin for $3. Reason I bring it up is that it's supposed to be set in small town Alaska. Hell, I live in small town Alaska, naturally a Vampire movie set in Alaska gets my attention, which brings me to yet another of my pet peeves. Where was this movie filmed?
Auckland, New Zealand.
New Zealand? Land of Hobbits, oh yeah, New Zealand looks just exactly like northern Alaska. Probably no shortage of quirky local oddballs willing to work for cheap either. Put some Carharts on 'em, add a bad Minnesotan or Canadian accent and some ersatz snow and viola, instant Alaskans!
This movie continues a long, long trend of making movies and TV shows supposedly set in Alaska pretty much anywhere else but Alaska. I will say that at least Auckland is something new, usually movies about Alaska are filmed in Canada or California. Need some examples?
Mystery, Alaska: A funny movie. I actually like this movie a lot despite the fake "Alaskan" accents (God sakes!), far too much winter daylight for the supposed location, and Mike Meyers. Filming location: Alberta, Canada
North To Alaska: I like this movie too, I'm just a sucker for John Wayne formula flicks. But for crying out loud, filmed in Big Bear, California, USA? Oh yeah, just exactly like Nome.
Men in Trees: Thank god this cliche-ridden piece of HBO crap didn't last past the pilot season. Minnesota accents and raccoons! Yeah, we've just got shitloads of raccoons in Alaskan, and no hair dryers. Filmed in British Columbia, Canada - and they can keep it.
Northern Exposure: Every town in Alaska is filled with billionaire ex-astronauts, angry female bush pilots, and philosophical radio DJ's - all desperate to highjack a real doctor from Outside, you know, because there aren't any doctors in Alaska, or Jewish people apparently. I hated this stupid show. Filmed in Washington, USA.
Alaska: Admittedly a kid's movie, but the pre-teen protagonists befriend a wild polar bear? Yeah, from the inside maybe. And just FYI, polar bears don't range south of the Brooke's Range. Idiots. Filmed in British Columbia, Canada.
Snow Dogs: Again a kid's movie. Typical Disney piece of crap. Poor acting. Silly, cliched done to death plot. Even the sled dogs are Hollywood fakes, prize team my ass. Filmed in Alberta, Canada.
The Call of the Wild: When I first moved to Alaska I was advised to always carry a copy of the Jack London novel whenever I went into the bush - because the paper pages make a dandy fire starter. Filmed in Washington, USA
On the Beach (TV version): Filmed in Melbourne, Australia, which I can see because the story mostly takes place there, but there is a critical scene where the submarine skipper and his XO explore radiation killed Anchorage looking for the source of a radio transmission. I don't know where that was filmed, but it sure as hell wasn't Anchorage, Alaska. I will say this about On the Beach, improbable science aside, this is one dammed scary movie - it actually gave me nightmares. Armand Assante had the part of a sub skipper down cold.
Now there have been plenty of movies filmed in Alaska, mostly documentaries where you just can't fake the location. But there was the big budget Al Pacino flop, Insomnia, which was filmed in Alaska, sort of. At least a couple of the location scenes were; the rest of it was filmed in Canadian studios. I actually liked this movie - not for Al's phoned-in acting and the whiny "I can't sleep because it's light out" bullshit - but because somebody shoots Robin Williams in the end. [I originally called this a "Dinero Movie." Sorry Bob, no insult intended. You rock, Sir]
And then, of course, there's Grizzly Man, actually filmed mostly in and around Katmai National Park, Alaska. A biopic, based on the king of all drooling misguided eco-freak whackjobs, Tim Treadwell, who managed to get both himself and his idiot girl friend eaten alive. Actually I would have preferred that they'd filmed this well made tribute to utter stupidity somewhere else, say like Malibu.
No matter where it was filmed, I doubt 30 Days of Night will be a big hit here in Alaska. All real Alaskans know that there's nothing to fear in the dark of the arctic winter, the real bloodsuckers come out in summer, when the sun is in the sky 24 hours a day - they are called Mosquitoes and they will drain you dry.
Oh, the horror, the horror!
From the Spam Folder
The last couple of days I've been getting this email in my spam folder:
We are here to tell you something wonderful!
You never believed that some medicine could make feel so sure in bed.
Here is MegaDik, that will start a new wave of your sexual pleasure.
Your penis will be leader of the world!
Um, don't we already have a dick as the leader of the free world?
We are here to tell you something wonderful!
You never believed that some medicine could make feel so sure in bed.
Here is MegaDik, that will start a new wave of your sexual pleasure.
Your penis will be leader of the world!
Um, don't we already have a dick as the leader of the free world?
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Me, Shade Tree Mechanic
So Monday evening, there was this big puddle of fluid under the rear of my wife's Jeep Cherokee.
The jeep is an older machine, we bought it new a year after we were married - it was our first major purchase together. The red paint is a little faded nowadays, but it's always been a great vehicle. We've put nearly 300,000 miles on it traveling literally to every corner of the continent, from Florida to Maine to Alaska to Maryland and out to Southern California and finally back to Alaska. We've pulled our trailer and carried our canoe on the roof through the Bad Lands of South Dakota, across Maine's Golden Road from Dover/Foxcroft to the Down East Coast, the entire length of Highways US95, US10, US5 and 101, and the Queen's Highway across the length of Canada. It's started reliably in -40F weather north of Fairbanks and plowed through grill high snow crossing Soldier Summit in the remote Yukon. Like a mule, it climbed surefooted 4000ft up up the glare ice covered road out of Haines into the Chilkoot when other vehicles couldn't move, and done the same in 113F heat to the observatory on top of Mount Palomar in Southern California. I've used it to skid logs and pull 1/2-ton 4x4 pickups out of the ditch. There's not much on it I can't fix, and have over the years. It's gotten a little small for us in recent years, with the kid and the dog and etc. Nowadays I drive a GMC crew cab, and my wife mostly only uses the Jeep in the winter, when we've put her Mustang Convertible away. But it's still in decent shape, and I'm certainly not used to finding a puddle under the rear end.
Hmmm, says I to myself, that can't be good. I had just changed the oil last weekend, and my first thought was maybe I hadn't tightened down the new filter or oil pan drain plug properly. But in that case the puddle should have been under the front of the jeep. So what the hell was this?
Brake fluid. Double plus ungood. The left, rear brake cylinder seal had failed. Brake fluid was draining out through the hub and all over the garage floor. Oh yeah, says my lovely wife, the brakes have been acting funny lately. Oh really? How odd.
Now see, I hate working on cars. I can do it, I just don't like it. I love tools and especially woodwork. Working with wood is clean. The smell of cut wood is something I enjoy. Woodwork is my Zen. Cars? Filthy, oily, smelly mess even in the best of times. And no matter what the problem is - it's always in some impossible to reach spot on the vehicle, where even a four armed, humpbacked chimpanzee would have trouble getting it's hands into. And no matter how large my toolbox is, auto repair inevitably require some kind of special gizmo that I don't have. Always.
So I figured to hell with it, I'll just fill the brake reservoir and take it in to the shop. Great idea, until I got a couple of estimates over the phone and couldn't find a place to do the work until next week, late next week. Palmer is a small town, there's not a lot of options, and I sure as hell didn't want to drive it any further than that. Sigh.
So yesterday I pulled it into the shop and pulled the rear brakes. What a mess, the usual road muck and caked brake dust mixed in a slurry of hydraulic fluid. Nice. Front disc brakes I can change out in an hour, but rear drum brakes? Ugh, special tools, springs and cables and weird little doodads put together by some demented automotive engineer. Who designs this stuff? Seriously? Do they get paid more if they design a connector that instead of a simple standard cotter pin uses three springs, a flange, and a unique retaining pin that can only be purchased from NAPA? And requires a special spring compressor tool, 3 hands, and an arcane combination of cursing to remove? And it's positioned in the most inaccessible recess on the brake support assembly where it is impossible to position a worklight so you can see the dammed thing? What the hell is it with these people?
Wright's First Law: Engineers should not be allowed to wander around the universe without a keeper.
Wright's Own Corollary to Wright's First Law: All engineers should have a large burly assistant, with a mallet, who stands behind the engineer and stops him when the design complexity exceeds common sense.
So, anyway, I eventually got the brakes pulled. In the process I bashed the knuckles on both hands and additionally managed to nearly brain myself on the under carriage when a bolt let go suddenly. Ended up with a scraped forehead and a goose-egg, wonderful. I cleaned the various parts up using my grinder's wire wheel polisher. Degreased the mounting assembly. Made a list of the parts I needed, brake shoes, drums, hydraulic cylinders, new brake lines (hey, if I've got to do it, I'm dammed well going to do a complete overhaul) and etc. And headed into to town to NAPA. And the first question the guy behind the counter asks? What size drums, 9 inch or 10 inch?
WTF? Why? Why? Why, would there be two different sized brake drums made for a 1992 Jeep Cherokee Laredo? Why? What possible Goddammed reason could there be? Or course I hadn't measured them. So I had to run back home, measure the drums, and then go back to the auto parts place. Argh!
Wright's Admonishment to large burly Engineering Assistants: smack the Engineer with your mallet occasionally, for no reason at all.
Eventually, after a third trip to NAPA, I got it mostly done. This morning I've just got to install the new brake lines, fill and bleed the system, and test it.
Test it. As in go drive around the block and test the brakes. So, if you don't hear from me, it's because I screwed something up. But, not to worry, I almost never do that. Almost.
The jeep is an older machine, we bought it new a year after we were married - it was our first major purchase together. The red paint is a little faded nowadays, but it's always been a great vehicle. We've put nearly 300,000 miles on it traveling literally to every corner of the continent, from Florida to Maine to Alaska to Maryland and out to Southern California and finally back to Alaska. We've pulled our trailer and carried our canoe on the roof through the Bad Lands of South Dakota, across Maine's Golden Road from Dover/Foxcroft to the Down East Coast, the entire length of Highways US95, US10, US5 and 101, and the Queen's Highway across the length of Canada. It's started reliably in -40F weather north of Fairbanks and plowed through grill high snow crossing Soldier Summit in the remote Yukon. Like a mule, it climbed surefooted 4000ft up up the glare ice covered road out of Haines into the Chilkoot when other vehicles couldn't move, and done the same in 113F heat to the observatory on top of Mount Palomar in Southern California. I've used it to skid logs and pull 1/2-ton 4x4 pickups out of the ditch. There's not much on it I can't fix, and have over the years. It's gotten a little small for us in recent years, with the kid and the dog and etc. Nowadays I drive a GMC crew cab, and my wife mostly only uses the Jeep in the winter, when we've put her Mustang Convertible away. But it's still in decent shape, and I'm certainly not used to finding a puddle under the rear end.
