Ok, this is time for folks to chime in and offer some thoughts...
I popped into the gun store the other day, and I am contemplating a trade/purchase.
Having given it a shot, it just plain FEELS WRONG to shoot offhand long gun (and I can't hit the broad side of the barn). Given that w/o a collarbone present on the strong side, lighting off anything much more vigorous than a .22 has all kinds of potential for unwanted festivity, the .45-70 Marlin and the 12ga pump seem more like dust collectors (pretty ones, in the case of the Marlin lever).
My current uber-discreet carry is the rather anemic Keltec P32. Dandy little pistol, accurate within its designed range, dependable. Won't say a word against it. .32acp, however, is just a bit anemic for my tastes given a choice.
However, for carry in situations where discretion is somewhat less critical or the local dress code somewhat more carry-friendly I'd like to upgrade from my Firestar 9mm. I'll admit right out I'm a partisan of the .45 family...
That said, as I meandered into the shop it was doing a booming business (always a good sign) with a staff of 6, a dedicated buyer, and knowledgeable and personable folks on that staff - all talking to customers ranging from grizzled oldsters to mid-twenties couples of variegated hues and orientations. My kinda place...for perfection all it needed was another couple of hundred square feet, a pot-belly stove with coffee brewing on it, and a chessboard.
I found myself with a series of choices in a compact .45 (and feel free to chime in with more). The compact Glock 30 .45, the Firestorm sub-compact .45, the Taurus PT 145, and finally the Springfield XD .45. All are new, all range between $530 and $589, and offer between 7-10 rounds in a magazine.
I figure I toss my 9mm Firestar into the deal (I've always viewed the 9mm as having the ballistics of a glorified .38 special) with the two long arms, and I come out ahead a fair chunk of closet space and down under $50, cash-wise. Might even make some money back. And I come out with a practical carry gun that doesn't have "better than nothing" as one of its virtues.
So. What do you think? I've always enjoyed firing the Glocks, haven't spent any range time with a Springfield of any flavor, about the same with the Taurus, and aside from the caliber, my only issues with my current Firestar 9mm is the caliber and the weight when compared with a Glock.
I'm still pondering, but hope to decide within a month or so....
Monday, December 31, 2007
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Global Warming, Portents, Journalism
Award-winning journalist and writer David Lindorff, pundit these last 34 years at the New York Times and then the Baltimore Chronicle (between books) on Christmas Eve submits an intriguing little editorial "Global Warming Will Save America from the Right...Eventually" wherein he waxes enthusiastic about the "drowning of the Red states" in the current liberal fantasy of global warming.
Read it, and get a good idea of what the left thinks of us...and what sort of fair journalistic coverage we can expect to get.
If it wouldn't harm so many so much, I might wish for Lindorff to get his mass migration - sans the malicious disenfranchisement.
Read it, and get a good idea of what the left thinks of us...and what sort of fair journalistic coverage we can expect to get.
If it wouldn't harm so many so much, I might wish for Lindorff to get his mass migration - sans the malicious disenfranchisement.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Changes & Needs
Merry Christmas.
On this holiday, I urge each of you to cherish your loved ones and the precious moments you share with each other. And listen to your heart - it'll tell you some damned silly things, but we're rather silly creatures, for what that's worth.
This was my first Christmas without my father. I didn't understand at the time why, but while writing the obituary, managing the legal/fiscal immediacies, doing the funeral arrangements, arranging a funeral reception with reasonable grace and dignity - the one thing that was important enough to me to shift me from sweetness/light/cooperation to "dig in the heels, obstinate, emotionally messy" was a desire to at least celebrate some portion of the holiday at the familiar family manse.
My younger brother and his wife had proposed to do the whole thing at their house, and I concurred in the dinner being there (reluctantly, as I am awful traditionalist - some things, in my view, should only be changed at gunpoint), but for reasons I didn't understand I dug in my heels at the "haul everything over there" part.
Ritual. For some more than others, it's something we cling to - patterns of behaviour that allow us to pretend that life makes sense, that all is right with the world - or that, at least, rightness is at least within the realm of the achievable. It can allow us to lie to ourselves convincingly about the degree to which we actually control our world. See "silly" above.
