You might be a terrorist if...

It's a basic precept of mathematics that you can't plot a curve from a single point. In fact, you need at least three points to plot a curve on a graph, more points are better.

By now, of course, you've already lost interest. Math, Jim? Math? You're going to talk about math?

Just hear me out for a moment, will you?

Let's start with the curve, i.e. what we know - Barrack Obama is a terrorist. Worse, he just may be the Anti-Christ who will bring on the End of Days.

We know this to be true, we can feel it, all right thinking people can. But, see, that's the problem, there are too many wrong thinking people out there. People who just can't identify a terrorist fist-jab between husband and America-hating wife when they see one. If we are to win the Global War on Terrorism we're going to need more than feelings, we're going to need a little math.

Now, since right thinking people aren't big on math, what we need is to have the math boiled down into a something that everybody can use. What we need is some kind of simple criteria we can refer to when necessary in order to identify the terrorists.

Without such defining criteria you might just walk past a terrorist on the street without even knowing it, you might hire a group of terrorists to remodel your kitchen, or you might nominate a terrorist judge to the bench, or you might even accidentally vote for one to be your president. Heaven forbid, you yourself might be a terrorist - and not even know it! Hey, people discover new things about themselves all the time, why just this morning I found three new hairs growing from my ears that I didn't even know that I had - what else don't I know about myself?

So, as a public service, I've culled extensive Conservative materials and compiled the following handy checklist. Print it out and carry it next to your heart, or better yet tape it inside the cover of your copy of Godless: The Church of Liberalism.

The Terrorist Checklist:

Terrorists are easy to identify. If somebody meets any of the following criteria, it is a distinct possibility that they have terrorist sympathies. If they meet three or more of the following criteria, they are a terrorist for certain and should be reported to the nearest Transportation Safety Administration agent, or simply pick up your phone and say the name of the terrorist clearly and distinctly and the National Security Agency Homeland Monitoring Team (Tail Gunner Joe Division) will take care of the rest.

1) They are black: Any non-Caucasian person is an immediate cause for suspicion. Terrorists come from Africa and the Middle East, and people from those countries have dark skin - except for Jesus, his skin was as white as Dick Cheney's butt checks and anybody who says otherwise hates America. Plus black people wear really big baggy shorts, that's where they hide the explosive belts.

2) They are Democrats: Democrats are Liberals. Liberals hate America. QED.

3) They have not been born again: Only Fundamentalist Christians can be Patriots. Jews, Muslims, Catholics, and Atheists hate America. Jews killed Jesus. And since Jesus founded America, it is obvious that Jews hate America. Muslims have funny sounding names and they hate Jesus too. Islam eats your brain and makes you go crazy, look what happened to Cassius Clay and Cat Stevens - they're crazy and they hate America. Catholics answer to a man in a pointy hat. The only man in a pointy hat you should listen to is the Grand Wizard, and he says that Catholics hate America. Atheists hate everybody, but especially Jesus.

4) They believe in radio carbon dating: Scientists hate America, unless they're weapons scientists - and even those you've got to keep an eye on. Scientists wear white lab coats and keep aborted fetuses in their pockets so that they can suck out the little stem cells whenever they're feeling hungry. Anybody who kills babies in order to suck out the stem cells hates America, and if they hate America they kill babies, that's why Jesus hates science, because it kills babies. That's logic.

5) English isn't their first language: Americans speak English. Period. The Indians spoke English, Jesus spoke English, John Wayne spoke English, and the Bible is written in English and anybody who doesn't speak English or speaks with one of those funny sounding accents is a terrorist.

6) They like Polar Bears: Endangered species are endangered, because they're losers. Jesus hates losers. Besides, the stupid polar bears shouldn't be living on top of our oil anyway, just like the Arabs. Arabs have oil, Arabs are Muslims, Muslims hate America, therefor polar bears hate America.

7) They listen to Rock Music: Music cannot be Patriotic unless it's Country or Western.

8) They read the Washington Post: There's a reason Rush Limbaugh doesn't work for the Post.

9) They just got married in California: God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve. Anybody named Steve is gay. Gay people hate America and are in league with Satan.

10) They watch the Food Network: The food network is owned by Yassir Arafat and Rachel Ray. Rachel Ray is putting the Islam into donuts in order to corrupt our police forces and create her own army in order to take over the world. Plus she's really hyper and annoying. Annoying people hate America.

11) They own a Mac: Americans use PC's. PC's were made by Bill Gates. Bill Gates is a capitalist. Capitalists are good, because when they get really big and successful we can sue them and get some money, which we can then use to fund ethanol farmers in Red States. Farmers are Americans, people who own Macs hate farmers, therefore Mac users hate America.

12) They don't have a yellow ribbon magnet on their car: Actions and personal records mean nothing. Service and duty are just words. What matters are patriotic symbols. Real Americans wear a genuine American Flag pin made in Chinese sweatshops owned by Kathy Lee Gifford. The America Flag Pin is to terrorists like pork chops are to a Muslim, they can't touch them or they'll burst into flames. If somebody isn't wearing an American Flag pin then they probably hate pork chops too. Jesus loves pork chops. If you hate pork chops then you hate Jesus, and if you hate Jesus you hate America.

13) They engage in Fist Jabbing.

Now, any right thinking person can see that the criteria contained in this list has been compiled from officially verified Pentagon Intelligence Reports and Fox News Broadcasts and only people who hate America would argue with the logic behind it. So that makes it good enough for government use, as we used to say in the intelligence field.

Let's run Mr. Obama through the list, shall we?

Given: Fist Jabber.

1) Black, check, or black enough anyway, married to a black woman. Double check.

2) Democrat, check.

3) Muslim, check (His middle name is Hussein for crying out loud and he doesn't even deny it!).

Well, hell, we can just stop right there. That's four points and we have a curve, indisputable proof that Barrack Obama is a terrorist. For the love of God, People, wake up.

See, that's why math is so important.

I'll be upstairs, clipping my ear hair if you need me.

Coast Guard discovers disturbing fact about children

 

Kid's, they don't float...

 

...so, they must be witches!

 

 

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Sorry, it's early, I'm not entirely awake yet, and was looking at pictures I took last weekend on our trip down to Seward.  I saw this sign at the Alaska Sea Life Center - and immediately thought of the "She's a witch!" scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

Beaten to the Punch

Well, The Whatever stole my thunder this morning.

I was going to post on the subject of gay marriage in California, but that bastard John Scalzi pretty much summed up my feelings on the matter.  This pisses me off as I had a good rant on the subject all worked out in my head.  The man is obviously reading my thoughts and stealing my ideas, he is nefarious, Scalzi is.

Anyway, it's a great post and if you haven't read it, you should.

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Now, since I've got to get out to the shop (big production run this week) and I had to flush my rant down the drain and don't have time to work up another one, I'll leave you with a little music.

Gorillaz, Fire coming out of the Monkey's head.

Strange and Distant Shores

I meant to do this a couple of days ago, but I've been swamped lately and the time just keeps slipping by.

I got a postcard from Anne in India on Saturday last.

India, I've always wanted to go there, ever since I read Kipling as a kid, and especially The Man Who Would Be King. For me India will always be an exotic foreign land, full of mystery and strange magic, elephants and tigers, ancient temples and teeming cities ... and, well, tech support.

When I joined the Navy, all those years ago, one of the reasons was to see the world. I had a list of places I wanted to see. The black volcanic sand beaches of Iceland. The great markets of Istanbul and the Golden Horn. The Valley of the Kings and the Giza Plateau. Pompeii and Herculaneum. Gibraltar. Hong Kong. Singapore. The Straits of Malacca. The Galapagos Islands. The Panama Canal. The Serengeti and Kilimanjaro. Freemantle, Sidney, and the Great Barrier Reef. Tasmania. Masada. And India.

I made it almost everywhere on my list and many others places too - but somehow I never made it to India. I never set foot there, and it's unlikely that I will. I've been around the world and walked on every continent except Antarctica, but the closest I've gotten to India is sailing around the sub-continent's southern horn. I've seen the Indian Navy up close though, and they are excellent and professional sailors as only the descendents of a thousand years of seafarers can be.

Anyway, thanks, Anne, for thinking of me and for reminding me of India.

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Update: I was still waiting for the coffee to brew when I typed the original post, so I was just a tad fuzzyheaded and forget two things:

1) I really, really like the stamp - International Physics Year with a picture of my favorite scientist, Ole' Albert himself.

2) Question, where is it that you always wanted to go, and why?

Ooof! I'm full

Usually I cook, but yesterday Becky made lasagna for Father's Day and Beastly made cheesecake.

Tonight Beastly made Ruben sandwiches. I love Rubens. Love. Them. I ate too much.

... and there's still cheesecake.