Hmmm, says I to myself, that can't be good. I had just changed the oil last weekend, and my first thought was maybe I hadn't tightened down the new filter or oil pan drain plug properly. But in that case the puddle should have been under the front of the jeep. So what the hell was this?
Brake fluid. Double plus ungood. The left, rear brake cylinder seal had failed. Brake fluid was draining out through the hub and all over the garage floor. Oh yeah, says my lovely wife, the brakes have been acting funny lately. Oh really? How odd.
Now see, I hate working on cars. I can do it, I just don't like it. I love tools and especially woodwork. Working with wood is clean. The smell of cut wood is something I enjoy. Woodwork is my Zen. Cars? Filthy, oily, smelly mess even in the best of times. And no matter what the problem is - it's always in some impossible to reach spot on the vehicle, where even a four armed, humpbacked chimpanzee would have trouble getting it's hands into. And no matter how large my toolbox is, auto repair inevitably require some kind of special gizmo that I don't have. Always.
So I figured to hell with it, I'll just fill the brake reservoir and take it in to the shop. Great idea, until I got a couple of estimates over the phone and couldn't find a place to do the work until next week, late next week. Palmer is a small town, there's not a lot of options, and I sure as hell didn't want to drive it any further than that. Sigh.
So yesterday I pulled it into the shop and pulled the rear brakes. What a mess, the usual road muck and caked brake dust mixed in a slurry of hydraulic fluid. Nice. Front disc brakes I can change out in an hour, but rear drum brakes? Ugh, special tools, springs and cables and weird little doodads put together by some demented automotive engineer. Who designs this stuff? Seriously? Do they get paid more if they design a connector that instead of a simple standard cotter pin uses three springs, a flange, and a unique retaining pin that can only be purchased from NAPA? And requires a special spring compressor tool, 3 hands, and an arcane combination of cursing to remove? And it's positioned in the most inaccessible recess on the brake support assembly where it is impossible to position a worklight so you can see the dammed thing? What the hell is it with these people?
Wright's First Law: Engineers should not be allowed to wander around the universe without a keeper.
Wright's Own Corollary to Wright's First Law: All engineers should have a large burly assistant, with a mallet, who stands behind the engineer and stops him when the design complexity exceeds common sense.
So, anyway, I eventually got the brakes pulled. In the process I bashed the knuckles on both hands and additionally managed to nearly brain myself on the under carriage when a bolt let go suddenly. Ended up with a scraped forehead and a goose-egg, wonderful. I cleaned the various parts up using my grinder's wire wheel polisher. Degreased the mounting assembly. Made a list of the parts I needed, brake shoes, drums, hydraulic cylinders, new brake lines (hey, if I've got to do it, I'm dammed well going to do a complete overhaul) and etc. And headed into to town to NAPA. And the first question the guy behind the counter asks? What size drums, 9 inch or 10 inch?
WTF? Why? Why? Why, would there be two different sized brake drums made for a 1992 Jeep Cherokee Laredo? Why? What possible Goddammed reason could there be? Or course I hadn't measured them. So I had to run back home, measure the drums, and then go back to the auto parts place. Argh!
Wright's Admonishment to large burly Engineering Assistants: smack the Engineer with your mallet occasionally, for no reason at all.
Eventually, after a third trip to NAPA, I got it mostly done. This morning I've just got to install the new brake lines, fill and bleed the system, and test it.
Test it. As in go drive around the block and test the brakes. So, if you don't hear from me, it's because I screwed something up. But, not to worry, I almost never do that. Almost.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
No! That's not true! That's impossible!
Dick Cheney and Barack Obama are related, or so says Lynn Cheney.
Ah hahahahaha!
"Obviously, Dick Cheney is the black sheep of the family," Obama spokesman Bill Burton said.
Ah hahahahaha, again. Stop it! I've got tears in my eyes. Oh God, I can't wait for the late-night talk-show pundits to run with this one.
Dark Lord of the GOP, Dick Vader appears to be going through some kind of post-menopausal life-changing event. It began in August of 2004, when he and and his wife, Padame, ur, eh, sorry, Lynne Cheney broke with the President over the issue of gay marriage. Up to that point, his gay daughter, Mary, seemed to causing a massive disturbance in the Neo-Conservative Force, then suddenly Dick is all "Mary, I am your faaaather!" This has caused the Emperor no end of grief.
What's next? What other dark (heh heh) secrets is the paragon of conservative values hiding? Can we expect pictures of him marching in a San Fransisco Gay Pride rally? (And if my media server, which is where I kept my copy of Photoshop, was up and running such a picture would surface here and now. Stupid static electricity) Has he been doing a little quail hunting around certain airport restrooms? Will NSA data mining of his phone records show repeated clandestine calls to Cindy Sheehan? Who else is he related to? Jesse Jackson? Louis Farrakhan? Or gasp, Bill Clinton? The world waits and wonders.
How embarrassing. For Barack, I mean.
Ah hahahahaha!
"Obviously, Dick Cheney is the black sheep of the family," Obama spokesman Bill Burton said.
Ah hahahahaha, again. Stop it! I've got tears in my eyes. Oh God, I can't wait for the late-night talk-show pundits to run with this one.
Dark Lord of the GOP, Dick Vader appears to be going through some kind of post-menopausal life-changing event. It began in August of 2004, when he and and his wife, Padame, ur, eh, sorry, Lynne Cheney broke with the President over the issue of gay marriage. Up to that point, his gay daughter, Mary, seemed to causing a massive disturbance in the Neo-Conservative Force, then suddenly Dick is all "Mary, I am your faaaather!" This has caused the Emperor no end of grief.
What's next? What other dark (heh heh) secrets is the paragon of conservative values hiding? Can we expect pictures of him marching in a San Fransisco Gay Pride rally? (And if my media server, which is where I kept my copy of Photoshop, was up and running such a picture would surface here and now. Stupid static electricity) Has he been doing a little quail hunting around certain airport restrooms? Will NSA data mining of his phone records show repeated clandestine calls to Cindy Sheehan? Who else is he related to? Jesse Jackson? Louis Farrakhan? Or gasp, Bill Clinton? The world waits and wonders.
How embarrassing. For Barack, I mean.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Holy Garlic, Batman, I'm a Vampire
In the comments of a previous post, Janiece and I were talking about some of the gags we used to pull in the Navy. This isn't a Navy gag, but it's as funny as anything I ever pulled.
The audio is in German or Dutch or something European, but it really doesn't matter.
The audio is in German or Dutch or something European, but it really doesn't matter.
The Divine Right of Presidents.
Wait. What?
Congress is demanding to know if phone companies turned over records of their customer's calls to NSA and other intelligence organizations.
The White House says no, the phone companies can't provide that information to Congress because it's a State Secret. It's National Security (cue patriotic Lee Greenwood song and flag waving. Everybody hold up their lighter, it's the flame of Liberty! Oh, I'm proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free, la la la...). We, the citizens of the United States, can not, must not, know what information is being collected on us, because that will compromise our own safety. We, like children, cannot be trusted with our own safety. Only The Decider, with His Benevolent God-like Wisdom(tm), is intelligent enough and wise enough to manage the safety of The Nation. This is for our own good.
Among the questions, posed by the committee on Oct. 2, were what information the carriers gave the administration without a court warrant, whether they were paid for any of it and whether the administration asked them to install equipment to intercept e-mails.
Just so I'm clear on this. No warrant, no just cause, no reasonable suspicion is required for the Executive Branch to data mine my private information and monitor my private communications in direct violation of the 4th Amendment, and there will be no Congressional oversight of this process in direct violation of the Constitution itself? And furthermore, without any Constitutional checks and balances, we are to trust the benevolent judgment of one man, and one man only. A man who has demonstrated his selfless dedication to service. A man who has proven to be a brilliant military commander. A nation builder. A beloved liberator. A crackerjack economist. An educator. An environmentalist. Soldier. Statesman. Friend to the working girl, so to speak. That guy. We should blindly trust that guy's judgment.
And who do we have to blame (besides ourselves) for the fact that our freedoms and rights are brushed aside, for the greater good of "National Security" of course, at the whim of one man?
" Congress approved a temporary measure in July allowing spy agencies to continue intercepting, without a court warrant, phone calls and e-mails of foreign-based terrorists that are routed through the U.S."
That's right. Congress gave the President permission to continue this nonsense. Congress abrogated their Constitutional duty of checks and balances on the abuse of Executive power. Supposedly the intercepts are just phone calling records and emails from "foreign based terrorists." Speaking as a former Intelligence Officer, there are several problems here: first, the White House decides who is a terrorist and who is not, so in actuality Congress' approval of the temporary measure gave the President unlimited authority to decide who will be monitored. Now, since The Great Decider is too busy deciding big important things, he doesn't actually have time to pour over lists and records of un-American Americans, so in actuality it is the recently unfettered intelligence agencies themselves who now determine who and what to monitor. No potential for abuse there. Two, since it is impossible to determine in advance which phone calls and emails are from officially certified, grade-A terrorists - you have to monitor everything and everybody. Everybody, every single person, within our boarders becomes a suspect. Every phone call, every email, is a potential hostile communication. And it doesn't take long for this mindset to become policy and paradigm, i.e. you are a suspect, always. Don't believe me? Try to strike up a friendly conversation with a TSA agent. This is exactly the mindset the Executive Branch has regarding it's citizens. And finally, it's not enough to look solely at phone calling connections, you actually have to listen in to determine content - otherwise if the local Fraternal Order of Police representative, for example, uses his home phone to call a suspected terrorist's phone number, which happens to be in his calling area, soliciting funds - well, then that Cop ends up on the Sooper Sekret Doubleplusungood List. And now we've got to pull his calling records, and the records of everybody he talked to, and then their records and etc. Like some insane looping computer program playing the Seven Degrees of Kevin Bacon, eventually all of us are suspects. Unless you listen in, which you have to do in order to filter out false contacts. You have to, otherwise the nodal mapping you're doing is useless. Wire tapping without Warrants violates so many Federal and State laws and regulations that it is impossible to list them all. In essence, Congress' action (or lack of action actually) gave the Executive Branch cart blanc to ignore the law. The director of National Intelligence claims the National Security Act of 1947 gives the President the authority to do this. Hmmm, no, sorry that's just flat out wrong. First, the 1947 Act established a number of Security and Intelligence organizations and gave the Executive some limited powers, subject to Congressional oversight, in specific crisis situations. Title V of The National Security Act clearly spells out the requirement for Congressional oversight. Second, the Act was modified by Congress in 1952 and later by acts in the 1960's, 70's and 80's in response to abuses by intelligence agencies. Anybody remember Watergate? This is specifically why the FISA court was established, along with very specific directives which put very, very specific limitations on domestic intelligence activities.