Despite our best efforts at responsible decisions, pragmatic planning, and prudence thousands of variables (variables to which our happiness or lack thereof are completely irrelevant) every day affect our fate - from the minutiae of arterial function, to human interaction, to grand piano's falling from great heights.
The routines and rituals of daily living allow an awful lot of us to either accept that, or drive the reality of that into "plausible deniability". Birthdays, holidays, Christmas.
See again, "we are a very silly species".
I understood why I'd dug in my heels so firmly on Christmas morning as my nieces, Mom, and younger brother and his wife opened packages - and while I opened a few, I was mainly relaxing for the first time in over a week, and possibly over six months.
I miss Dad, and if I could have him back in good health (something he'd not enjoyed in 20 some years), I'd be willing to take the bullet myself. But that's not going to, and can't, happen. But while I'd held myself together for the sake of the family, I realized the one thing *I* needed was a reassurance that life and family would go on in the face of our loss.
I'd bounced out at 8:30 am, done a whirlwind cleaning, made shortbread cookies, laid out an appetizer spread, prepared beverages, and done a last minute check to see that all was "in place".
And as my nieces squealed and giggled, and my brother and his wife warmed as they saw Mom enjoying herself - I leaned back, sipped my coffee, and breathed. And this evening, looking back, I understand (I think).
Tired, but satisfied. Mom thanked me about as effusively as a Midwestern Depression kid can for assembling Christmas when she couldn't - right down to stocking stuffers, fresh cookies, and presents under the tree. Turns out she needed that, too, and for pretty much the same reasons.
Ritual. Pretty damned silly, but pretty damned important - like a lot of emotion-based stuff.
I'm taking from this a fairly simple lesson - when folks are grieving, don't screw with their routines and rituals even if you have good intentions, unless it's absolutely necessary - and if you must change stuff up while folks are grieving for whatever reason, provide the closest simulcra to the abused ritual that you can - it may just be the ritual someone is clinging to for sanity in the face of tragedy. It's not nice to mess with it.
On this holiday, I urge each of you to cherish your loved ones and the precious moments you share with each other. And listen to your heart - it'll tell you some damned silly things, but we're rather silly creatures, for what that's worth.
This was my first Christmas without my father. I didn't understand at the time why, but while writing the obituary, managing the legal/fiscal immediacies, doing the funeral arrangements, arranging a funeral reception with reasonable grace and dignity - the one thing that was important enough to me to shift me from sweetness/light/cooperation to "dig in the heels, obstinate, emotionally messy" was a desire to at least celebrate some portion of the holiday at the familiar family manse.
My younger brother and his wife had proposed to do the whole thing at their house, and I concurred in the dinner being there (reluctantly, as I am awful traditionalist - some things, in my view, should only be changed at gunpoint), but for reasons I didn't understand I dug in my heels at the "haul everything over there" part.
Ritual. For some more than others, it's something we cling to - patterns of behaviour that allow us to pretend that life makes sense, that all is right with the world - or that, at least, rightness is at least within the realm of the achievable. It can allow us to lie to ourselves convincingly about the degree to which we actually control our world. See "silly" above.
Despite our best efforts at responsible decisions, pragmatic planning, and prudence thousands of variables (variables to which our happiness or lack thereof are completely irrelevant) every day affect our fate - from the minutiae of arterial function, to human interaction, to grand piano's falling from great heights.
The routines and rituals of daily living allow an awful lot of us to either accept that, or drive the reality of that into "plausible deniability". Birthdays, holidays, Christmas.
See again, "we are a very silly species".
I understood why I'd dug in my heels so firmly on Christmas morning as my nieces, Mom, and younger brother and his wife opened packages - and while I opened a few, I was mainly relaxing for the first time in over a week, and possibly over six months.
I miss Dad, and if I could have him back in good health (something he'd not enjoyed in 20 some years), I'd be willing to take the bullet myself. But that's not going to, and can't, happen. But while I'd held myself together for the sake of the family, I realized the one thing *I* needed was a reassurance that life and family would go on in the face of our loss.