Habeas Corpse

2003, Afghanistan: Goat herder and livestock trader Kakai Khan was arrested by coalition forces and detained on suspicion of planting bombs that destroyed a couple of video stores.  Unverified hearsay and rumor, i.e. human intelligence (HUMINT), indicated that Khan was a member of the Taliban counter-insurgency. He was taken to Bagram Air Base and interrogated.

“They took me to interrogation many times. I don’t remember how many times. They beat me a lot during interrogations,” Khan said to investigators. “One of the punishments during interrogation was that they would take me to a room next door, and two soldiers would lift me in the air and shackle my hands to the ceiling. My feet could not touch the ground, I don’t know how long I was up there. I would lose consciousness.”

Eventually he was shipped off to Guantanamo Bay for more advanced interrogation.  He spent three years there and then in 2006 he was released.  No conviction, no explanation, no apology. The CIA put him on a plane back to Afghanistan and let him go.

Neither the Army or the CIA refute Khan's claim - well, the Army spokesman refuted it, but an Army investigation substantiated in large part Khan's statement. The CIA is mute, as usual.

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Is Khan's case an aberration? A breakdown in the system, perpetuated by a handful of unsupervised and poorly trained US Army reservists out of their depth in a hostile land, like those at Abu Garrib?

No.

No, it is not.

Khan's case is similar to hundreds of others.  The US Army's own investigation of the interrogations at Bagram resulted in a 2,000 page report, obtained by the New York Times in 2005.  That report, again compiled by the Army itself not the liberal press, reported widespread, systematic abuse of prisoners far beyond the bounds of the Army Interrogation Manual, US Military Law, and the Geneva Conventions.  Despite the fact that nearly 30 US Military personal were charged with criminal abuse of prisoners the abuse continued and continues to this day. Right now, even as you read this.

 

I've said it before, more than once and in more than one place: No matter what euphemism you use, no matter how you justify it, no matter what your rationalization, no matter the righteousness of your cause, no matter how pious your belief, no matter how much you've been wronged - the end does not justify the means.  If you torture people, you are a torturer. You. Are. A. Torturer.  You live in a nation that tortures people. 

Torturers, that is what we've become - and make no mistake,  when you chain a man to the ceiling so that his feet dangle above the floor and the shackles bite into his flesh until the blood runs, and you kick him when he is bound helpless on the wet floor of his cell in a puddle of his own shit and piss, when you cover his head in a plastic garbage bag and shove his head under water under until he drowns, you are committing torture.

Normal men cannot do this.  To become a torturer you must first kill your humanity, you must kill pity and empathy.  You must root out all shreds of honor, duty, courage, decency, shame, and humanity. You must steel your soul in order to regard other human beings as objects, as less than animals, as evil incarnate and beneath contempt.  You must regard yourself as the avenger, the destroyer, and the mighty and the righteous with unlimited power over the contemptible creature before you. You must become God.

We've seen this before, in SS Death Camps, in Japanese POW Camps, in Korea, in Laos, in Vietnam, in Saddam's prisons and among the Taliban  - we know what torture does to men.  It is a cancer, a rot, that will spread until it destroys not the enemy, but the torturers themselves.  The torturers cannot return to normal society, they are no longer men - but rather something dark and dangerous and beyond the pale.

Right now, this evil malignancy is confined to a small few - but like any cancer allow it to grow unchecked, allow it to prosper and take root, and it will destroy us all.

In the last post I expounded on why I think the writ of habeas corpus is so damned important. If you can't see why we must extend the rights of challenge and appeal to our enemies, not for their sake but for ours, then you are blind.

If you cannot see the abyss that yawns before us, you are a fool.

It's about Goddamned time

Now, you all know what I'm going to post about this morning, right?

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There's a reoccurring theme in many movies and TV shows that is absolutely guaranteed to elicit hysterical laughter from my lovely wife: i.e. the patented Hollywood "Kick in the Nuts" (tm). When some jerk takes a shot in the family jewels my wife just cracks right up. She finds it especially funny if the blow is delivered by a small child or an angry woman. As a man, I cringe at such scenes, cover my crotch with my laptop, and manfully endure the five minutes of cackling from the other end of the couch. I rarely, if ever, find the "Kick in the Nuts" funny because I think it's often used gratuitously.

I also rarely find it funny, because as a man, I have been kicked in the privates once or twice and the pain is absolutely indescribable. I've been seriously injured on more than one occasion, and I'm sure that most men will agree with me when I say that I'd rather take a bullet than a kick in the balls.

But every once in a while, I admit to finding a good Kick in the Nuts hysterical.

Especially when it happens to somebody I despise.

Like this morning, for instance, when the Supreme Court kicked George W. Bush right square in his little shriveled Habeas Corpus.

They kicked him so hard that his feet came off the floor. He's somewhere in Europe right now, curled up in fetal position, clutching his crotch with both hands, sobbing and sucking air through his teeth in an effort to just keep breathing.

Bawahahahaha, now that's funny.

Clever guys, those Founding Fathers of ours, and my admiration for their genius and the system they designed for America has never been higher than it is right now.

For those of you not paying attention: Yesterday SCOTUS ruled 5-4 that it the President's high handed suspension of habeas corpus rights for those detained at Guantanamo Bay is unconstitutional. Detainee's now have the right to pursue habeas challenges to their detention in US courts.

The writ of Habeas corpus, the Great Writ, is one of the fundamental principles of US Constitutional law. When the US was founded, for the concept to be incorporated into the Constitution was so revolutionary that it sent shock waves throughout the world. Prior to that singular event, the rights of an individual to challenge his or her detention was solely at the whim of whatever ruler happened to be sitting on the throne at that time. Under the US Constitution, habeas corpus basically says that any prisoner, or prisoner's representative, may petition for relief from unlawful detention. Once issued, the writ is a summons, backed by the power of court order, directing the detaining authority to bring the prisoner before the court and provide lawfully obtained evidence sufficient to determine if the prisoner's detention is legal within the framework of US law. It means that the cops have to do their job correctly and within specific guidelines, it means that evidence must be obtained through specific methodology, it means that the government can't just arbitrarily decide to drop you into a deep dark hole like Edmond Dantes in the Count of Monte Cristo. The right to petition for a writ of habeas corpus is the single most effective defense against tyranny yet devised, and forms the principle bulwark of individual liberty. The great British constitutional theorist, Albert Venn Dicey, wrote that habeas corpus acts "declare no principle and define no rights, but they are for practical purposes worth a hundred constitutional articles guaranteeing individual liberty," and truer words have rarely be spoken.

One of the things that scared our Founding Fathers more than anything else, and justifiably so, was unlimited governmental authority. Above all, they prized individual liberty for all men. It is indisputable that they themselves didn't personally live up to that lofty ideal during their own time - more than a few of them were slave owners, and additionally when they said "all men," well, they meant "men," as in males and landowners in particular. However, the great genius of their design is that over time it changed the very fabric of the United States until all men, now defined as all human beings, were free. And habeas corpus is the cornerstone of that design. Under the US Constitution, habeas corpus applies to all prisoners. All of them. Every damned one, American citizens and otherwise. Period. Every single prisoner, indicted, convicted, detained, rendered, and etcetera has the fundamental right to challenge their imprisonment, not just entitled hereditary landowners. Not just wrongly accused citizens. Everybody. Even the terrorist shitheads.

And it matters. More than anything. Either the law applies to all equally - or it is no law at all. If individual liberty is determined solely by one man, solely by the whim of the current leader - then that leader is not a President, he's a King, the light of liberty has died, and the law is an arbitrary decree beyond the ken of the common citizen.

Presidential suspension of habeas corpus is unconstitutional. It is against every principle this country was founded on. It is dishonorable. It is cowardly. It is the first refuge of the tyrant. It is unAmerican. The President swore an oath to uphold and defend the Constitution and the principles it embodies, and he sure as hell shouldn't need the court to explain that to him. This disregard for liberty, more than anything else, is what's wrong with this administration. The President's oath, his principle duty, is to support and defend the Constitution, all else is secondary - even terrorists.

Now, any Conservative coming into this post without knowing me will think, "Oh sweet baby Jesus, another hand wringing Liberal, whining about rights and the Constitution and blah blah blah. Pissing and moaning about the poor detainees. Don't you know, Jim, that these guys tried to kill us? They're terrorists, for the love of God, and you just want to let them go? God Bless America and George Bush and hot apple pie."

Save it.

See, a couple of those shitheads are sitting in a cell in Gitmo because I helped put them there. I know full well how damned dangerous some of those men are. I know better than most just how much they'd love nothing better than to kill us all. And just to set the record straight, I have no love or sympathy for these men, none, Fuck them and the camel they rode in on. I would cheerfully take them out back and put a bullet in their collective heads and then go home and sleep soundly and without remorse of any kind - providing that they had a fair, public, and lawful trial first.