Now it gets better, Director of National Intelligence Michael McConnell "acknowledged the existence of the program in August and said telecommunications companies should be given immunity from lawsuits claiming privacy violations" (emphasis mine). Now, I guarantee you that the DNI's call for immunity is not out of any concern for the telecoms, it is for one reason and one reason only - to keep this entire issue out of the courts. Because if there ever was an issue that is Constitutional in nature, and therefore bound to end up on the Supreme Court docket, it's this one. And while Congress may have been derelict in it's Constitutional duty, it is highly unlikely that the Supreme Court will be.
And that is what the White House fears more than anything else.
Congress is demanding to know if phone companies turned over records of their customer's calls to NSA and other intelligence organizations.
The White House says no, the phone companies can't provide that information to Congress because it's a State Secret. It's National Security (cue patriotic Lee Greenwood song and flag waving. Everybody hold up their lighter, it's the flame of Liberty! Oh, I'm proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free, la la la...). We, the citizens of the United States, can not, must not, know what information is being collected on us, because that will compromise our own safety. We, like children, cannot be trusted with our own safety. Only The Decider, with His Benevolent God-like Wisdom(tm), is intelligent enough and wise enough to manage the safety of The Nation. This is for our own good.
Among the questions, posed by the committee on Oct. 2, were what information the carriers gave the administration without a court warrant, whether they were paid for any of it and whether the administration asked them to install equipment to intercept e-mails.
Just so I'm clear on this. No warrant, no just cause, no reasonable suspicion is required for the Executive Branch to data mine my private information and monitor my private communications in direct violation of the 4th Amendment, and there will be no Congressional oversight of this process in direct violation of the Constitution itself? And furthermore, without any Constitutional checks and balances, we are to trust the benevolent judgment of one man, and one man only. A man who has demonstrated his selfless dedication to service. A man who has proven to be a brilliant military commander. A nation builder. A beloved liberator. A crackerjack economist. An educator. An environmentalist. Soldier. Statesman. Friend to the working girl, so to speak. That guy. We should blindly trust that guy's judgment.
And who do we have to blame (besides ourselves) for the fact that our freedoms and rights are brushed aside, for the greater good of "National Security" of course, at the whim of one man?
" Congress approved a temporary measure in July allowing spy agencies to continue intercepting, without a court warrant, phone calls and e-mails of foreign-based terrorists that are routed through the U.S."
That's right. Congress gave the President permission to continue this nonsense. Congress abrogated their Constitutional duty of checks and balances on the abuse of Executive power. Supposedly the intercepts are just phone calling records and emails from "foreign based terrorists." Speaking as a former Intelligence Officer, there are several problems here: first, the White House decides who is a terrorist and who is not, so in actuality Congress' approval of the temporary measure gave the President unlimited authority to decide who will be monitored. Now, since The Great Decider is too busy deciding big important things, he doesn't actually have time to pour over lists and records of un-American Americans, so in actuality it is the recently unfettered intelligence agencies themselves who now determine who and what to monitor. No potential for abuse there. Two, since it is impossible to determine in advance which phone calls and emails are from officially certified, grade-A terrorists - you have to monitor everything and everybody. Everybody, every single person, within our boarders becomes a suspect. Every phone call, every email, is a potential hostile communication. And it doesn't take long for this mindset to become policy and paradigm, i.e. you are a suspect, always. Don't believe me? Try to strike up a friendly conversation with a TSA agent. This is exactly the mindset the Executive Branch has regarding it's citizens. And finally, it's not enough to look solely at phone calling connections, you actually have to listen in to determine content - otherwise if the local Fraternal Order of Police representative, for example, uses his home phone to call a suspected terrorist's phone number, which happens to be in his calling area, soliciting funds - well, then that Cop ends up on the Sooper Sekret Doubleplusungood List. And now we've got to pull his calling records, and the records of everybody he talked to, and then their records and etc. Like some insane looping computer program playing the Seven Degrees of Kevin Bacon, eventually all of us are suspects. Unless you listen in, which you have to do in order to filter out false contacts. You have to, otherwise the nodal mapping you're doing is useless. Wire tapping without Warrants violates so many Federal and State laws and regulations that it is impossible to list them all. In essence, Congress' action (or lack of action actually) gave the Executive Branch cart blanc to ignore the law. The director of National Intelligence claims the National Security Act of 1947 gives the President the authority to do this. Hmmm, no, sorry that's just flat out wrong. First, the 1947 Act established a number of Security and Intelligence organizations and gave the Executive some limited powers, subject to Congressional oversight, in specific crisis situations. Title V of The National Security Act clearly spells out the requirement for Congressional oversight. Second, the Act was modified by Congress in 1952 and later by acts in the 1960's, 70's and 80's in response to abuses by intelligence agencies. Anybody remember Watergate? This is specifically why the FISA court was established, along with very specific directives which put very, very specific limitations on domestic intelligence activities.
Now it gets better, Director of National Intelligence Michael McConnell "acknowledged the existence of the program in August and said telecommunications companies should be given immunity from lawsuits claiming privacy violations" (emphasis mine). Now, I guarantee you that the DNI's call for immunity is not out of any concern for the telecoms, it is for one reason and one reason only - to keep this entire issue out of the courts. Because if there ever was an issue that is Constitutional in nature, and therefore bound to end up on the Supreme Court docket, it's this one. And while Congress may have been derelict in it's Constitutional duty, it is highly unlikely that the Supreme Court will be.
And that is what the White House fears more than anything else.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Buffalo Soldier
"Ollen Hunt was born in McLemoresville, TN, July 25, 1923, the youngest of 11 children. While serving in the Civilian Conservation Corp he attained the rank of Mess Sergeant. When the CCC was disbanded Ollen was drafted into the US Army 92nd Infantry Division E Company, 370 Regiment (Buffalo Soldiers) where he saw action in Florence, Poe Valley, and and other front line battles in Italy until the war ended..." - from the back cover of Buffalo Soldier, written by Ollen Hunt himself.
After the war, Ollen was sent to France and later to occupied Germany, not returning to the United States until 1957. He retired from the Army in 1963 and hired on with Northwest Airlines, which is how he ended up in Anchorage Alaska just in time for the Good Friday Earthquake. After Ollen left Northwest Airlines, he opened the Hof Brau, a legendary Anchorage restaurant, where he often carved the roast beef and served customers himself. Eventually he retired from the restaurant and, at age 83, wrote Buffalo Soldier, which, a short year, later is on it's second printing.
I'm four chapters into Buffalo Soldier and I can't put it down. It's fascinating. Utterly fascinating. I've been awed by the Buffalo Soldiers since I learned about them as a kid, reading about the 10th Cav and the Roughriders at San Juan Hill.
I met Ollen today.
He was doing a book signing at the Elmendorf/Fort Richardson Exchange. 84 years old, and the guy was in better shape than most people half his age. Funny, interesting, articulate. I got there just as he was setting up his table. He signed my copy of Buffalo Soldier and, since nobody was around yet, we talked for twenty minutes or so. Then the line started to form, and I had to move on, which was a dammed shame because I could easily have spent a couple hours with him. It was a privilege talking to him.
So, if you're looking for something to read, try Buffalo Soldier, just don't ask to borrow my copy.
After the war, Ollen was sent to France and later to occupied Germany, not returning to the United States until 1957. He retired from the Army in 1963 and hired on with Northwest Airlines, which is how he ended up in Anchorage Alaska just in time for the Good Friday Earthquake. After Ollen left Northwest Airlines, he opened the Hof Brau, a legendary Anchorage restaurant, where he often carved the roast beef and served customers himself. Eventually he retired from the restaurant and, at age 83, wrote Buffalo Soldier, which, a short year, later is on it's second printing.
I'm four chapters into Buffalo Soldier and I can't put it down. It's fascinating. Utterly fascinating. I've been awed by the Buffalo Soldiers since I learned about them as a kid, reading about the 10th Cav and the Roughriders at San Juan Hill.
I met Ollen today.
He was doing a book signing at the Elmendorf/Fort Richardson Exchange. 84 years old, and the guy was in better shape than most people half his age. Funny, interesting, articulate. I got there just as he was setting up his table. He signed my copy of Buffalo Soldier and, since nobody was around yet, we talked for twenty minutes or so. Then the line started to form, and I had to move on, which was a dammed shame because I could easily have spent a couple hours with him. It was a privilege talking to him.
So, if you're looking for something to read, try Buffalo Soldier, just don't ask to borrow my copy.
Navy Speak
I stumbled (literally) across this listing of Navy terminology.
Each of the services has it's own terminology, but the Navy more so than any other. Nothing funnier than a member of a sister service temporarily assigned to a ship (usually a linguist or some other service specific specialty) trying to figure out what we're saying.
I'm happy to report that I knew all but about three of these.
My favorites:
Button Crusher, also Button Cruncher: a specially designed piece of equipment (possibly imaginary), built specifically for a shipboard laundry, used to pulverize buttons on navy uniforms. Unique in that buttons processed by a button crusher look perfectly OK when they leave the laundry but fall to pieces when touched by the recipient. One of the main reasons the most Sailors can sew.
CG: Constantly Gone. Guided missile cruiser (CG), especially during the Gulf War due to their lengthly underway time and extended deployments. (I was a cruiser Sailor, and believe me when I say this is a very true statement.)
Dit Dot Bomb: a form of hazing by taking the round paper cutouts left from a hole punch and putting them in a box or other container rigged to open and rain down on the Division Officer. When I first joined the navy, we still used 5-level paper tape to load programs and data into some computers (this was back when a 1MB disk drive was a fixed unit the size of a small refrigerator, and way to fragile to be used onboard a ship), we also often converted incoming message traffic into paper tape for storage. The chads (the little paper dots) punched out of the tape had to be emptied from the machines at the end of the watch. Every watch we'd end up with a full garbage bag of them, and that's an opportunity you just can't waste. In addition to dit dot bombs, we used to run this gag where a senior Petty Officer would assign an unsuspecting FNG to glue the chads back into the holes in the paper tape, because "this is our last tape" and we weren't going to get fresh ones until the UNREP (usually a week away). Usually, the gag would end an hour or two later with the FNG covered in little paper dots and glue.
Jesus Ring: The tiny spring-washer installed on flange fittings which, if removed carelessly, will fly off the bolt - eliciting a loud "Jesus!" from many maintenance people. Also Jesus Spring, i.e. the main recoil spring on a Colt .45cal pistol, because during a post range cleaning session, it was inevitable that at least one uncoordinated Academy Puke Ensign would fail to keep his thumb over the recoil follower and as a result would shoot the spring across the compartment, then it was assholes and elbows as everybody crawled around on the deck looking for it. Good times, good times.