I'd bounced out at 8:30 am, done a whirlwind cleaning, made shortbread cookies, laid out an appetizer spread, prepared beverages, and done a last minute check to see that all was "in place".
And as my nieces squealed and giggled, and my brother and his wife warmed as they saw Mom enjoying herself - I leaned back, sipped my coffee, and breathed. And this evening, looking back, I understand (I think).
Tired, but satisfied. Mom thanked me about as effusively as a Midwestern Depression kid can for assembling Christmas when she couldn't - right down to stocking stuffers, fresh cookies, and presents under the tree. Turns out she needed that, too, and for pretty much the same reasons.
Ritual. Pretty damned silly, but pretty damned important - like a lot of emotion-based stuff.
I'm taking from this a fairly simple lesson - when folks are grieving, don't screw with their routines and rituals even if you have good intentions, unless it's absolutely necessary - and if you must change stuff up while folks are grieving for whatever reason, provide the closest simulcra to the abused ritual that you can - it may just be the ritual someone is clinging to for sanity in the face of tragedy. It's not nice to mess with it.
Passages...
My father has passed.
Over time he was son, brother, friend, soldier, singer, pianist, craftsman, organist, patron of the arts, philanthropist, husband – and to me, always my father.
The time we shared improved with age, and we made our peace as adults, and my own illness brought us, if anything, closer. We learned to laugh at each others eccentric humor, and largely tolerate each others eccentricities.
I took him to the old Prayer'n'Doctorin' hospital, now the Eastern Campus of Great Big Hospital Complex, in June for what we all anticipated was a brief hospitalization for a resurgence of cellulitis. It didn’t quite work out that way.
Six months later we are here and Dad has passed, having said a long and difficult goodbye, with a final rally we all hoped was the first signs of recovery. He was speaking again, with difficulty, but that was a relief to him frustrated conversationalist that he was.
For those unfamiliar, an ischemic bowel occurs when a greater or lesser portion of the gut dies off. In this case, this was complicated by multiple medications (Coumadin, among others) leading to severe internal bleeding and a prognosis best scored in negative numbers.
Sunday, Mom was conversing with Dad. Monday night, we got the call Dad was being shipped to Southern Major Medical Place. Screaming in from various directions, we found Dad medically crashing in slow motion. Tuesday we sat with him as he joined his final battle, until he passed at at approximately 7:30 in the evening.
After six long months of struggle, I can only believe that he is in a better place, chatting with his friends and family who have preceded him, sharing coffee and fellowship as he awaits each of us to join him in our own time.
Over time he was son, brother, friend, soldier, singer, pianist, craftsman, organist, patron of the arts, philanthropist, husband – and to me, always my father.
The time we shared improved with age, and we made our peace as adults, and my own illness brought us, if anything, closer. We learned to laugh at each others eccentric humor, and largely tolerate each others eccentricities.
I took him to the old Prayer'n'Doctorin' hospital, now the Eastern Campus of Great Big Hospital Complex, in June for what we all anticipated was a brief hospitalization for a resurgence of cellulitis. It didn’t quite work out that way.
Six months later we are here and Dad has passed, having said a long and difficult goodbye, with a final rally we all hoped was the first signs of recovery. He was speaking again, with difficulty, but that was a relief to him frustrated conversationalist that he was.
For those unfamiliar, an ischemic bowel occurs when a greater or lesser portion of the gut dies off. In this case, this was complicated by multiple medications (Coumadin, among others) leading to severe internal bleeding and a prognosis best scored in negative numbers.
Sunday, Mom was conversing with Dad. Monday night, we got the call Dad was being shipped to Southern Major Medical Place. Screaming in from various directions, we found Dad medically crashing in slow motion. Tuesday we sat with him as he joined his final battle, until he passed at at approximately 7:30 in the evening.
After six long months of struggle, I can only believe that he is in a better place, chatting with his friends and family who have preceded him, sharing coffee and fellowship as he awaits each of us to join him in our own time.
Friday, November 2, 2007
Mwhahahahaha
LawDog took the high road and CrankyProf managed the direct approach. Marko was remarkably restrained, yet left no doubts regarding his view on the recent verdict.
I somehow doubt they are alone in their views.