Because that's the whole point here - the end does not justify the means. Let me repeat that, it's important: The end does not justify the means. Period. Either we are a nation of law and liberty, or we are not. Either the law applies to everyone within our jurisdiction or it does not. You cannot have it both ways. Liberty is hard. It is contrary to human nature in many cases. We are self centered, greedy, vengeful creatures by and large and it takes a conscious effort to live up to high ideals. It took a civil war, and a century of sustained effort to extend liberty and freedom to all Americans, whatever their skin color, and it's still not over. It took a hundred years of suffrage movements to extend liberty and freedom to all Americans, no matter what their sex, and it's still not over. We fight every dammed day to maintain the vision of our founders, but if we begin to believe that the end does indeed justify the means, then we have lost sight of what that vision really means. Habeas corpus does not apply to the alleged terrorist detainees for their sake, but for ours.

SCOTUS's ruling does not grant new rights to the detainees, it simply reiterates what we should all know, our law applies to all equally. Period. And that's a good thing, it's a great thing, in fact, because it forces this President to finally confront the law, the Constitution, and his duty head on. This administration has always taken the easy road, it's the defining criteria of this president. It was a lot easier to attack Iraq instead of hunting down the real perpetrators of 911. It was a lot easier to read intelligence reports that said what the White House wanted to believe, rather than demand verification and supporting evidence from multiple sources. It was a lot easier to monitor Americans without having to do the legwork necessary to get a warrant, ditto for physical searches of their homes and property. It was a whole lot easier to create secret no-fly lists, without having to justify what amounts to an unassailable guilty conviction. And it's a whole lot easier to hold secret trials without regard for the law and the Constitution. It's a whole lot easier when the defendant can't defend himself. It's a whole lot easier when the government is right because the government says it's right and not because it actually has to prove its position before its citizens. SCOTUS's ruling requires that the White House finally has to do the proper work and follow the law, same as the rest of us. The administration now has to do exactly what any prosecuting attorney has to do, i.e. put their cards on the table. Either they've done the work and compiled the evidence and can prove that these men are guilty - or they can't. And that's the best thing that's happened in this whole idiotic 'War on Terrorism.' Put the evidence on the table for all to see, try these men publicly, fairly and in strict accordance with the rule of law so that the whole world can see beyond a shadow of a doubt who and what they are. Show the world that they are nothing but criminals and garden variety scumbags - not martyrs, not heroes, not freedom fighters, not holy warriors. Just another Timothy McVeigh, just another Unibomber, just another crazy-assed mass-murdering asshole who got caught.

Habeas corpus is the foundation of our freedom and the very core of liberty for all. Justices John Paul Stevens, David H. Souter, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Stephen G. Breyer, and Anthony M. Kennedy should be praised for keeping the founders' vision alive, for living up to their oath to the Constitution, and for taking the high road. Chief Justice John G. Roberts Jr. and Justices Samuel A. Alito Jr., Antonin Scalia, and Clarence Thomas should be ashamed for bowing to politics and personal bias and for failing to remember that their duty, their first and only duty, is to the Constitution and the principles upon which it was built.

And George W. Bush should start wearing a cup, he's going to need it.

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For those of you who are not regulars here at Stonekettle Station, and you think you've stumbled into the den of a squealing bunny thumping liberal - before you decide that you know me from this post, you might try reading this one first. It has a direct relationship to the subject here, and it might help explain exactly who I am and what I believe in - and why.

How well do you know the candidates?

Here's an interesting quiz.

McCain - I got 13 out of 16. I missed 7, 14, and 16.

Obama - I got 12 out of 17. I missed 1, 4, 5, 8 and 14.

 

 

Now, here's a question of my own - do you think these quizzes are just a little biased?  McCain's quiz asked about his politics, record, and war experience.  Obama's asked about where his mother spent her youth, the car he drove, his elementary school writing assignment, and what shoes he wore.

 

I'm guessing now that McCain and Obama are the heirs presumptive we're going to be seeing more and more of this kind of information warfare. 

I'm all about freedom of the press, but I think they should have to declare which candidate they're supporting right up front, above the fold on the first page.

No kidding

McCain unlikely to use Cheney in Campaign.  Jeez, you think?

But then again, there is a certain ultra-conservative element to the GOP that thinks Cheney is some kind of hero.  Coincidently, those are the very same Republicans who think McCain is a pansy-assed, tree-hugging, bunny-loving, cat-petting, God-haytin' Liberal who will just give our country away to the terrorist Ayrabs.

Sadly, McCain needs those voters. 

I expect we'll be seeing Dick again, if only behind the scenes.  Of course, that's exactly what Dick Cheney is good at, isn't it? Pulling the strings from behind the scenes?

Rocket Man

 

No doubt most of you are familiar with the following Darwin Award Story:

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The Arizona Highway Patrol were mystified when they came upon a pile of smoldering wreckage embedded in the side of a cliff rising above the road at the apex of a curve. The metal debris resembled the site of an airplane crash, but it turned out to be the vaporized remains of an automobile. The make of the vehicle was unidentifiable at the scene.

The folks in the lab finally figured out what it was, and pieced together the events that led up to its demise.

It seems that a former Air Force sergeant had somehow got hold of a JATO (Jet Assisted Take-Off) unit. JATO units are solid fuel rockets used to give heavy military transport airplanes an extra push for take-off from short airfields.

Dried desert lake beds are the location of choice for breaking the world ground vehicle speed record. The sergeant took the JATO unit into the Arizona desert and found a long, straight stretch of road. He attached the JATO unit to his car, jumped in, accelerated to a high speed, and fired off the rocket.

The facts, as best as could be determined, are as follows:

The operator was driving a 1967 Chevy Impala. He ignited the JATO unit approximately 3.9 miles from the crash site. This was established by the location of a prominently scorched and melted strip of asphalt. The vehicle quickly reached a speed of between 250 and 300 mph and continued at that speed, under full power, for an additional 20-25 seconds. The soon-to-be pilot experienced G-forces usually reserved for dog-fighting F-14 jocks under full afterburners.

The Chevy remained on the straight highway for approximately 2.6 miles (15-20 seconds) before the driver applied the brakes, completely melting them, blowing the tires, and leaving thick rubber marks on the road surface. The vehicle then became airborne for an additional 1.3 miles, impacted the cliff face at a height of 125 feet, and left a blackened crater 3 feet deep in the rock.

Most of the driver's remains were not recovered; however, small fragments of bone, teeth, and hair were extracted from the crater, and fingernail and bone shards were removed from a piece of debris believed to be a portion of the steering wheel.

Ironically a still-legible bumper sticker was found, reading "How do you like my driving? Dial 1-800-EAT-SHIT."

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It's an urban legend, of course.  It never actually happened, and couldn't actually happen - the physics and engineering are impossible. But it's a great story.

It's an even better video:

Death from the Sky, Part II

As usual, Beastly and I were turning yesterday.

I had finished a large piece the day before, and Beastly was just finishing up a bowl he has been working on for several days:

That's a copper inlay around the rim. Pretty dammed cool, especially for only his second time turning Alaskan green birch heartwood (Beastly is an experienced wood turner, but green birch turns far differently from the exotic hardwoods he's used to). It's available if anybody is interested.

We had the front of the shop open and I stepped outside with the chainsaw to cut some more blanks from the log stock. I made a couple of cuts, then turned the saw off in order to adjust the log on the cutting stand - and I kept hearing something behind me. Beastly was inside the shop, so it wasn't him.

Moose? No, the dog was laying in the sun, most unconcerned.

Everything was suddenly very quiet. The spruce grouse who usually trill and chirp all day from the tree branches were silent. Predators? Wolves or bears? No, the dog wasn't even sniffing the air, and she'd sure as hell know if something dangerous was about.

I looked around. Nothing. Maybe it was my imagination.

I picked up the saw - and the strange noise came again. Hmmm.

I looked around, again. Still nothing.

Then I looked up.

That's a young Bald Eagle, probably no more than a year or so old. He's still got the speckled plumage of a youngster, obviously. Young or not, he was big. His wingspan was easily six feet. He was perched about thirty feet up, in the birch tree between the shop and the house, eyeballing all of us potential food items below. He must have decided that Beastly, the Dog, and I were too big to cart away, but one of the idiot cats was in the sunroom window and Baldy was giving him the long hard stare. You remember what happened the last time cats and eagles mixed it up around my house, right? Fortunately for my wallet the cats remained safely behind glass this time.

However, I do have new neighbors. They have a little dog. A little yappy ball of fluff that resembles nothing so much as a tribble with a bad attitude. I think it's a Pekinese, but I'm not sure. It mostly looks like an animated mop head with a pair of beady eyes glued on. The whole damned dog, hair and all, can't weigh more than a pound or so - perfect snack size so to speak. Needless to say, the little puffball has no sense whatsoever and was roaming unconcernedly about about the yard, yapping spastically and sniffing the flowers.