KRT: Khaki Response Team - The group of chiefs and officers who inevitably show up during a crisis, just to get in the way and issue unnecessary advice and orders. For full effect, each member of the KRT should be holding a coffee cup.
Lobster: Term for women in the Navy because all the meat is in the tail. Sorry ladies.
Pillows of Death: Canned ravioli, often served for mid-rats (the 2300 meal for the those coming off the eve watch or those going on the dog or mid-watch). Proper Pillows of Death are served burned around the edges, dry, and cold. Goddamn, I loved these! Along with 8 hour old, burned coffee, the screaming heartburn would keep me wide awake for the entire dog watch on the bridge. Woohoo!
I'm off to Anchorage for the day. Got to procure a new mobo for the server and stop by the base commissary for the monthly grocery run. You kids have fun.
Each of the services has it's own terminology, but the Navy more so than any other. Nothing funnier than a member of a sister service temporarily assigned to a ship (usually a linguist or some other service specific specialty) trying to figure out what we're saying.
I'm happy to report that I knew all but about three of these.
My favorites:
Button Crusher, also Button Cruncher: a specially designed piece of equipment (possibly imaginary), built specifically for a shipboard laundry, used to pulverize buttons on navy uniforms. Unique in that buttons processed by a button crusher look perfectly OK when they leave the laundry but fall to pieces when touched by the recipient. One of the main reasons the most Sailors can sew.
CG: Constantly Gone. Guided missile cruiser (CG), especially during the Gulf War due to their lengthly underway time and extended deployments. (I was a cruiser Sailor, and believe me when I say this is a very true statement.)
Dit Dot Bomb: a form of hazing by taking the round paper cutouts left from a hole punch and putting them in a box or other container rigged to open and rain down on the Division Officer. When I first joined the navy, we still used 5-level paper tape to load programs and data into some computers (this was back when a 1MB disk drive was a fixed unit the size of a small refrigerator, and way to fragile to be used onboard a ship), we also often converted incoming message traffic into paper tape for storage. The chads (the little paper dots) punched out of the tape had to be emptied from the machines at the end of the watch. Every watch we'd end up with a full garbage bag of them, and that's an opportunity you just can't waste. In addition to dit dot bombs, we used to run this gag where a senior Petty Officer would assign an unsuspecting FNG to glue the chads back into the holes in the paper tape, because "this is our last tape" and we weren't going to get fresh ones until the UNREP (usually a week away). Usually, the gag would end an hour or two later with the FNG covered in little paper dots and glue.
Jesus Ring: The tiny spring-washer installed on flange fittings which, if removed carelessly, will fly off the bolt - eliciting a loud "Jesus!" from many maintenance people. Also Jesus Spring, i.e. the main recoil spring on a Colt .45cal pistol, because during a post range cleaning session, it was inevitable that at least one uncoordinated Academy Puke Ensign would fail to keep his thumb over the recoil follower and as a result would shoot the spring across the compartment, then it was assholes and elbows as everybody crawled around on the deck looking for it. Good times, good times.
KRT: Khaki Response Team - The group of chiefs and officers who inevitably show up during a crisis, just to get in the way and issue unnecessary advice and orders. For full effect, each member of the KRT should be holding a coffee cup.
Lobster: Term for women in the Navy because all the meat is in the tail. Sorry ladies.
Pillows of Death: Canned ravioli, often served for mid-rats (the 2300 meal for the those coming off the eve watch or those going on the dog or mid-watch). Proper Pillows of Death are served burned around the edges, dry, and cold. Goddamn, I loved these! Along with 8 hour old, burned coffee, the screaming heartburn would keep me wide awake for the entire dog watch on the bridge. Woohoo!
I'm off to Anchorage for the day. Got to procure a new mobo for the server and stop by the base commissary for the monthly grocery run. You kids have fun.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Well, Winter has arrived
Got up this morning to a quarter inch of snow in the driveway. Most of it melted off by noon.
Of course the snow reminded me that I hadn't got the studded tires on the wife's jeep. And we have the neighbors coming over for dinner today (any time now, potatoes are baking on the grill, steaks are marinating, and my stomach's growling). Urg! So, we ran up to Wasilla to get the tires changed out (yeah, us and every damn body in the Valley). And swung by the store to pick up a couple of things for dinner.
On top of all this, I'm seriously aggravated (yeah yeah, when am I not? Shuddup, the lot of you). My main computer, the main media server in the den, fried last night. Happened as I was plugging my ZEN into the USB port. Got a static pop, and then the machine locked up. Uh oh. Reboot? Maybe? Suddenly I'm all religious here, pray that it comes up. Ah, no. Pulled it apart this morning, reset the CMOS BIOS, just hoping that I can pull it off. No. The motherboard is apparently toast. Goddammit! I knew I should have turned on the humidifiers!
That's my music server, and the machine I talk to my brother on via video conference. I feel like a member of the family has died. Tomorrow I need to go find a new motherboard (I ain't buying a new computer here folks, not one this size). Just what I needed to do this week, rebuild a computer, but I have to have this machine dammit.
Well, my week's starting are nicely, how about you guys?
Of course the snow reminded me that I hadn't got the studded tires on the wife's jeep. And we have the neighbors coming over for dinner today (any time now, potatoes are baking on the grill, steaks are marinating, and my stomach's growling). Urg! So, we ran up to Wasilla to get the tires changed out (yeah, us and every damn body in the Valley). And swung by the store to pick up a couple of things for dinner.
On top of all this, I'm seriously aggravated (yeah yeah, when am I not? Shuddup, the lot of you). My main computer, the main media server in the den, fried last night. Happened as I was plugging my ZEN into the USB port. Got a static pop, and then the machine locked up. Uh oh. Reboot? Maybe? Suddenly I'm all religious here, pray that it comes up. Ah, no. Pulled it apart this morning, reset the CMOS BIOS, just hoping that I can pull it off. No. The motherboard is apparently toast. Goddammit! I knew I should have turned on the humidifiers!
That's my music server, and the machine I talk to my brother on via video conference. I feel like a member of the family has died. Tomorrow I need to go find a new motherboard (I ain't buying a new computer here folks, not one this size). Just what I needed to do this week, rebuild a computer, but I have to have this machine dammit.
Well, my week's starting are nicely, how about you guys?
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Uh Oh!
Is it just me, or do the rest of you now have the "Run away!, Run away!" bit from Monty Python and the Holy Grail in your head? Ha, don't say I never gave you anything.
Brave Sir Robin ran away.
Bravely ran away, away!
When danger reared its ugly head,
He bravely turned his tail and fled.
Yes, brave Sir Robin turned about
And gallantly he chickened out.
Bravely taking to his feet
He beat a very brave retreat,
Bravest of the brave, Sir Robin!
Try to have a good Saturday, I'll be out running some errands.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Make Beer, Not War!
A while back I wrote a post about those strangely ill-defined units of measurement used on the science and history channels. As I recall, you weren't impressed - apparently only I am concerned about the growing problem of imprecision in Cable TV premium channel measurement. Fine.
Well, here's a bit of math that you might find more useful. Basically it's is the amount of beer the standard sized Englishman could have bought for the amount of money England has spent on GWB's adventure into, ah, er, world peace.
"Next time the government wants to take our country to war, let's just have few beers instead."
I thought this put things nicely into perspective, for the English. So what about the US?
We've got to do some conversion of the units first, as such: Pints? American beer doesn't come in no stinkin' sissy English pints, so we're going to use 10oz cans or my personal favorite 12oz bottles. And English Pounds? Well, we're going to change that into real money (and don't they use Euro's or something nowadays?).
So, the amount spent to date on the war by America is: um well, hell, somewhere between $1 and $1 trillion. But, see that includes the campaigns in both Iraq and Afghanistan, secret prisons, rendition, torture (oops I meant 'Extraordinary Means' heh heh, sorry), warrantless wiretap pay-offs to AT&T, email screening, searching old lady's orthopedic shoes in our airports, endless piles of body bags in support of Blackwater Security pacification operations, and Vice Presidential pay-offs funneled through Halliburton. Needless to say, there's some ambiguity in the figures, and you know how I hate that. So we'll just go with $460 billion, which is roughly what we've spent on the basic military operation in Iraq so far.
So, plug 460,000,000,000 into PentaCalc
Divide by the average cost of a 12oz bottle of Killian's Irish Red (I mean if we're gonna do this, let's use good beer). Hmmm, let's see, $14 (plus state and federal tax) for a 12 pack of Killian's, works out to $1.25 a bottle more or less.
Equals 368 billion bottles of beer. 368 billion.
Now there's roughly 303 million US citizens. That's 12,014.5 bottles of Killian's for every single US citizen (or probably something like 30,000 cans of pisswater Bud Lite per person for the WWF is a real sport! type folks).
But wait! There's more. The total world population is roughly 6,624,000,000, the math works out to approximately 55 bottles of Killian's for every man, woman, and child on the planet! Figure only about 2/3 thirds of the world population is above legal drinking age (since America is handing out the beer in this scenario, we'll use the US Federal drinking age of 21), so it's really more like 75 bottles of beer per person. And that's just the money we've spent in Iraq. Take the money we've really spent on Bush's Folly and we could get every dammed person on the planet snot slinging, lampshade wearing, karaoke yodeling, shitfaced for two weeks. Ever see two drunks fighting? Right, exactly, a couple of clumsy roundhouses, next thing you know they're out on the porch hugging and saying "I love you, Man," and the next day they're too embarrassed to discuss it and everybody has a funny story to tell at subsequent social events. Plus, you know how it is, after about the first three beers you're hopping up and down in line for the bathroom, or outside pissing in the azealas every fifteen minutes. No soldier in the world is going to be able to fight if he's gotta bleed the thunder lizard four times an hour. And finally, after two weeks of worldwide Mardi Gras (show us your tits! show us your tits!), everybody on the planet will be bleeding eye, raw egg swilling, hung the hell over for at least three days. Ain't nobody shooting at nobody in that condition: "Duuuude, shhhh with the AK-47 bullshit, will you? My head feels like Senator Craig's ass after a wild ride on the wide-stance bronco. Hand me an Alka-Seltzer, quietly."
I'm calling it the Beer For Peace Program.
I'm mailing the power point slides to the Nobel Committee today, just in case that will streamline the process for awarding me the prize. Stop it, please. No really, no thanks needed. Just doing my bit for world peace.