Before, however, I collapse in a puddle of dark mirth I am reminded there are whole legions of folks who are ignorant of why Phelps' misfortune is the cause of such glee for so very many, many, many people across such a broad and diverse range of celebrants. Even though this case may eat up years in appeals by Phelps clan of attorneys and disbarred attorneys, this is the first real sign many have seen that the Phelps clan may suffer consequences for their general vileness.
Phelps worked hard for his notoriety, and his litigious history (as well as that of his flock) is well-documented in the biography he attempted to suppress via litigation, "Addicted to Hate".
I first became aware of Phelps when someone mentioned his website, learned more of him when he began picketing the funerals of AIDS victims, was horrified by his picketing of Matthew Shepherd's funeral, and ran across his flock in one of my rare foray's into the streets as a protester when his little clan of bigots came to picket a number of locations in my home town. When he began picketing military funerals, I was saddened, but unsurprised - it's about par for the course with Phelps and his so-called "Westboro Baptist Church".
All that said, while I'm sure beyond a shadow of a doubt there are greater villains than Phelps lurking beneath rocks and submerged in various cesspools, there are few better publicized than Phelps and the fellow denizens of the cesspit of the "Westboro Baptist Church" - so while I can't, in intellectual honesty, claim it couldn't have happened to a more deserving person or group thereof...I can say that he and his are certainly in the final qualifying rounds for deserving multiple multi-million dollar judgements against them.
I fondly hope that in the light of this decision that every single establishment, organization, or family that had the funeral of a loved one picketed sues the bejabbers out of Westboro crowd, both singly and as an organization.
A particularly scrofulous pox upon them.
Mwhwhahahahahaha
I somehow doubt they are alone in their views.
Before, however, I collapse in a puddle of dark mirth I am reminded there are whole legions of folks who are ignorant of why Phelps' misfortune is the cause of such glee for so very many, many, many people across such a broad and diverse range of celebrants. Even though this case may eat up years in appeals by Phelps clan of attorneys and disbarred attorneys, this is the first real sign many have seen that the Phelps clan may suffer consequences for their general vileness.
Phelps worked hard for his notoriety, and his litigious history (as well as that of his flock) is well-documented in the biography he attempted to suppress via litigation, "Addicted to Hate".
I first became aware of Phelps when someone mentioned his website, learned more of him when he began picketing the funerals of AIDS victims, was horrified by his picketing of Matthew Shepherd's funeral, and ran across his flock in one of my rare foray's into the streets as a protester when his little clan of bigots came to picket a number of locations in my home town. When he began picketing military funerals, I was saddened, but unsurprised - it's about par for the course with Phelps and his so-called "Westboro Baptist Church".
All that said, while I'm sure beyond a shadow of a doubt there are greater villains than Phelps lurking beneath rocks and submerged in various cesspools, there are few better publicized than Phelps and the fellow denizens of the cesspit of the "Westboro Baptist Church" - so while I can't, in intellectual honesty, claim it couldn't have happened to a more deserving person or group thereof...I can say that he and his are certainly in the final qualifying rounds for deserving multiple multi-million dollar judgements against them.
I fondly hope that in the light of this decision that every single establishment, organization, or family that had the funeral of a loved one picketed sues the bejabbers out of Westboro crowd, both singly and as an organization.
A particularly scrofulous pox upon them.
Mwhwhahahahahaha
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
New-Style Etiquette
The test for any kind of politeness is utility - that if properly employed by all parties, at the end of the day everyone goes home with the same number of body parts they arrived with, everyone stays out of jail and the mental ward, and nobody spends quality hospital time.
Courtesy of Murphy, folks will rush up and express (often whilst in the depths of inebriation) their undying attraction for you - all good if you find them hot and compatible. Not so good if you find them unattractive, and still less good if they are not merely unattractive but both deeply enthusiastic and *NOT* of the gender you find intriguing in any kind of physical way.
The gay guy with the undying hots for the straight guy, the straight guy lech'ing after the lesbian, the lesbian with a yen for the het girl, and the het girl on overdrive chasing the gay guy - round and round we go, and where the dysfunction stops, nobody knows. Murphy has a quirky sense of humor when hanging out with Cupid.