Beastly and I began to speculate just how long fluffy had to live.

Beastly got out his Nikon and snapped a few shots, including the one above (He took that shot from about 60 feet away, against a glaring overcast sky. You've just got to love Nikon cameras).

Baldy kept turning his head back and forth, and it was obvious that he was triangulating the position of that irritating yapping noise. Suddenly, he spread his enormous wings and dropped like a stone from his perch.

Belatedly, we wondered if maybe we should do something.

Too late.

Fluffy made a frightened Cheap! and scampered backward like a supercharged hamster ... and escaped to safety under the neighbor's porch. Goddamnit! So much for a National Geographic moment.

Baldy glided away, disappointed, hungry, and in search of other unattended pets.

Life in Alaska can be hard for little fluffballs. He's out there again this morning, growling at the flowers like a demented ewok and snapping happily at the mosquitos. Not once has he looked up.

And he really, really should. Because, overhead, the eagles are circling and the grouse have grown silent again.

It would appear that Baldy went for help.

Really, it's only a matter of time.

Fear

As I'm sure most regular readers know, the Patriot Act and it's associated legislation offends me as an American most grievously - as does the current administration.

I think the provisions of the Patriot Act, especially the sections giving the President almost unlimited power over his fellow citizens and thereby elevating his status to that of a despotic emperor, are absolutely contrary to everything the Founding Fathers intended.

I am incensed that this administration has in effect created secret laws which are hidden from the average citizen, and yet holds those same citizens accountable to standards and regulations that they cannot know and have no recourse for if convicted under. Indeed, the average citizen is not even allowed to access to the information used to convict him, or allowed to confront his accuser, and is not allowed to challenge the conviction in court. Need an example? How about the TSA's secret "No-Fly" list? You are not allowed to know what placed your name on that list to begin with. There is no legal recourse and no appeal. Whether or not you get on the airplane is entirely dependent on the arbitrary whim of some faceless government functionary. A single anonymous phonecall is enough to make you an enemy of the state. This is a return to McCarthyism; bribery, chicanery, and corruption cannot be far behind.

I am especially offended by the secret provisions put in place by this administration which allow the US government to monitor Americans and search their property without a court issued warrant, due notification, or recourse, in what amounts to a return to Napoleonic Law. This presumption of guilt, vice the presumption of innocence, is anathema to the very principles of liberty and justice upon which America was founded.

I am disgusted that my country has become a nation that tortures people. I never thought that my fellow citizens would stand for it. Liberal or Conservative, I find it nearly unbelievable that Americas would tolerate a government that kidnaps people off the street and the battlefield and spirits them away to secret prisons, tortures them, and convicts them without due adherence to the rule of law, international agreement, and our own Constitution. I am disgusted that, as Americans, our perspective is so skewed that we would impeach a President for getting a blowjob in the oval office, and yet tolerate and even encourage a leader who enthusiastically advocates and engages in the abject violation of basic human rights. Human rights that the United States has been the benchmark for since its founding.

I am appalled that Americans would stand for this trampling of the Constitution and for their rights and freedoms as Americans, and for the dishonor this administration has levied upon us as a people. Yet, inevitably when this topic comes up in conversation, and especially in conversation with staunch conservatives who support the current administration, their response is always the same:

If you don't have anything to hide, you don't have anything to fear.

I think that's complete crap. I think that kind of thinking leads inevitably to tyranny and absolutism. But, just for the sake of argument I'll allow it to stand for the moment.

If you don't have anything to hide, you don't have anything to fear. Fine. Then answer me a question, Conservatives, Bush Supporters, and all of you Flag Waving Patriots - why is it that the White House ordered the destruction of interrogation notes by its Gitmo Interrogators? Or the destruction of CIA interrogation video tapes? Or the deliberate overwriting of White House email backups in direct violation of federal regulation? You can't have it both ways, Patriots, by your own logic either the President has nothing to hide, in which case George W. Bush has nothing to fear - or, well, he does.

These records, these public records which are property of all Americans, weren't accidentally destroyed - they were ordered destroyed in a manner that reminds me of a couple of potheads flushing their stash down the toilet while the cops are banging on the front door. And they were destroyed for exactly the same reason, and for exactly the reason stated in Conservative logic - the White House has a great deal to fear.

I'll make the accusation right here and right now - these records show without equivocation that the President is full of shit, that he is in criminal violation of everything this country stands for, that not only should he be impeached but that he should spend a considerable amount of time behind bars.

Go ahead, Patriots, prove me wrong - publish the records. After all, if you don't have anything to hide, you have nothing to fear.

Right?

Sunday Projects

I do a lot of different things in the woodshop.

Mostly you see my lathework, but I do other projects as well. Most are fairly pedestrian, but some are pretty artistic.

I know a number of folks on the local military bases (yeah, go figure, right?), and they know of my woodworking inclination. A week or two back, the civilian head of civil engineering on the local Air Force base came to me and asked if I could help them out. They had purchased a number ceramic polar bear statuettes as going-away presents for senior officers - but had no idea of how to mount them. About the only guidance I got was that they wanted something "Alaskan," and they needed to be able to mount a small 2"x4" brass plaque and eight challenge coins around the base. (Challenge coins, for those of you not familiar with the military custom, are small one to two inch in diameter coins, specially made for a unit or a commander or other special position - and given out as tokens of appreciation to people during visits or other special events. They are most common in the Army and Air Force, but the Navy and Marine Corps also observe the custom if to a lesser degree. Many folks collect challenge coins and some, such as the gold and silver one I was given by a Bahraini Navy Commander, are extremely valuable).

Hmmm, something Alaskan with room to mount the plaque and coins? How about a carved and sculpted Sitka Spruce base, said I to myself.

I cut out a block of spruce from my stock pile, using a small chainsaw I cut it into the basic shape I wanted. Then I used my machines to smooth that into a tapered brick, and then sculpted it using a Foredom tool (sort like a Dremel tool on steroids). After I had the basic shape sculpted, I sent it back to the Air Force so they could determine if this was what they wanted.

It was.

Only one problem, they liked it so much that they didn't want to hide the wood with the coins. Huh? It's it just spruce, said I. Whatever, they replied we think it's amazing (at which point I mentally upped my price into the "Amazing" category. Amazing is about $40 more than "Really Cool," just saying).

Anyway, they sent it back and I finished it and mounted the bear and only two coins. In the picture below the empty space between the coins is where the brass plaque will go - I'm still waiting for them to get that to me.

The idea here is that the base should bring to mind the icy wind sculpted tundra of Alaska's North Slope Region. It is coated in a clear acrylic in order to enhance the icy look, and sits on cork base to protect whatever desktop it ends up on. The bear is tipped back about 5 degrees to make the mounting more dynamic and interesting.

I think it came out rather well. So do they, apparently, since they ordered several more.

Offline

Folks, I'm offline until tomorrow at the earliest.

I've got a number issues and not enough time. So blogging has to go for a day or so.

I'll be back tomorrow and I'll make sure to catch up on all of your blogs. I know I've been scarce around your places lately and I apologize, but I'm sure you understand.

Thanks and see you this weekend.

Belated Gratitude and Tomatoes

Have you ever been in a long-term relationship, marriage or otherwise, where you know your partner as well as you know yourself?

You know everything about them; their likes, dislikes, childhood friends, what makes them happy, what makes them sad, what pisses them off. You know how they'll react to anything. You've heard their stories a hundred times, but you still listen to them even if they bore you to tears. You know what kind of toothpaste they prefer and how much sugar to put in their coffee.

Yeah, like that.

And then, out of the blue, you learn something entirely new about them?

Like first date new. Like, Wow! Me too! new.

My wife and I are just about as good a fit as two people can be. We were a blind date, and by the end of that date we both had mutually decided that the two of us were going to get married- but, it was, oh, about a week or so before either of us mentioned it to the other. And by then we barely had to, because it was just so obvious that's where we were going. We've been married 16 years now, and I'd say we know each other pretty well indeed - if for no other reason than we've traveled literally tens of thousands of miles, thousands of hours, in a car together. A lot of it through places like the Yukon and the Northwest Territories where there are no radio stations - as such, you'd think just about every possible subject of conversation would have come up by now.

Apparently not.