Seriously, sarcasm aside. How many bags of rice, flour, beans, and bread would that money have bought? How much medicine? How many condoms? How many irrigation ditches would it have dug, or water filtration plants would it have built? In other words: How far towards solving the real root causes of war and terrorism could we have gotten with that money?
As I've said elsewhere, funny how we always seem to have the money for war, but never seem to have any money for making war unnecessary. Funny, in a sad, depressing sort of way.
Well, here's a bit of math that you might find more useful. Basically it's is the amount of beer the standard sized Englishman could have bought for the amount of money England has spent on GWB's adventure into, ah, er, world peace.
"Next time the government wants to take our country to war, let's just have few beers instead."
I thought this put things nicely into perspective, for the English. So what about the US?
We've got to do some conversion of the units first, as such: Pints? American beer doesn't come in no stinkin' sissy English pints, so we're going to use 10oz cans or my personal favorite 12oz bottles. And English Pounds? Well, we're going to change that into real money (and don't they use Euro's or something nowadays?).
So, the amount spent to date on the war by America is: um well, hell, somewhere between $1 and $1 trillion. But, see that includes the campaigns in both Iraq and Afghanistan, secret prisons, rendition, torture (oops I meant 'Extraordinary Means' heh heh, sorry), warrantless wiretap pay-offs to AT&T, email screening, searching old lady's orthopedic shoes in our airports, endless piles of body bags in support of Blackwater Security pacification operations, and Vice Presidential pay-offs funneled through Halliburton. Needless to say, there's some ambiguity in the figures, and you know how I hate that. So we'll just go with $460 billion, which is roughly what we've spent on the basic military operation in Iraq so far.
So, plug 460,000,000,000 into PentaCalc
Divide by the average cost of a 12oz bottle of Killian's Irish Red (I mean if we're gonna do this, let's use good beer). Hmmm, let's see, $14 (plus state and federal tax) for a 12 pack of Killian's, works out to $1.25 a bottle more or less.
Equals 368 billion bottles of beer. 368 billion.
Now there's roughly 303 million US citizens. That's 12,014.5 bottles of Killian's for every single US citizen (or probably something like 30,000 cans of pisswater Bud Lite per person for the WWF is a real sport! type folks).
But wait! There's more. The total world population is roughly 6,624,000,000, the math works out to approximately 55 bottles of Killian's for every man, woman, and child on the planet! Figure only about 2/3 thirds of the world population is above legal drinking age (since America is handing out the beer in this scenario, we'll use the US Federal drinking age of 21), so it's really more like 75 bottles of beer per person. And that's just the money we've spent in Iraq. Take the money we've really spent on Bush's Folly and we could get every dammed person on the planet snot slinging, lampshade wearing, karaoke yodeling, shitfaced for two weeks. Ever see two drunks fighting? Right, exactly, a couple of clumsy roundhouses, next thing you know they're out on the porch hugging and saying "I love you, Man," and the next day they're too embarrassed to discuss it and everybody has a funny story to tell at subsequent social events. Plus, you know how it is, after about the first three beers you're hopping up and down in line for the bathroom, or outside pissing in the azealas every fifteen minutes. No soldier in the world is going to be able to fight if he's gotta bleed the thunder lizard four times an hour. And finally, after two weeks of worldwide Mardi Gras (show us your tits! show us your tits!), everybody on the planet will be bleeding eye, raw egg swilling, hung the hell over for at least three days. Ain't nobody shooting at nobody in that condition: "Duuuude, shhhh with the AK-47 bullshit, will you? My head feels like Senator Craig's ass after a wild ride on the wide-stance bronco. Hand me an Alka-Seltzer, quietly."
I'm calling it the Beer For Peace Program.
I'm mailing the power point slides to the Nobel Committee today, just in case that will streamline the process for awarding me the prize. Stop it, please. No really, no thanks needed. Just doing my bit for world peace.
Seriously, sarcasm aside. How many bags of rice, flour, beans, and bread would that money have bought? How much medicine? How many condoms? How many irrigation ditches would it have dug, or water filtration plants would it have built? In other words: How far towards solving the real root causes of war and terrorism could we have gotten with that money?
As I've said elsewhere, funny how we always seem to have the money for war, but never seem to have any money for making war unnecessary. Funny, in a sad, depressing sort of way.
Quick Question
Why doesn't somebody just kick the ever living shit out of this woman? Really?
I swear, the only time I wouldn't piss on this sorry excuse for a human being, is if she was on fire.
Update: Please, don't interpret this as a command to do violence. It's just a question, because frankly I cannot understand why somebody hasn't just smacked this evil malignant anorexic bitch right upside the head.
I swear, the only time I wouldn't piss on this sorry excuse for a human being, is if she was on fire.
Update: Please, don't interpret this as a command to do violence. It's just a question, because frankly I cannot understand why somebody hasn't just smacked this evil malignant anorexic bitch right upside the head.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
This I believe - an open letter to Congress
There's a scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade where Indy is in a castle on the Austrian/German border. He looks over the edge of a balcony, down upon a secret German command center. Sighing, he pulls his head back and says to his companion, "Nazis! I really hate these guys."
President Bush, demanding "flexibility" in the pursuit of suspected terrorists, insisted Wednesday he would not sign a new domestic spying bill if it unduly limits the administration's authority to eavesdrop without warrants. (emphasis mine)
Sigh. George W. Bush and his cronies! I really hate these guys.
As an American, and as an American who has spent his life (and nearly lost it more than once) defending this nation, I am outraged. This is not hyperbole, I am truly filled with rage at this statement. I will NOT tolerate this kind of behavior from the elected leader of the United States. Every American should be outraged. If you do not immediately see why this is statement is unconstitutional, if you can not immediately see why this statement is the very epitome of tyranny, then you need to educate yourself. Stop reading this blog now, right now, and go read the United States Constitution. Read Every Word. Read it again and again until you understand it in your bones. Read the Declaration of Independence. Read the Federalist Papers. Read them out loud, you can hear the power, the sheer raw power, of the words. Read these documents until you understand that they are not just words, but ideals. Read these documents until you understand that those ideals are the single greatest achievement of the human race. Read them until you understand that these ideals are a sacred trust of every single American. Go do it, I'll wait.
As I may have mentioned elsewhere, I believe in the Constitution. I believe in the principles that this country was founded on. I believe in it so much, that I was willing to give most of my adult life in defense of those ideals. And to be perfectly blunt about it, I have come to the reluctant conclusion that the current administration is more, far more, of a threat to those principles than King George III, the Confederacy, Hitler, Hirohito, Tail Gunner Joe McCarthy, or that bearded pissant Osama Bin Laden ever was.
The wise and brilliant men who founded this country, those men who fought a bloody war against tyranny and oppression, those men who agonized over the drafting of the Constitution, had one burning concern above all others - that no one man, would ever again have unlimited power over his fellows. They rightly feared the power of government, even as they struggled to build a new government of their own, the likes of which had never been seen before in the history of mankind - a nation founded on the principles of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all of it's citizens, a government of the people, by the people, and for the people - Not a government TO the people like some blood spattered jackboot on the throat of it's citizens. A nation founded on ideals so powerful, so true, so pure, that over time they would change the very fabric of that nation and her people, all of her people, and indeed the whole world itself. Those words are powerful. The sheer force and beauty of those words have rung like a bell throughout the last two hundred and thirty one years of human history. For over two centuries, those words have flared like a brilliant unwavering beacon and inspired literally billions of people worldwide to risk their very lives and all they hold dear in pursuit of the ideals those words embody. There was a time, not so long ago, when millions came to shores of America, the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of distant teeming shores. They came because they believed in those words, because they saw the beacon of liberty and freedom burning in the wine dark sky, because they knew in their heart of hearts that America was the land of a free and brave people. They knew that America was a land where no one man would ever hold capricious and arbitrary power over their children again. That is why they came. There was a time, not so long ago, when other nations yearned to be like America, there were revolutions in Europe, in France especially, inspired by the 'noble experiment' that was America. There was a time, not so long ago, where America rode into the valley of death and sacrificed her children to free the peoples of Cuba, Europe, and Asia from injustice and tyranny and holocaust and they were welcomed with tears of joy. There was a time, not so long ago, when the name, America, inspired awe and hope among the oppressed peoples of the world, and struck utter abject fear in the hearts of tyrants, kings, despots, and dictators. There was a time, not so long ago, when Americans could be proud of their nation, their government, themselves.
No longer.
I believe, believe more strongly than anything I have ever believed in, that our great republic is truly in peril. More so now, under this simpering, lying, paranoid, smirking, childish, power mad, insane tyrant of a president, that America the Ideal is in great jeopardy. When a people become ashamed of their own nation, that nation is most surely in imminent peril. I truly believe that we, America, stand upon a precipice, and that we are sliding faster and faster into the dark festering depths of tyranny - the very thing that our founders feared above all else. The very thing that they warned us, their descendants, of over and over again. This is how it always ends, this is how all the great republics of history have died.
But it does not have to be this way.
A great man, a brilliant and wise man, Edmund Burke, once said, "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil, is for good men to do nothing," or words to that effect.
Congress, you are the elected representatives of America. You, you, represent all Americans, every single one - not just those who voted for you, not just those who gave you money and favors, not just those of your political party or your church or your country club - but every single man, women, and child in the United States. You carry on your shoulders the weight of history, past and future, you are the guardians of Democracy, Liberty, Freedom, Duty, Country, and the hopes and dreams of all those multitudes who gave their own lives for the last two hundred and thirty one years because they believed in the ideal that is America. It is your sworn and sacred duty to preserve this nation, to defend with your lives if necessary the principles of the Constitution. And you have been betrayed, all of you, all of us. This is a moment in history that will always be remembered, just as Julius Caesar's betrayal of the Roman Republic is remembered. You must stand together, you must hold, you must not waver, you must prevail - or this nation will indeed perish from the Earth. Republicans, Democrats, Independents it does not matter, party be dammed we have all been betrayed, you represent all of us - you, all of you, are the check that holds tyranny at bay. I implore you, don't give in to this evil, this President who has no intention of sharing power with you. This president who has made Americans afraid in their own country, who has made Americans ashamed of their own nation and identity. He casts aside those who displease him, those who don't knuckle under to his insane Orwellian vision of America. Only you can stand against him. Now is the time, right now, for good or ill history will remember what you do in this moment. Use the power of the Constitution, stand together as Americans and fight, Goddammit!
From the Declaration of Independence: "...Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed..." Hear me, Congress, I do not consent. I DO NOT CONSENT. I. DO. NOT. CONSENT! I refuse to give up my rights. I refuse to go quietly into darkness and tyranny. I refuse to see the Republic perish because good men did nothing. I DO NOT CONSENT!