In the throes of their enthusiasm, the newly fixated often find the bonus round of "I'm special, if they just get naked with me, they'll change!" and worse, actually BELIEVE that vile tripe. A second bonus round, a double dose of "who has which infectious STD, and how lethal is it", is available for the particularly unlucky.
The trick is, getting shed of an unwanted newfound admirer without indulging in a verbal or physical smackdown, particularly when this is thrust upon you for the first time, isn't easy. Easy is shredding someone emotionally, or providing physical education. Hard is at least taking a shot at letting them down easy while making it abundantly clear that "happy naked time" is just not going to happen with you, them, or them and their ten best horny friends.
Success in this endeavor is worthwhile as it cuts down the chance of happy fun jail time, hospital time, and vindictive crazy rejected person time.
Yet, throwing a pity moment (there might be children reading this after all) at the unfortunate who finds you unilaterally pounceable or just running away screaming "My eyes, my eyes! Make the pain stop!" each has its own downsides. The goal is to depart unscathed, after all.
After watching this dysfunctional carnal merry-go-round for a few years, I have a few thoughts - not for the lovelorn, for they are surely beyond help (at least for the moment) but in terms of escape and evasion while burdened with a regrettably kindly nature.
After all, you COULD just tell them that they are ugly, smell funny, and you'd rather get it on with a bed of nettles with a hornets nest in the center...but that seems unduly cruel. A quick whap upside the head is a reliable form of communications, but tends to cause the nice blue lights to flash and appear, as the headache fairy descends from the local donut shop.
Never underestimate the polite "no, but thank you, I'm flattered by your interest" approach - it's pretty darned low cost, lets' your admirer save face, and frequently allows you to scamper off unscathed. Works less well as a sudden change in course when you've gotten all hot'n'bothered and gone off alone with someone and gender becomes a matter of "surprise, surprise" (and yes, it does matter - I don't like "surprise, surprise" any more than anyone else) - a good variant, if you can keep your cool is the trusty old "umm...this wasn't what I bargained for, I'm sure you a great person and all, but I just don't fly that way" followed by a high velocity Bugs Bunny'ish departure (doppler effect scream optional).
Failing that, there's always Plan B. A lot of Plan B's. Scampering, verbal impact therapy, pointing them at someone else, etc...
I'm just mightily tired of hearing about dolt #1 (the enamored one) and dolt#2 (the enthusiastically uninterested one) of whatever gender getting all frisky (in a bad way) with one unable to hear "no", and the other too stupid to be able to communicate "no" without a laying upon of hands.
Spent some time honing this after a series of recent reminders how much this kind of crud annoys me, and my apologies if I express myself poorly or inflict it with insufficient grace.
Courtesy of Murphy, folks will rush up and express (often whilst in the depths of inebriation) their undying attraction for you - all good if you find them hot and compatible. Not so good if you find them unattractive, and still less good if they are not merely unattractive but both deeply enthusiastic and *NOT* of the gender you find intriguing in any kind of physical way.
The gay guy with the undying hots for the straight guy, the straight guy lech'ing after the lesbian, the lesbian with a yen for the het girl, and the het girl on overdrive chasing the gay guy - round and round we go, and where the dysfunction stops, nobody knows. Murphy has a quirky sense of humor when hanging out with Cupid.
In the throes of their enthusiasm, the newly fixated often find the bonus round of "I'm special, if they just get naked with me, they'll change!" and worse, actually BELIEVE that vile tripe. A second bonus round, a double dose of "who has which infectious STD, and how lethal is it", is available for the particularly unlucky.
The trick is, getting shed of an unwanted newfound admirer without indulging in a verbal or physical smackdown, particularly when this is thrust upon you for the first time, isn't easy. Easy is shredding someone emotionally, or providing physical education. Hard is at least taking a shot at letting them down easy while making it abundantly clear that "happy naked time" is just not going to happen with you, them, or them and their ten best horny friends.
Success in this endeavor is worthwhile as it cuts down the chance of happy fun jail time, hospital time, and vindictive crazy rejected person time.