We grew up widely separated. I was born and raised in the western part of Michigan's lower peninsula, where people eat oatmeal with margarine and brown sugar for breakfast and speak proper American English. My wife was born in New York, but raised in the panhandle of Florida, where people eat grits with butter and salt for breakfast and speak in an incomprehensible dialect centered around variations of the all-purpose contraction "ya'll." Where I grew up, there are two types of regular daily gravy, Brown and Chicken, and two types of holiday gravy, Turkey and Ham. Where my wife grew up, there is only one kind of gravy, White, and you eat it on everything. Where I grew up, about the only fried food was chicken, which came in a cardboard bucket when mom was too tired to cook, and the occasional pan-fried bluegill or perch. In my wife's household, everything was breaded and fried - and covered in white gravy. In the North we didn't barbeque, we "grilled out" in the backyard. In the South, BBQ is a complex art-form utilizing arcane and highly secret methodology involving smoke, pork, liquor, and several pickup trucks full of rednecks. In the South they eat "greens." In the North, we know grass clippings when we see them and we feed that shit to the livestock.

So, food-wise you wouldn't think we have a lot in common.

Not so.

We both purely detest tomatoes. Loath is not nearly a strong enough word. We can't stand 'em, neither one of us. This hatred is the bond that holds us together and gives us strength against a hostile and tomato loving world. It has kept us together for sixteen years and I suspect that we will be buried together at some indeterminate future date far removed from the tomato cultivating regions of the world.

Strangely, I do like ketchup, only the good kind, but my wife won't touch it. And both of us will eat tomato sauce on certain things such as pizza and lasagna, but only if there's not too much of it and it's not too tomatoee - if that's actually a word - and under no circumstance can there be any stinking chunks of tomato in the sauce.

I know that you will find this distaste strange and incomprehensible. My wife and I do realize that it is entirely possible that we are the only two people on the planet who hate tomatoes, and we're good with that. Hell, even my own mother simply can't believe that I find tomatoes revolting, and I'm sure that both of my parents wonder if the hospital screwed up and gave them the wrong baby. See, my folks love tomatoes. Absolutely love the goddamned things. They eat tomatoes all of the time, stewed, canned, sliced, diced, pickled, juiced, on a chair with a bear and in a house with a mouse.

Now my mom is good cook, and she often made things that I loved - but, at least once a week we'd have something with tomatoes in it and I could barely stand the smell, let alone choke down dinner. God forbid there would be stewed tomatoes - which my dad relishes with great gusto. Gah! The smell alone made me want to vomit.

However, the good news is that if the tomatoes were a side dish, like the stewed variety, I was allowed to take a pass.

The bad news, of course, was that if tomatoes were part of the main course, well I was required to eat them. Usually, I could pick around them, or push them to the side, but there was one dish that I feared and hated above all else. One dish that my mother made at least once a month that I dreaded and feared and despised. One dish that I could not avoid or work around. One dish that the mere thought of, thirty years later, makes me shudder. I haven't thought about it in years, you might even call it one of those 'repressed memories' shrinks are so fond of. Childhood trauma, long repressed - and, I thought, unique to me because I've never seen or heard of it in any other household. I would, of course, take as little as possible of it. And I would push it around the plate and spread it out as much possible to make it look like I was actually eating it - all the while contemplating thoughts of running away to join the circus where I would eat nothing but corn dogs and cotton candy. My mother, of course, was not fooled by these diversionary tactics. A child of The Great Depression and of frugal Dutch extraction - she'd make damned sure you cleaned your plate no matter how painfully long it took - and it often took forever. Which led, inevitably, to the stern matronly lecture of starving children in Africa and the fact that I should be grateful that I had anything to eat at all. But try as I might, I could never be grateful for that meal. Ever.

All of which which brings me to this: The other day I was in the kitchen cooking dinner. As usual, my wife was sitting on a stool behind the island, and we were talking about our day. And for some reason, the subject of our mutual tomato hatred came up. And my wife casually mentioned a certain dish her mother used to make, which my wife hated and despised and was traumatized by - and it was none other than my own childhood nemesis!

Have you figured it out yet?

Yes, it's that revolting 1960's, lower middle class, blue-collar staple: American Hamburger Goulash - a horrifying abomination of hamburger, onions, green peppers, elbow macaroni, and stewed tomatoes. I would cheerfully burn Betty Cocker's checkered apron in effigy for perpetuating this putrescent sin against culinary nature. If there is any 'American Comfort Food' more disturbing and less comforting than this repugnant atrocity I don't know what it is, unless it is the 1970's school lunch version commonly called 'schoolash' - a salmonella seasoned mix of grade-B leftover burger patties, macaroni, and tomato soup warmed to the temperature of an hour-dead corpse by a bank of heat lamps and dehydrated to the consistency of old toenails by the hair-netted expertise of sadistic lunch ladies. Often served with 'garlic toast' made from yesterday's hamburger buns and some kind of industrial urinal disinfectant.

I haven't thought about goulash in years and, yeah, it's a small thing. But, sixteen years my wife and I have been married, and I just now discovered that she had almost exactly the same childhood experience as I - and nearly identical comments regarding it. Something new in conversation. Something that tells me she'll always surprise me. And it's just one more thing that tells us how good of a match we are. One more thing that I love about her. One more thing that makes me wonder what else is left to discover about the woman I can't imagine life without.

How cool is that?

So, yeah, after all these years I guess I finally am grateful for the goulash - if only because it gives me yet another reason to love my wife.

Beastly in the House

 

The guy has been onboard Stonekettle Station for less than two days. Already he has his RV offloaded, his lathe assembled (with a little help from yours truly) and he's busy making sawdust.

 

 

We're still stepping around piles of tools and FESTOOL crates, and I expect we will be for a while. Mostly because I've got production work to do this week and it's going to be a while before we can get to building some work benches and storage for Beastly.  Until then, he'll just have to suffer by using up what's left of my green birch supply.

He seems to be taking it well.

Weirdness Fixed - I think

Hmmm, some kind blogger weirdness this morning obviously.

I uploaded the McClellan post from Window Live Writer only once I swear.

I did see a number of errors from blogspot this morning, so I'm chalking the duplicates posts up to that. Also, I'm not sure the comments are actually where they are supposed to be vis a vis the correct post with the correct comment. Seems to be working OK now, maybe the White House didn't like what I had to say. Who knows, I think I've got it fixed.

Loyalty

"Scott, we now know, is disgruntled about his experience at the White House. We are puzzled. It is sad. This is not the Scott we knew," said current White House press secretary Dana Perino, referring of course to her former boss, Scott McClellan.

Au contraire, Ms Perino, Scott McClellan is exactly the brown-nosing, self-serving, power-grubbing little asshole I always thought he was.

As all of you no doubt know, Scott McClellan, former Bush White House press secretary, has followed the well worn path of his ilk and written a book. McClellan's new tell-all memoir, What Happened, was published last week to widespread condemnation - by both stanch Bush White House supporters and basically the other 71% of the American population capable of actually stringing a couple of neurons together. What Happened describes George W. Bush as in a state of "self-deception" and of maintaining a "permanent campaign approach" to the presidency instead of making the best decisions. He didn't out and out say Bush lied about the Iraqi War and the War on Terrorism, but he sure implied it.

Conservatives including the White House, of course, are outraged that McClellan would turn on his former boss in such a manner - calling the memoir "Sour Grapes."

Liberals, of course, are outraged calling it "too little, too late."

Nobody, it seems, likes a traitor.

And McClellan? Scott McClellan is laughing all the way to the bank. His calendar is booked solid, he's been on talks shows, his book is being bashed in every paper across the country, the White House is on his case, people purely hate this guy - and in the tell-all memoir industry you just can't buy publicity like that. It's advertising gold. Amazon is sold out and What Happened is flying off the shelf in the brick and mortar stores.

Really, you've got to admire the shear audacity of this guy. He spent the better part of the last eight years bullshitting the the world as Bush's pet monkey, spinning his little heart out while the White House cranked the handle. While things where going well, he hitched along on Bush, Cheney, and Rumsfeld's coattails, lapping up the spilled milk of power left behind by men in high places. A proper little sycophantic lickspittle, McClellan demonstrated his undying fealty at every press conference, no matter how batshit insane the message. When the powerful cut loose others around him, McClellan gleefully detailed their failings - never dreaming that the ax would fall on his neck too. He kissed ass and polished Bush's apple and deceived himself into believing that he had a right to the White House's gratitude as a result.

But here's the problem with McClellan's strategy - bullies, no matter if they're the schoolyard variety or of the petty dictator stripe, have no loyalty to anything, especially sycophants. They use people, and they'll discard your ass the minute you become useless. Those who elevate their own self-worth by denigrating and demeaning others, will turn without warning on those who laugh and sneer right along with the joke and think they're part of the inner circle. And this administration has raised that ugly character defect to a high art - starting with Colin Powell and working its way right on down to little pissant dancing monkeys like Scott McClellan.

And true to form, as soon as he was cut loose, McClellan looked around for somebody else to suck up to - and settled on those he had ridiculed and demeaned, the press. With false contriteness he's trying to suck up to us, the America public: he was a fool, a dupe, and pawn. He was deceived, dazzled by Bush's brilliance and charisma. But he sees the light now, oh yes he does.