The president is not a king, he is not Caesar, unless you, good men and women, do nothing.
President Bush, demanding "flexibility" in the pursuit of suspected terrorists, insisted Wednesday he would not sign a new domestic spying bill if it unduly limits the administration's authority to eavesdrop without warrants. (emphasis mine)
Sigh. George W. Bush and his cronies! I really hate these guys.
As an American, and as an American who has spent his life (and nearly lost it more than once) defending this nation, I am outraged. This is not hyperbole, I am truly filled with rage at this statement. I will NOT tolerate this kind of behavior from the elected leader of the United States. Every American should be outraged. If you do not immediately see why this is statement is unconstitutional, if you can not immediately see why this statement is the very epitome of tyranny, then you need to educate yourself. Stop reading this blog now, right now, and go read the United States Constitution. Read Every Word. Read it again and again until you understand it in your bones. Read the Declaration of Independence. Read the Federalist Papers. Read them out loud, you can hear the power, the sheer raw power, of the words. Read these documents until you understand that they are not just words, but ideals. Read these documents until you understand that those ideals are the single greatest achievement of the human race. Read them until you understand that these ideals are a sacred trust of every single American. Go do it, I'll wait.
As I may have mentioned elsewhere, I believe in the Constitution. I believe in the principles that this country was founded on. I believe in it so much, that I was willing to give most of my adult life in defense of those ideals. And to be perfectly blunt about it, I have come to the reluctant conclusion that the current administration is more, far more, of a threat to those principles than King George III, the Confederacy, Hitler, Hirohito, Tail Gunner Joe McCarthy, or that bearded pissant Osama Bin Laden ever was.
The wise and brilliant men who founded this country, those men who fought a bloody war against tyranny and oppression, those men who agonized over the drafting of the Constitution, had one burning concern above all others - that no one man, would ever again have unlimited power over his fellows. They rightly feared the power of government, even as they struggled to build a new government of their own, the likes of which had never been seen before in the history of mankind - a nation founded on the principles of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all of it's citizens, a government of the people, by the people, and for the people - Not a government TO the people like some blood spattered jackboot on the throat of it's citizens. A nation founded on ideals so powerful, so true, so pure, that over time they would change the very fabric of that nation and her people, all of her people, and indeed the whole world itself. Those words are powerful. The sheer force and beauty of those words have rung like a bell throughout the last two hundred and thirty one years of human history. For over two centuries, those words have flared like a brilliant unwavering beacon and inspired literally billions of people worldwide to risk their very lives and all they hold dear in pursuit of the ideals those words embody. There was a time, not so long ago, when millions came to shores of America, the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of distant teeming shores. They came because they believed in those words, because they saw the beacon of liberty and freedom burning in the wine dark sky, because they knew in their heart of hearts that America was the land of a free and brave people. They knew that America was a land where no one man would ever hold capricious and arbitrary power over their children again. That is why they came. There was a time, not so long ago, when other nations yearned to be like America, there were revolutions in Europe, in France especially, inspired by the 'noble experiment' that was America. There was a time, not so long ago, where America rode into the valley of death and sacrificed her children to free the peoples of Cuba, Europe, and Asia from injustice and tyranny and holocaust and they were welcomed with tears of joy. There was a time, not so long ago, when the name, America, inspired awe and hope among the oppressed peoples of the world, and struck utter abject fear in the hearts of tyrants, kings, despots, and dictators. There was a time, not so long ago, when Americans could be proud of their nation, their government, themselves.
No longer.
I believe, believe more strongly than anything I have ever believed in, that our great republic is truly in peril. More so now, under this simpering, lying, paranoid, smirking, childish, power mad, insane tyrant of a president, that America the Ideal is in great jeopardy. When a people become ashamed of their own nation, that nation is most surely in imminent peril. I truly believe that we, America, stand upon a precipice, and that we are sliding faster and faster into the dark festering depths of tyranny - the very thing that our founders feared above all else. The very thing that they warned us, their descendants, of over and over again. This is how it always ends, this is how all the great republics of history have died.
But it does not have to be this way.
A great man, a brilliant and wise man, Edmund Burke, once said, "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil, is for good men to do nothing," or words to that effect.
Congress, you are the elected representatives of America. You, you, represent all Americans, every single one - not just those who voted for you, not just those who gave you money and favors, not just those of your political party or your church or your country club - but every single man, women, and child in the United States. You carry on your shoulders the weight of history, past and future, you are the guardians of Democracy, Liberty, Freedom, Duty, Country, and the hopes and dreams of all those multitudes who gave their own lives for the last two hundred and thirty one years because they believed in the ideal that is America. It is your sworn and sacred duty to preserve this nation, to defend with your lives if necessary the principles of the Constitution. And you have been betrayed, all of you, all of us. This is a moment in history that will always be remembered, just as Julius Caesar's betrayal of the Roman Republic is remembered. You must stand together, you must hold, you must not waver, you must prevail - or this nation will indeed perish from the Earth. Republicans, Democrats, Independents it does not matter, party be dammed we have all been betrayed, you represent all of us - you, all of you, are the check that holds tyranny at bay. I implore you, don't give in to this evil, this President who has no intention of sharing power with you. This president who has made Americans afraid in their own country, who has made Americans ashamed of their own nation and identity. He casts aside those who displease him, those who don't knuckle under to his insane Orwellian vision of America. Only you can stand against him. Now is the time, right now, for good or ill history will remember what you do in this moment. Use the power of the Constitution, stand together as Americans and fight, Goddammit!
From the Declaration of Independence: "...Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed..." Hear me, Congress, I do not consent. I DO NOT CONSENT. I. DO. NOT. CONSENT! I refuse to give up my rights. I refuse to go quietly into darkness and tyranny. I refuse to see the Republic perish because good men did nothing. I DO NOT CONSENT!
The president is not a king, he is not Caesar, unless you, good men and women, do nothing.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
In the Navy, you can sail the seven seas...
So, this morning I was down at the coffee shop and the barista asked me "Say, you were in the Navy, right?"
This wasn't exactly an out of the blue question, I don't know her personally - only that she is a very nice lady who works the early morning shift and makes a dammed good caramel machiato - and it's a very small town, you see people around on a daily basis. We often chat like people do while I'm waiting for my coffee, and the fact that I'm retired has come up once or twice. And then there's the way that I look, very short hair in a military cut (I'm not growing it out long now that I'm retired, it's been short my whole adult life and I like it that way), and I almost always can be found wearing an Australian Navy bush hat with "HMAS ANZAC" and the Fast Frigate ANZAC's silhouette embroidered on the front (the hat is a whole other story, some day maybe I'll tell you how I ended up with it and why it means so much to me). So, again, the barista's question wasn't exactly clairvoyance. When I answered in the affirmative, she asked if I would stick around for a moment. I could tell something was on her mind, she looked nervous and her mind really wasn't on making coffee this morning. Sometimes people act like that around vets, uncomfortable, but I didn't think that was it. She made a couple of coffees while I pursued the donut selection (the Starbucks is in the bakery section of the local super market) and then came over and said,
"My daughter wants to join the Navy. She told me this morning. And she's going to see the recruiter this afternoon. She has no idea what she's getting into."
At first I thought she wanted me to talk the girl out of it. Nope, she was pretty taken aback by her daughter's decision, but supportive. Her real question was, "Could you talk to her? Give her some advice?"
Well sure, of course. I gave the woman my card and told her to have the daughter call me, figuring I'd never hear from the young lady (really, mom met some guy in the store and he'd like to give you some unsolicited career pointers, suuuure okay). But, an hour later - the girl called me.
She wasn't as young as I'd assumed, 27 actually. Which is quite a bit older than the average recruit. Her life was a mess, for reasons I won't go it here, but she'd gotten her shit together and was looking for a major change in her life - which, of course, the Navy will certainly do, in spades.
Is a "major life change" a good reason for joining the military? Good as any, I'd say. Everybody joins for some reason, education, adventure, regular if unspectacular pay, regular if unspectacular food, learn a trade, running away from a failed marriage, and the ever popular see the world and get the hell out of your crappy little home town (which is how I ended up in the military), meet exotic hookers in foreign ports, whatever. I once knew a guy who joined the Navy specifically because he'd heard the Navy issued "free" shoes (he'd grown up in some dirt poor Kentucky holler, the youngest of a dozen hand-me-down children and had never owned a pair of shoes that 4 or 5 other kids hadn't had their feet in first. The Navy gave him new shoes. It was important to him). Some kids join because it's a family tradition. Hell, some people actually join to do their bit for "Freedom and Democracy." All of those things qualify as a "major life change," I guess.
Why people join the military is irrelevant. And it's sure as hell not for everybody, it's hard, and it's dirty, and it's dangerous even in the best of times, and it can suck the life right out of you, and I don't look down on anybody who chooses another path. But for those who do join, I guarantee that it will change your life. I talked to this girl for an hour, giving her what advice and insight I've learned from 23 years of Navy life. I don't know if they'll take her, like the Offspring song goes she's got issues. But there's a war on, and so she might be accepted into Naval service.
I wished her luck.
This wasn't exactly an out of the blue question, I don't know her personally - only that she is a very nice lady who works the early morning shift and makes a dammed good caramel machiato - and it's a very small town, you see people around on a daily basis. We often chat like people do while I'm waiting for my coffee, and the fact that I'm retired has come up once or twice. And then there's the way that I look, very short hair in a military cut (I'm not growing it out long now that I'm retired, it's been short my whole adult life and I like it that way), and I almost always can be found wearing an Australian Navy bush hat with "HMAS ANZAC" and the Fast Frigate ANZAC's silhouette embroidered on the front (the hat is a whole other story, some day maybe I'll tell you how I ended up with it and why it means so much to me). So, again, the barista's question wasn't exactly clairvoyance. When I answered in the affirmative, she asked if I would stick around for a moment. I could tell something was on her mind, she looked nervous and her mind really wasn't on making coffee this morning. Sometimes people act like that around vets, uncomfortable, but I didn't think that was it. She made a couple of coffees while I pursued the donut selection (the Starbucks is in the bakery section of the local super market) and then came over and said,
"My daughter wants to join the Navy. She told me this morning. And she's going to see the recruiter this afternoon. She has no idea what she's getting into."
At first I thought she wanted me to talk the girl out of it. Nope, she was pretty taken aback by her daughter's decision, but supportive. Her real question was, "Could you talk to her? Give her some advice?"
Well sure, of course. I gave the woman my card and told her to have the daughter call me, figuring I'd never hear from the young lady (really, mom met some guy in the store and he'd like to give you some unsolicited career pointers, suuuure okay). But, an hour later - the girl called me.