I'm reminded of another White House mouth piece, Robert McNamara, the arrogant architect of failed Vietnam War policy and the man responsible in large part for 50,000 names on a black marble slab in the Washington D.C. mall. McNamara was one of JFK's whiz kids, and would tolerate no criticism of his boss, either Kennedy nor later Johnson. Next to Jane Fonda, he is arguable the most hated person in America for the Vietnam generation. And true to form, years later he wrote a memoir apologizing for his arrogant unquestioning loyalty to Johnson's insanity. It wasn't his fault, he was deceived and dazzled and duped and blah blah blah, ad nauseam.

If there's any justice in the world, McClellan will be judged by history the same way McNamara is.

A rather large number of folks are calling on McClellan to donate the proceeds of his book sales to Iraqi veterans and their families.

Speaking as an Iraqi veteran myself I say, uh no thanks. Take your money, Monkey Boy, fold it so that it's all sharp corners and shove it up your ass.

Everybody Stop What You're Doing...(Nevermind, resume what you where doing)

....and help me find my bluetooth headset.

I cannot find it. And this is making me insane. Absolutely fucking insane.

It's connected to my phone. I've walked in a circle at the perimeter of where it automatically connects and disconnects from my phone. I've computed the center of that circle. I know exactly where it has to be, but I cannot find it.

I've called my cell, with the cell phone itself set to silent, hoping to hear the headset ringing or see the blue light on the back of it blinking. No dice.

I've looked for the damned thing for over an hour now and I may just starting shooting things at random if it doesn't turn up very, very soon.
--------------------------------------
Update:
Found it.

As the battery slowly faded in the headset, its bluetooth signal got weaker and weaker. Which meant the range to disconnect kept getting smaller, which allowed me to triangulate a tighter and tighter posit. My house is three stories, and the signal definitely pointed to the main/middle floor, fading both upstairs and on the lower level.

The fix remained centered roughly around my computer desk in the den, plus or minus about twenty feet or so. But there's a lot in that twenty feet. Eventually as the signal weakened it seemed to indicate the attached garage which is just on the other side of the computer desk. I'd looked in there repeatedly both yesterday and today. But I went back out there again - this time I left all the lights off and kept hitting the 'voice command' button on the phone, which should cause the headset light to blink. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Then I remembered that I'd put some winter clothes in the seasonal clothes locker yesterday morning. Hmmm, I opened that and didn't see anything at first, but I kept pushing the 'voice command' button and eventually noticed a faint blue glow from the top shelf - where I'd stuffed a bunch of winter hats and gloves yesterday. Sure enough, there it was, under all that stuff.

Not exactly sure how it got off my ear and under a pile of hats, but I'm just grateful to find it.

So, anyway, crisis is averted. Thanks for the advice, sarcasm, humor, and help.

Beastly Update

Well, Beastly just called from Tok, so he's in Central Alaska.

That's about 300 miles from here. The road between here and there is some of the most spectacular on the Alcan, and some of the most treacherous. I expect it'll take him at least five hours.

Updates to follow.

It's always something

I may not get around to posting anything interesting this morning, I've got a bunch of crap going on.

First, somehow I thought it was Thursday, so I'm a day behind. Argh! I hate that. I stopped wearing a watch after I retired, and sometimes that bites me right on the ass. Like today, when I thought I'd have time to take care of a number of little jobs, so I could start production work tomorrow. And I will be starting production work tomorrow, on the weekend dammit. Because I have deadlines and it has to be done.

Second, the sump pump for the integrated humidifier in the basement furnace room is kicking on and off for some strange reason. I've got to go troubleshoot that and figure out what the problem is. It shouldn't be running at all, it's spring in Alaska, trust me, it's plenty humid enough in the house without the humidifier. Something has gone pear shaped down there, and I need to fix it before it becomes a major issue.

And third, I have to pull the oil pan on the mustang. When I replaced the valve cover gaskets two weeks ago, I also replaced the PCV filter. This upped the pressure in the engine crankcase back to proper specification. That's the good news. The bad news is that the increased pressure has caused the saddle gaskets between the rear mainseal and the oil pan to start leaking. Seriously leaking. I hate oil leaks, or leaks of any kind in a car engine. And in this case the leak is significant enough that the car is dripping about a quart of oil a week. Not only does that make a mess on the garage floor, it's costing me money - oil, $140 per barrel = $5qt Syntec, and etc. So I've got to pull the oil pan. Now in order to pull the oil pan I have to do the following, pull the air cleaner box in order to access certain bolts, remove the starter, remove the exhaust system crossover H-frame, unbolt the engine mounts and loosen the transmission mount, jack the engine up two inches, and swear in the proper sequence of profanity in order to appease the automotive gods. Replacing the actual gasket is the work of about fifteen minutes - but to get to the dammed thing is a two day job. I swear there is a special place in hell for automobile designers and engineers.

So, I'm busy today. And not happy about it. I hate working on cars, but it has to be done. And so I'm off to the shop. More later, maybe.

That kind of Day

Feels like a Rolling Stones day, doesn't it?

Yeah, definitely I need me some Stones today.

And speaking of rolling stones, Beastly should be somewhere north of Dawson Creek, British Columbia today. Heading north on the Alcan into the vastness of the Canadian northwest, his RV loaded with woodworking tools and $6CD per gallon gas. I'm anticipating his arrival here at Stonekettle Station sometime this coming weekend. Woohoo! I've got about 500sqft of the shop cleared, power boxes wired and new ports on the dust collector mainline for his equipment and use. It'll be great to have him as a guest for the summer.

Now, speaking of the shop - I've got to head in that direction momentarily. But before I go, a question:

Years from now, when you've passed on in a mysterious manner, your body never found, despite the largest air, sea, and land search in history (though years later a fuzzy picture of you in the market of Marrakesh surfaces, maybe you didn't die after all...) after a long and very, very successful life - Hollywood decides to make a movie of your incredible adventures. The flick opens with you behind the wheel of an amazingly restored '72 Chevy Impala convertible, black cherry red paintjob and custom chrome exterior, red and white leather interior. You're blazing down a remote highway somewhere (maybe it's the Pacific Coast Highway, or maybe it's Route 66, or even a dusty unknown track in the no man's land of the North African Toreq. who knows? Watch the movie and find out), top down, and radio blaring. You're alone, but the audience knows you won't be for long. Soon, very soon there will be explosions, beautiful women, rugged men, gun play, and maybe pirates.

Here's the thing, the song on the radio is the opening theme of the movie. What's the song?

Note: all you lurkers feel free to join in. Delurk, do it. Today's the day.

Me? Oh, it would probably be this:

Yeah, I know you were expecting something from Dire Straits - try to pay attention, I told you it felt like a Stones day, didn't I?

Job Review and Notice of Unsatisfactory Performance

Statement of Written Counseling, Federal Employee, General Incident for the Record

(Note: May be used in employment termination proceedings).

Dear Federal Employee:

George W. Bush, President, United States of America,

As a citizen of the United States, henceforth to be referred to as Your Employer, it has come to my attention that your job performance is unsatisfactory in a number of areas. You have received numerous verbal counseling statements from management, henceforth to be referred to as My Elected Representatives. Since this verbal counseling appears to have been ineffective in correcting the situation, I am forced to take a direct hand in the matter.

After careful review of your employment record, I have come to the conclusion that the distressingly large number of well documented and numerous failings in your recent job performance stem from a single common misperception on your part. The purpose of this written counseling statement is to correct that misperception. Failure to adhere to the directions contained in this review may result in disciplinary action or even early termination of your employment.

I understand that this may be an uncomfortable situation for you, but as your employer I must place the needs of the corporation, henceforth referred to as The United States of America or The Country, ahead of your personal feelings. As such, I feel that it is best to state things bluntly:

You are not a king.

You are also not: a dictator, an emperor, Caesar, the Tsar, El Supremo, Leona Hemsley, or other such autocratic ruler.

I know this will come as something of a shock to you, and I'm sorry to be the one to have to point it out.

As your employer, I am sensitive to your special needs. I want you to know that I can understand how you might have arrived at this misconception given your tragic personal background of wealth and privilege and your abused childhood as a pampered and protected son of power. I understand and sympathize with the fact that you were brutalized in an elite educational system which instilled in you a sense of superiority and divine destiny, without requiring actual work, emphasis on results, or critical thinking. And lastly I can also understand how your current position in our organization surrounded as it is by ass-kissing toadies, fools and jesters, fops, pseudo patriotic nationalists, yes-men, creationists, tea-leaf readers, fortune tellers, the haunting Ghost of Ronald Reagan, and other such courtly accoutrements - henceforth to be referred to as the Republican Party and Neo-Conservatives et al - might reinforce this misperception. However, The Country has done everything in its power to make allowances for the above noted handicaps in full compliance with the Americans With Disabilities Act. And while we are sensitive to the special needs of each of our employees, and try to make reasonable accommodations in accordance with the law, your continuing arrogant and autocratic attitude has created a hostile work environment for your fellow employees. I have received numerous complains, from both within and from outside our organization, and have myself personally witnessed a number of incidents that gravely concern me.

Each of us have our crosses to bear, but you must overcome your difficult upbringing and accept personal responsibility for your situation. Failure to do so will result in disciplinary action, and may result in legal action following termination of your contract.

----------------------

You may feel that this statement of counseling is unfair. You will be given a chance to make a statement at the end of this document if you so desire. However, before you do so please take the following into account:

1) You were hired for your current position over other qualified applicants, based on your previous employment record in the Texas Division of our organization. You were required to complete a background check, urinalysis, and oath of office prior to employment. If examination of those criteria uncovers incorrect or undisclosed disqualifying information, The Country at its discretion may chose to pursue legal action against you. Your statement, should you choose to make one, may be used against you in such a case.

2) All employees are required to be fully cognizant of the rules and guidelines contained in our employee handbook, henceforth referred to as The Constitution. These rules and guidelines are in place for a good reason and directly provide for a safe, effective, and protected working environment for all employees within our organization. These guidelines have provided for the growth and prosperity of The Country for over two centuries, and your repeated disregard for the rules has demonstratively damaged the reputation and standing of our organization. Willful failure to comply with these guidelines is grounds for dismissal as clearly stated in the guidelines themselves. The organizational rules contained within The Constitution clearly outline the responsibilities of your current position and your obligations to the organization. It is clear that you are not as familiar with our organizational guidelines as you should be. For example your Veto threat for the recent GI Bill overwhelmingly approved by our Board of Directors shows that you do not understand your position within our organization.

3) Your employee record shows a repeated disrespect for your fellow employees and the well being of The Country. As noted, we are willing to make allowances for the differently-abled and the mentally challenged, however your record clearly shows that you regard your personal handicaps as a divine right to do as you please without regard for our organizational rules or the needs of your fellow employees. This is an unacceptable attitude and you have been repeatedly counseled regarding this situation.

------------------------

You are required to correct the issues noted above. Failure to do so will result in scorn, sarcasm, public ridicule, and the pointing out of your many inadequacies as a both a man and as a carbon based life-form.

You may avoid the awkward situation described in the previous paragraph, at least in some regards, in one of two ways.

1) Change your attitude and take immediate responsibility for your actions and the failings of your Division. Comply fully with the rules specified in The Constitution and demonstrate detailed knowledge of such. Show respect for the needs and concerns of your fellow employees and the goals of our organization as specified by Management. Quietly complete your contract without fucking up anything else.

-or-

2) Take immediate advantage of our organization's early retirement option and generous severance package (Note: this offer requires that Federal Employee Richard "Dick" Cheney retires at the same time. This is a package deal, non refundable, non returnable. Green stamps and parking validation not included.)

Counselor: Jim Wright, Stonekettle Station, Citizen and Shareholder

Counselee: George W. Bush, President, (make your mark here):___

(Counselee Statement may be attached to back if desired, use number #2 [black] standard issue government crayon. Help with big words is available upon request to the Human Resources Division):

Copies to:

(1) Employee's Permanent Record

(2-420,000,000) Concerned Citizens

(420,000,001) Federal Employee's Local, Shop Steward, White House

Memorial Day Weekend

I usually avoid military related events on memorial day weekend.

I tend to stay away from the parades and the flag waving crowds and solemn services and the cemeteries. If you want to call me unpatriotic, well, go right ahead. I don't care. It's a rare day indeed where I don't remember my own military service, and that of my comrades in arms - so when it comes to Veteran's Day and Memorial Day and the 4th of July - well, I usually use those days to go off and have fun with my family. And yesterday was no different.

We love the out of doors, which is of course one of the reasons we live in Alaska, and we love to camp - but we hate crowds and idiots. So we usually avoid camping on Memorial Day and 4th of July weekend when the campsites are full of drunken rednecks hopped up on patriotism and boxed wine. Instead we tend to go off down less traveled roads, and that's exactly what we did yesterday.

We loaded up our day packs and headed up to Hatcher's Pass. There's still at lot of snow above 2000 feet and we weren't sure what the trails would look like. We wanted to try and reach the end of the old Archangel Mine road, but that's well above 4500 feet and at the base of a glacier. If you have the equipment and the nerve, you can cross the glacier, about a mile over unmarked rugged ice, and reach the far side where you'll find the wreckage of an B-26 that crashed during WWII. We figured that was a little much for one day, but we were hoping to reach the old Independence Mine dam at the base of the glacier and do some poking around the Talkeetna and Fern Mine sites which are near the end of the trail. There are a couple of difficult Geocaches in the area and we thought we'd try our luck.

Like I said, we weren't sure what the conditions on Archangel road where, so I loaded backup GPS grids for Gold Mint trail, which is much lower down in the valley and closer to the Little Susitna River and therefore should have been clear, if a little muddy, this time of year.

However, when we arrived at the Archangel trailhead the path looked clear and dry. There were a few cars in the lot and a middle-aged couple saddling up horses, but other than that the place was mostly deserted. Just the way we like it. The weather was pretty good, a little cloudy and a little cool, perfect for hiking - so we locked up the truck and headed out.

Now, at this point I should mention a minor issue - see, as usual I was wearing very good waterproof hiking boots and good wool socks. My wife was wearing very good waterproof hiking shoes and good synthetic hiking socks. The dog was wearing what she usually wears, which is to say she is naturally equipped for the environment. My son, however, had somehow managed to forget his hiking boots, and was wearing a pair of ratty old sneakers. Why didn't he put the hiking boots on before leaving home? Why wear the sneakers at all? What, Jim, is the point of putting on sneakers, then changing into hiking boots at the trailhead, then changing back into the damned sneakers after the hike - especially since the trailhead is only a twenty minute drive from home? Why, Jim, why? I hear you ask. Well, see, you have to understand the logic of the eleven year old mind: e.g. the boots are not cool. The ratty, dirty black sneakers, those are cool. Somebody might see him (in the truck on the way to the trailhead), what if he didn't have the cool shoes on? So, somehow despite being reminded at least three times by both his mother and myself to bring his hiking shoes (I know, Dad! You don't have to keep reminding me!), he managed to forget them.

So, we were faced with a 40 minute round trip to get the shoes.

Well, crap. He did have two pair of socks on and we all carry first aid kits and moleskin in our packs in case of blisters. And the trail looked reasonably dry - the wife and I looked at each other and said, "Just this once." We'd have to write off any thought of crossing the glacier or climbing up to one of the geocaches, which is located in a cave about 500 feet above the valley floor. But we figured as long as we stuck to the trail, he'd be OK without the hiking boots.

You see where this is going, right?

For the first mile or so, the trail was reasonable dry. We had to cross a few streams swollen from the spring melt, but it wasn't too bad and there were plenty of stepping stones so the kid could make it across without getting his feet wet. The horse people from the parking lot passed us at the first mile marker, two saddle horses leading a pack horse. The pack horse was equipped with a custom carrier bag, from which glared a small pug dog who watched us with beady eyes as they went past. He looked exactly like the alien disguised as a dog from Men in Black, riding on a horse. Damnedest thing you ever saw.

During the second mile we began to see patches of snow and ice. And by the time we reached the beaver ponds at Reed Valley the trail was getting muddy and the snow patches were getting bigger and starting to run together.

We crossed the bridge at Gold Bullion Stream and headed into mile three. We passed the horse people coming back the other way. I asked them about the trail, and they said it was okay, but they'd only gone a little further up. So they didn't know the conditions beyond another half mile or so. Well, only one way to find out, and we kept going - dodging piles of fresh horse manure as we went. There is an old miner's cabin at about the three and half mile point and we bushwacked off the road a quarter mile through scrub and muskeg to reach it, during which I managed to step in a hole and dump freezing ice water down the inside of my boot. We stopped at the cabin and had our lunch - trail mix for the people, dried kibble for the dog.

The trail started to climb after that, and the snow cover became continuous:

We should have turned back there, but we were within spitting distance of the dam and the mines and the going didn't seem too bad. I asked my son repeatedly, "How are your feet?" "It's OK, Dad, sheesh, stop asking already, will you?"

Right.

I should have known better. I did know better, but we kept going anyway.

The snow kept getting deeper and wetter. And finally at the four mile mark we realized we just weren't going to make it any further without snow shoes or cross country skies. Going uphill in the snow was beginning to affect me, badly, my knees and hips were stiffening up and it was getting on in the day. Dark clouds where gathering behind us near the peak of Skyscraper Mountain.