She wasn't as young as I'd assumed, 27 actually. Which is quite a bit older than the average recruit. Her life was a mess, for reasons I won't go it here, but she'd gotten her shit together and was looking for a major change in her life - which, of course, the Navy will certainly do, in spades.
Is a "major life change" a good reason for joining the military? Good as any, I'd say. Everybody joins for some reason, education, adventure, regular if unspectacular pay, regular if unspectacular food, learn a trade, running away from a failed marriage, and the ever popular see the world and get the hell out of your crappy little home town (which is how I ended up in the military), meet exotic hookers in foreign ports, whatever. I once knew a guy who joined the Navy specifically because he'd heard the Navy issued "free" shoes (he'd grown up in some dirt poor Kentucky holler, the youngest of a dozen hand-me-down children and had never owned a pair of shoes that 4 or 5 other kids hadn't had their feet in first. The Navy gave him new shoes. It was important to him). Some kids join because it's a family tradition. Hell, some people actually join to do their bit for "Freedom and Democracy." All of those things qualify as a "major life change," I guess.
Why people join the military is irrelevant. And it's sure as hell not for everybody, it's hard, and it's dirty, and it's dangerous even in the best of times, and it can suck the life right out of you, and I don't look down on anybody who chooses another path. But for those who do join, I guarantee that it will change your life. I talked to this girl for an hour, giving her what advice and insight I've learned from 23 years of Navy life. I don't know if they'll take her, like the Offspring song goes she's got issues. But there's a war on, and so she might be accepted into Naval service.
I wished her luck.
Busy day
Apologies for the lack of posts today. I've been busy. Had a couple of visitors and some business that kept me on the phone for a couple hours and I just haven't had time to post anything. And I still have a couple things to do before I can sit down and play with the internets.
You know how it is.
Later today I'll try to find some time to put on my dancing monkey hat and find something to entertain you - until then you're on your own. Make the best of it.
You know how it is.
Later today I'll try to find some time to put on my dancing monkey hat and find something to entertain you - until then you're on your own. Make the best of it.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Fun with Spam Math
Spam used to annoy the hell out of me. Then I switched my Norton Anti-Spam configuration to Whitelisting mode and life got a lot better. Maybe one spam email in a thousand makes into my inbox, the rest gets dumped into the spam folder. About once a week I look in the spam folder and flush it out. Anybody who emails me on a regular basis is already on my whitelist, and the anti-spam module is programmed to pass emails with [stonekettle station] in the subject line, so it's pretty rare to get a valid message in the spam folder - still I check, just to make sure. I get a lot of email from active-duty military folks, many who read this blog but are not comfortable commenting in public. So when I saw an email from "LAC cav" in the spam folder I assumed it was from somebody in the military who had forgotten to put the pass phrase in the subject line. So I looked at it, and it turned out that Norton knew what it was doing. Here's the message:
Wazzup jlwright!
I started in May at 5 inches. I grew to 6 inches in 2 months
LAC cav
There was a hyperlink to a website where I assume you could get you some of this, or maybe even see actual pictures of the amazing manhood improvement LAC Cav is bragging about. But for obvious reasons, I didn't include it here. You want 5" porn? You look that shit up on your own, people.
Let's examine this bit of advertising brilliance, shall we?
First: Wazzup? Seriously, spammers, if you want to get my attention don't start with Wazzup! Really, don't. Ever.
Second: Five inches? Five? Now LAC Cav doesn't give specifics, but from the nature of the correspondence I'm going to assume we're talking length here, not girth (because if it's five inches in diameter, you really don't need any enhancement, do you?) Also, I'll assume we're talking five inches erect, not flaccid. Anonymous Spammer or not, seriously, I wouldn't be emailing this little (heh heh) personal detail around the internet. Think about it, you're going to get caught eventually, do you really want to be on international TV as the Five Inch Guy? You're going to get what? Five-to-Ten maybe, then you're a free man, and what's the first thing you want when you get out of prison (besides broadband)? Right, exactly. So you're an ex-con nerd, it's going to be hard (heh heh) enough getting a date. Don't think women won't remember your face from the news either, Five Inch Guy, chicks say that size doesn't matter, but they've got long (heh heh) memories and you don't want to be on the short (heh heh) list. Just saying.
Third: The math. One inch in two months? Well, see something sounds a little (heh heh) off here. He says he started in May, for simplicity I'll assume May of this year. Then he says two months and he's gained a inch. But see, six inches isn't all that impressive either, especially to somebody who's obviously obsessed with length like our buddy, LAC cav. So, you have to assume that he'd keep taking the Super-Length-Enhancing-Herbal-Woody-Maker Supplement up to the present, and if he kept seeing improvement, well, he'd do a little (heh heh) bragging. Since he didn't, I have to assume that one inch is about the best you can expect from the product, no matter how long (heh heh) you take it. May to October is closer to six months, so instead of an impressive 0.5 inches per month of manhood expansion - it's really more like a dinky 0.16 inches per month total to date - and if there isn't any improvement after the first two months (which we can assume from the lack of bragging, and the fact that I haven't seen any TV "male-enhancement" advertisements of some guy named LAC cav pushing his junk along on a canoe trailer) then with each month that goes by the average per month gain gets a little less. Statistically speaking.
Math, is there anything it can't do? (besides not improving your manhood, I mean).
And with that, I'm off to the Post Office to mail some packages - and pick up this month's supply of manhood improver. I may be gone a long (heh heh) time.
Wazzup jlwright!
I started in May at 5 inches. I grew to 6 inches in 2 months
LAC cav
There was a hyperlink to a website where I assume you could get you some of this, or maybe even see actual pictures of the amazing manhood improvement LAC Cav is bragging about. But for obvious reasons, I didn't include it here. You want 5" porn? You look that shit up on your own, people.
Let's examine this bit of advertising brilliance, shall we?
First: Wazzup? Seriously, spammers, if you want to get my attention don't start with Wazzup! Really, don't. Ever.
Second: Five inches? Five? Now LAC Cav doesn't give specifics, but from the nature of the correspondence I'm going to assume we're talking length here, not girth (because if it's five inches in diameter, you really don't need any enhancement, do you?) Also, I'll assume we're talking five inches erect, not flaccid. Anonymous Spammer or not, seriously, I wouldn't be emailing this little (heh heh) personal detail around the internet. Think about it, you're going to get caught eventually, do you really want to be on international TV as the Five Inch Guy? You're going to get what? Five-to-Ten maybe, then you're a free man, and what's the first thing you want when you get out of prison (besides broadband)? Right, exactly. So you're an ex-con nerd, it's going to be hard (heh heh) enough getting a date. Don't think women won't remember your face from the news either, Five Inch Guy, chicks say that size doesn't matter, but they've got long (heh heh) memories and you don't want to be on the short (heh heh) list. Just saying.
Third: The math. One inch in two months? Well, see something sounds a little (heh heh) off here. He says he started in May, for simplicity I'll assume May of this year. Then he says two months and he's gained a inch. But see, six inches isn't all that impressive either, especially to somebody who's obviously obsessed with length like our buddy, LAC cav. So, you have to assume that he'd keep taking the Super-Length-Enhancing-Herbal-Woody-Maker Supplement up to the present, and if he kept seeing improvement, well, he'd do a little (heh heh) bragging. Since he didn't, I have to assume that one inch is about the best you can expect from the product, no matter how long (heh heh) you take it. May to October is closer to six months, so instead of an impressive 0.5 inches per month of manhood expansion - it's really more like a dinky 0.16 inches per month total to date - and if there isn't any improvement after the first two months (which we can assume from the lack of bragging, and the fact that I haven't seen any TV "male-enhancement" advertisements of some guy named LAC cav pushing his junk along on a canoe trailer) then with each month that goes by the average per month gain gets a little less. Statistically speaking.
Math, is there anything it can't do? (besides not improving your manhood, I mean).
And with that, I'm off to the Post Office to mail some packages - and pick up this month's supply of manhood improver. I may be gone a long (heh heh) time.
The 21st Century, it's about time...
Since my wife reads this blog, upon occasion, I'm starting my Christmas list early.
Behold, the brand new iRobot Dirt Dog.
I want one of these. Unlike the iRobot Roomba, which is pretty cool in it's own right, the Dirt Dog is designed for garages and shops. And at $130, it's reasonably priced too. I'd love to have a Roomba for the house too, but I think I'll wait until they come out with a 55gal drum sized one, we have a lot of cat hair and I think those little frisbee sized Roombas would have an electronic stroke just looking at it all. Also, speaking of the cats, I'd have to have a Roomba that could defend itself, say with some kind of built in Taser or death ray, because the cats would destroy it in short order otherwise.
I have a heavy duty, dedicated dust collection system in the shop, which I custom built from various parts acquired from scrap piles and craigslist, which looks something like this:
Dust collection in a shop like mine is very important. Especially in the winter when I can't work with the highbay doors open, because it's, you know, -40F outside. Sawdust is flammable, extremely so. It's also a breathing hazard and can lead to pneumoconiosis if you breath enough of it in a confined space. The dust/chip collector, which is sort of like a super dooper version of a house vac, is attached via ductwork to each piece of woodworking equipment in the shop, and also has a couple of vacuum hose connections so that I can use it to suck up dust and chips off the floor. But it doesn't quite get everything, especially under the workbenches where fine dust tends to collect until I get down on my hands and knees and reach under there with a foxtail and dustpan, but sweeping fine dust tends to throw it up into the air which defeats the whole purpose. The iRobot Dirt Dog is designed for exactly this situation, roving under the benches where I can't easily reach. And it can be programmed to do it late at night, so that what little dust it does raise I'm not around to breath in.
How cool is that?
See, that's what robots are supposed to do - make our lives easier. They're supposed to take care of the little details so that we don't have to ruin what's left of our knees on the cold concrete floors of our woodshops. I don't want a robot that talks and walks and acts like it's a member of the family (and I especially don't want a robot that walks and talks and acts like Robin Williams!). I want a robot that's small and cheap and can reliably get into or out of tight spots on it's own, taking care of the little jobs that are hard or inconvenient for me to do. I think I've mentioned a couple of times that we're big automation fans around here at Stonekettle Station, we already have a robot cat feeder and a robot cat box, I'm sure they'd welcome a robot shop sweeper to the household.
So, what do you want for Christmas?
Behold, the brand new iRobot Dirt Dog.