Yeah, time to go.

At which point, my son suddenly decided that his feet were indeed wet and cold. Very wet and cold, as a matter of fact. Numb, even. And as usual for an eleven year old, he didn't bother to mention it until it was a crisis.

Argh! My fault. We should have turned back at the three mile mark. I should have checked his feet instead of taking him at his word. Fuck, I should have made sure his boots were in the truck in the first place, then we wouldn't be in this situation.

Too late now. We had a mile downhill through the snow and slush before we'd reach dry ground. Nothing for it but to hurry. About halfway down, we found a patch of dry earth surrounding a nice warm rock. We got his shoes and socks off and wrung out the soaking wet socks as best we could. Then my wife swapped shoes with him. Not the best idea, because now we have two people in the party with wet feet, but hey, what you gonna do right? The kid comes first, and my boots sure as hell wouldn't fit him.

There's a camp site for backpackers near the bridge, I figured we'd reach that and I'd build a fire. Everybody could warm up and we'd dry the socks and shoes out. But, by the time we got there, the kid's feet had warmed up sufficiently in his mom's boots though they were still wet. My wife's feet were wet from being in the kid's sneakers but she said she was warm enough - so we pushed onto to dry ground and kept going. In fact at this point, the only member of the party dragging behind was the dog, who I think was sick of tramping through the mud and snow.

Another hour and we were back at the truck, exactly eight miles from from start to finish.

My son learned a valuable lesson - at least I hope he did. We were never in any real danger, I could have always stopped and built a fire. We each carry emergency blankets, first aid kits, jackets, rain gear and emergency radios. Each of our packs is equipped with map, compass, fire starters, plenty of water, and a power bar or two. I carry climbing line in my pack, and various other survival tools. I could have built a camp, taken a GPS fix, and then gone to get a ranger and an ATV if necessary. We could have easily spent the night in the mountains without hardship, even if the weather turned bad. But still, there's always that moment when you've done something stupid as a parent...

Anyway, it turned out to be a good day, a great day in fact. Though this morning I'm so damned stiff I can hardly move. I took a couple of Aleve and it ought to get better soon.

Also this weekend, we saw the new Indiana Jones movie - I won't spoil it for you, but I will say that I liked it. A lot. Screw the critics, it's a blast. Not as good as the original, but a damned sight better than Temple of Doom (but, you know, what isn't? Anything without Kate Capshaw is an improvement, if you ask me).

Anyway, that was my Memorial Day Weekend - sorry for going off-line for three days, but hey, that's just the way the cookie crumbled this weekend. So, what did you do with your time? Learn any valuable lessons?

Alaskan Birch Bowls

In between production jobs, I managed to work in a little turning this month.

Alaskan Birch Bowl #61

Status: Sold.

Description: This is a green turned Alaskan Birch heartwood bowl. The wood was harvested in the Matanuska Valley, South Central Alaska. The piece contains extensive heartwood veining in rich golden yellow. After turning, the piece was dried for several months, then sculpted and filigreed to emphasize the grain pattern. Finished in Danish Oil and yellowed antique marine spar varnish.

Full high resolution gallery is here.

Dimensions: 10" x 5"

Price: $150

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Alaskan Birch Bowl #62

Status: Available.

Description: This is a hollow-form, turned from spalted Alaskan Birch burl. The wood was harvested in the Matanuska Valley region of South Central Alaska and dried for two years prior to turning. The wood is dense and heavy with the complex irregular grain common to burled wood. This piece contains many beautiful natural features, such as opalescent ray patterns and eagle wing spalt lines. Finished in Tung Oil and a tough, clear polyacrylic and hard wax.

Full high resolution gallery is here.

Dimensions: 9" x 5"

Price: $150

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Alaskan Birch Bowl #63

Status: Sold. This piece went to Stonekettle Station regular, Jeri.

Description: This is a natural edge bowl, turned from Alaskan Birch burl. The wood was harvested in Matanuska Valley region of South Central Alaska, near the Big Lake area, and allowed to dry outside for two years prior to turning, which resulted in a dense and tight grain. This piece contains a number of fantastic natural features such as extensive small birdseyes, rich golden ray patterns, and spalting along one side. It was turned in an inverted manner, i.e. the rounded outer part of the burr became the top of the bowl, vice the bottom which is the more common way of turning burl. I turned it inverted in order to emphasize the natural features of the burl and to give the piece an organic, sculpted rim. Finished in Danish Oil with a touch of medium walnut added, and antique boiled marine spar varnish.

Full high resolution gallery is here.

Dimensions: 8" x 6"

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Alaskan Birch Bowl #64

Status: Available.

Description: This is a embedded-rim bowl, turned from Alaskan Birch sapwood burl. This is a rather unusual style, the piece was turned from a small oval shaped burl. I left a ledge around bowl in the shape of the original burr, giving the bowl an appearance of being embedded in a concave shield-like ledge. I did this in order to leave as much of the original wood as possible, working within the natural confines of the burr shape. The ledge itself contains beautiful opalescence rays normally found only in clear birch sapwood. I left a natural edge of inner-bark around the rim of the ledge which emphasizes the lighter wood of the ledge. The wood of the bowl itself contains swirling grain patterns that reminds me of rain falling from thunder clouds on a stormy day.

Full high resolution gallery is here.

Dimensions: 9" (across the long dimension) x 4"

Price: $50

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Alaskan Birch Bowl #65

Status: Available.

Description: This piece is turned from dried Alaska Birch heartwood. The wood is naturally much darker than usual for Alaskan birch because the wood grew in a dark, iron-rich peat swamp. The sides of the bowl contain checking (cracks across the grain), the checks have been sealed and I consider them a feature rather than a defect. The rim of the bowl was highlighted by friction charring at high speed on the lathe using a leather saddle cinch strap. Finished in Danish Oils and spar varnish.

To be perfectly honest, there is nothing particularly spectacular or unusual about this bowl. It's a small piece probably best suited as a candy dish or something similar.

Full high resolution gallery is here.

Dimensions: 6" x 3"

Price: $35

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Alaskan Birch Bowl #66

Status: Available.

Description: This piece was turned from Alaskan Birch burl. The wood was harvested in the Matanuska Valley region of South Central Alaska, and allowed to dry outside for about a year, the wood was still slightly wet at the time it was turned. This piece contains swirling grain patterns and yellow-gold rippled areas and some minor spalting. There is a curved bark line along the lower part of one side. I added some speckles of metal fleck to the bark line, giving it the appearance of a gold ore seam in stone. Finished in Danish Oil and antique boiled marine spar varnish.

Full high resolution gallery is here.

Dimensions: 8" x 6"

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And last, purely to show off, this is a piece I've posted before:

Ironwood Bowl #60

Status: Reserved.

Description: this is a piece of hophornbeam, more commonly known as ironwood, burl. The wood came from South Carolina, courtesy of my cousin Dona. A pictorial of it's creation can be found here. I finally managed to find the time to upload detailed images to Flickr, which can be found here.

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Well, that's it for today.

As always, if you're interested in a piece, so note in the comments, followed up with an email to jlwright@gci.net, put the words "Birch Bowl" in the subject line. Shipping and handling for all pieces: $20USD, except for #65 - that one is $10USD. First come, first served. No pushing, whining, or throwing of panties onto the stages.

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I've got a number of jobs waiting in the shop, including a boat transom I need to complete today (the boat's owner is being very patient, but the King's are starting to run on the Kenai, and a stray or two has been spotted in the Little Su - so I need to finish this job and get that boat in the water). So, if you'll excuse me, I need to get to work.

Enjoy your long weekend.

Errands

Gone to anchorage to drop off some work.

Stop it, stop that whining and wailing right now. You'll be OK until I get back. You will.

In the mean time, have a laugh at the stupidity of others. Go on, do it. It'll make you feel better.

Coffee (updated with pictures)

Just came back from Wasilla, where I met UCFer Jeri for coffee.


She's a charming and funny person and we had a very nice conversation. Oh, and she purchased one of my bowls, so woohoo and so on and so forth.

We took a picture with her camera (since I'd forgotten to bring mine along). When she emails it to me I'll post it here, because I know how you people are with the whole proof thing and all.

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Here we are. I think we did reasonably well, considering that we were staring directly into the sun and the person taking the picture kept saying "don't squint, don't squint."

Note: Tall women, tall, read my blog. Just saying. Either that or I'm losing bone mass in my dotterage.


Here's the bowl Jeri bought:

That's an Alaskan Birch burl. It is an extremely cool piece, with birdseyes (those swirling features on the lower right side), spalting (the black lines), and fire-like yellow rays up the inside. It's a natural edge turning, leaving some barkwood along the irregular, scalloped rim.

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I will post several pieces that I have for sale tomorrow, some are nearly as cool as this one. Nearly.

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So, how's your day going?