I want one of these. Unlike the iRobot Roomba, which is pretty cool in it's own right, the Dirt Dog is designed for garages and shops. And at $130, it's reasonably priced too. I'd love to have a Roomba for the house too, but I think I'll wait until they come out with a 55gal drum sized one, we have a lot of cat hair and I think those little frisbee sized Roombas would have an electronic stroke just looking at it all. Also, speaking of the cats, I'd have to have a Roomba that could defend itself, say with some kind of built in Taser or death ray, because the cats would destroy it in short order otherwise.I have a heavy duty, dedicated dust collection system in the shop, which I custom built from various parts acquired from scrap piles and craigslist, which looks something like this:
Dust collection in a shop like mine is very important. Especially in the winter when I can't work with the highbay doors open, because it's, you know, -40F outside. Sawdust is flammable, extremely so. It's also a breathing hazard and can lead to pneumoconiosis if you breath enough of it in a confined space. The dust/chip collector, which is sort of like a super dooper version of a house vac, is attached via ductwork to each piece of woodworking equipment in the shop, and also has a couple of vacuum hose connections so that I can use it to suck up dust and chips off the floor. But it doesn't quite get everything, especially under the workbenches where fine dust tends to collect until I get down on my hands and knees and reach under there with a foxtail and dustpan, but sweeping fine dust tends to throw it up into the air which defeats the whole purpose. The iRobot Dirt Dog is designed for exactly this situation, roving under the benches where I can't easily reach. And it can be programmed to do it late at night, so that what little dust it does raise I'm not around to breath in.How cool is that?
See, that's what robots are supposed to do - make our lives easier. They're supposed to take care of the little details so that we don't have to ruin what's left of our knees on the cold concrete floors of our woodshops. I don't want a robot that talks and walks and acts like it's a member of the family (and I especially don't want a robot that walks and talks and acts like Robin Williams!). I want a robot that's small and cheap and can reliably get into or out of tight spots on it's own, taking care of the little jobs that are hard or inconvenient for me to do. I think I've mentioned a couple of times that we're big automation fans around here at Stonekettle Station, we already have a robot cat feeder and a robot cat box, I'm sure they'd welcome a robot shop sweeper to the household.
So, what do you want for Christmas?
Monday, October 8, 2007
They're Baaaack!
All children love tire-swings, apparently.
Mom and calf are back this morning. The baby (yeah, all 800lbs of him) scared the crap out of me. I was leaning on the back of the truck, parked in that open bay you can see in the shop in the background, drinking my coffee and planning the day's shop schedule, when he stepped around the edge of the open door about 3 feet away. I don't hear as well as I used to (something about people blowing shit up next to my head for the last 20 years), but still I'm a little embarrassed that 800lbs of moose could get within 3 feet of me without me noticing. He gave me the beady eye and put his ears down flat on his head and snorted out both nostrils - not a good sign. I calmly put the coffee cup down on the truck bumper and prepared to dodge around the truck. But he lost interest and wandered across the driveway to eat the raspberry bushes (those green leaves on the hill behind him). I looked around for Mom and heard her coming through the bush on the left side of the shop. I grabbed the camera which I always keep in the shop for just such an occasion, and quietly eased around and down into the yard so I could get some pictures.
That's mom to the left in the trees. Baby for some reason, wanted to play with the tire swing.
I was really afraid he was going to get his head stuck inside the tire. Instead he licked it, then chewed on the nylon rope for a while. Then like all kids, lost interest and wandered off.
I'm about twenty feet away, taking these shots, using a Sony professional DSC770. Just so you don't think I'm completely crazy, since moose can be extremely dangerous - especially a mother with a calf, I've got the Mossberg 12ga on a sling over one shoulder and the Colt .44 in a shoulder holster. I also had 3 clear paths to retreat down hill if necessary. They're used to me and I have no desire to shoot either of them, but better safe than sorry - plus getting stomped retired Warrants out of the yard is a major pain for the widow.
Mom and calf are back this morning. The baby (yeah, all 800lbs of him) scared the crap out of me. I was leaning on the back of the truck, parked in that open bay you can see in the shop in the background, drinking my coffee and planning the day's shop schedule, when he stepped around the edge of the open door about 3 feet away. I don't hear as well as I used to (something about people blowing shit up next to my head for the last 20 years), but still I'm a little embarrassed that 800lbs of moose could get within 3 feet of me without me noticing. He gave me the beady eye and put his ears down flat on his head and snorted out both nostrils - not a good sign. I calmly put the coffee cup down on the truck bumper and prepared to dodge around the truck. But he lost interest and wandered across the driveway to eat the raspberry bushes (those green leaves on the hill behind him). I looked around for Mom and heard her coming through the bush on the left side of the shop. I grabbed the camera which I always keep in the shop for just such an occasion, and quietly eased around and down into the yard so I could get some pictures.
That's mom to the left in the trees. Baby for some reason, wanted to play with the tire swing.
I was really afraid he was going to get his head stuck inside the tire. Instead he licked it, then chewed on the nylon rope for a while. Then like all kids, lost interest and wandered off.
I'm about twenty feet away, taking these shots, using a Sony professional DSC770. Just so you don't think I'm completely crazy, since moose can be extremely dangerous - especially a mother with a calf, I've got the Mossberg 12ga on a sling over one shoulder and the Colt .44 in a shoulder holster. I also had 3 clear paths to retreat down hill if necessary. They're used to me and I have no desire to shoot either of them, but better safe than sorry - plus getting stomped retired Warrants out of the yard is a major pain for the widow.
Representative Roy Blunt, Jerkoff of the week
“If this was October of next year, I’d be really worried,” said Representative Roy Blunt of Missouri, the second-ranking House Republican. “But this is October of this year and the beginning of us getting our credibility back by showing that we are willing to take principled stands on spending.”
Blunt is talking about backlash to Democratic efforts to override President Bush's recent veto of a bill passed by Congress to expand SCHIP, or the State Children's Health Insurance Program, a federal and state program that is supposed to provide health insurance to children in families with incomes too great for Medicaid eligibility but not enough to afford private insurance. But see, Blunt is not talking about kid's health care per se, he's actually talking about getting reelected, along with his Republican pals.
Congress has been pissing and squabbling over SCHIP for a year now. Nobody can seem to agree on anything, as usual, apparently investing in the future of our nation is difficult. However, when it comes to limiting Americans' fiscal future it's a whole lot easier - it only took a month to hammer the Patriot Act all the way through Congress and up to the President for signature. How much do you think that act has cost us to date? We could fund health care for every single American kid, with money left over, for what NSA is spending on monitoring those same kids' phonecalls, email and myspace accounts.
Bush and Congressional Republicans called SCHIP "fiscally irresponsible."
You know, I've read the bill, I've listened to the arguments both for and against it, and truthfully I don't know if it's 'fiscally irresponsible' or not. What I do know is this - we never seem to have enough money for things that really matter, things like health care for all Americans, access to decent education, the homeless problem, the hungry, manned space exploration, etc and pick your own issue.
But, somehow we always seem to have plenty of money for Blowing Shit Up. Why is that? Our fearless leaders are always willing to take out a loan on our kid's future so we can go off to war, but we're never willing to invest in our own country's future. Why is war okay, but health and education 'fiscally irresponsible?'
Look, I don't want America to become some socialist welfare state, but Goddammit, if the lower middle class (the majority of Americans) goes broke paying for their kids' health coverage, what kind of future do those kids have? Surely this is at least as important as the 'War on Terrorism' or whatever we're calling this adventure now.
Attention Republican Idiots: You know what's fiscally irresponsible? I tell you: getting us into this mess, with no plan to get out and turning the whole thing into some bottomless, tax funded feeding trough for your pals in the defense industry. You know what's fiscally irresponsible? This:
Republicans aren't worried about the amount of money they're spending in Iraq or Afghanistan, so long as Blackwater and Halliburton voters keep raking in the dough. Dipshits like Roy Blunt suddenly are all about a 'principled stand on spending,' probably because poor kids tend to grow up to be Democrats. I guess if those kids want even minimum health care, they can join the Army and go to Iraq - but they better hurry, because, if experience is any guide, pretty soon funding Veteran's health care is going to get pretty dammed expensive indeed, and then you watch if guys like ole' Roy don't start blustering about a little more 'fiscal responsibility' when it comes to funding it.
Blunt is talking about backlash to Democratic efforts to override President Bush's recent veto of a bill passed by Congress to expand SCHIP, or the State Children's Health Insurance Program, a federal and state program that is supposed to provide health insurance to children in families with incomes too great for Medicaid eligibility but not enough to afford private insurance. But see, Blunt is not talking about kid's health care per se, he's actually talking about getting reelected, along with his Republican pals.
Congress has been pissing and squabbling over SCHIP for a year now. Nobody can seem to agree on anything, as usual, apparently investing in the future of our nation is difficult. However, when it comes to limiting Americans' fiscal future it's a whole lot easier - it only took a month to hammer the Patriot Act all the way through Congress and up to the President for signature. How much do you think that act has cost us to date? We could fund health care for every single American kid, with money left over, for what NSA is spending on monitoring those same kids' phonecalls, email and myspace accounts.
Bush and Congressional Republicans called SCHIP "fiscally irresponsible."
You know, I've read the bill, I've listened to the arguments both for and against it, and truthfully I don't know if it's 'fiscally irresponsible' or not. What I do know is this - we never seem to have enough money for things that really matter, things like health care for all Americans, access to decent education, the homeless problem, the hungry, manned space exploration, etc and pick your own issue.
But, somehow we always seem to have plenty of money for Blowing Shit Up. Why is that? Our fearless leaders are always willing to take out a loan on our kid's future so we can go off to war, but we're never willing to invest in our own country's future. Why is war okay, but health and education 'fiscally irresponsible?'
Look, I don't want America to become some socialist welfare state, but Goddammit, if the lower middle class (the majority of Americans) goes broke paying for their kids' health coverage, what kind of future do those kids have? Surely this is at least as important as the 'War on Terrorism' or whatever we're calling this adventure now.
Attention Republican Idiots: You know what's fiscally irresponsible? I tell you: getting us into this mess, with no plan to get out and turning the whole thing into some bottomless, tax funded feeding trough for your pals in the defense industry. You know what's fiscally irresponsible? This:
Cost of the War in Iraq
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Republicans aren't worried about the amount of money they're spending in Iraq or Afghanistan, so long as Blackwater and Halliburton voters keep raking in the dough. Dipshits like Roy Blunt suddenly are all about a 'principled stand on spending,' probably because poor kids tend to grow up to be Democrats. I guess if those kids want even minimum health care, they can join the Army and go to Iraq - but they better hurry, because, if experience is any guide, pretty soon funding Veteran's health care is going to get pretty dammed expensive indeed, and then you watch if guys like ole' Roy don't start blustering about a little more 'fiscal responsibility' when it comes to funding it.
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