Yet, throwing a pity moment (there might be children reading this after all) at the unfortunate who finds you unilaterally pounceable or just running away screaming "My eyes, my eyes! Make the pain stop!" each has its own downsides. The goal is to depart unscathed, after all.
After watching this dysfunctional carnal merry-go-round for a few years, I have a few thoughts - not for the lovelorn, for they are surely beyond help (at least for the moment) but in terms of escape and evasion while burdened with a regrettably kindly nature.
After all, you COULD just tell them that they are ugly, smell funny, and you'd rather get it on with a bed of nettles with a hornets nest in the center...but that seems unduly cruel. A quick whap upside the head is a reliable form of communications, but tends to cause the nice blue lights to flash and appear, as the headache fairy descends from the local donut shop.
Failing that, there's always Plan B. A lot of Plan B's. Scampering, verbal impact therapy, pointing them at someone else, etc...
I'm just mightily tired of hearing about dolt #1 (the enamored one) and dolt#2 (the enthusiastically uninterested one) of whatever gender getting all frisky (in a bad way) with one unable to hear "no", and the other too stupid to be able to communicate "no" without a laying upon of hands.
Spent some time honing this after a series of recent reminders how much this kind of crud annoys me, and my apologies if I express myself poorly or inflict it with insufficient grace.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Super-Majorities...
Here in Washington, school levies (unlike other public bond issues and tax levies) require a super-majority to pass - 60% in favor. It's been that way for quite some time, presumably because folks might tend to vote with hearts rather'n' brains when it comes to funding the educational system.
A new blitz of ads on the idiot box informs us this is a very bad thing, and there is an initiative on the ballot that will make it "all better" - getting my hopes up that the initiative would extend the super-majority requirement to *all* bond and levy measures.
Sadly, the proponents go to some length to explain that rather than doing the sensible thing they propose to abolish the super-majority concept entirely. This is not good.
It is quite bad enough that we have a large segment of the population that, if you simply trot out a child and point out how terribly oppressed they will be if the nimrods don't vote as you suggest, who will blithely go along with just about any measure no matter how ill-considered. It is, after all, for the kids.
Fortunately, until now, the super-majority requirement has somewhat (though certainly not entirely) been something of a stumbling block to those who would use the "cute pathos" card to drive electoral success. Should the initiative pass, one more impediment to taxing us all into oblivion will be removed by the dead hand of a ignorant electorate.
Perhaps we'll dodge the bullet...
A new blitz of ads on the idiot box informs us this is a very bad thing, and there is an initiative on the ballot that will make it "all better" - getting my hopes up that the initiative would extend the super-majority requirement to *all* bond and levy measures.
Sadly, the proponents go to some length to explain that rather than doing the sensible thing they propose to abolish the super-majority concept entirely. This is not good.
It is quite bad enough that we have a large segment of the population that, if you simply trot out a child and point out how terribly oppressed they will be if the nimrods don't vote as you suggest, who will blithely go along with just about any measure no matter how ill-considered. It is, after all, for the kids.
Fortunately, until now, the super-majority requirement has somewhat (though certainly not entirely) been something of a stumbling block to those who would use the "cute pathos" card to drive electoral success. Should the initiative pass, one more impediment to taxing us all into oblivion will be removed by the dead hand of a ignorant electorate.
Perhaps we'll dodge the bullet...
Sunday, October 14, 2007
A joy to read...
Sadly, in this lesser day, our public schools (and all to many private ones) in the name of "diversity" and "fairness" turn out substantially inferior graduates compared to those of yore on a depressingly regular basis.
I treasure odd things, and well-written invective approaching the beauty of Victorian era skewerings fall among that group of oddities.
Lawdog's contribution, with the additional virtue of being quite well-aimed at justifiable targets of ire, is one I shall treasure for some time.
Thank you.
I treasure odd things, and well-written invective approaching the beauty of Victorian era skewerings fall among that group of oddities.
Lawdog's contribution, with the additional virtue of being quite well-aimed at justifiable targets of ire, is one I shall treasure for some time.
Thank you.
A fairly modest proposal
I don't have the time, and I certainly don't have the server resources to take the hits such a page would generate, but I am hoping that in the next day or so some semi-talented sort will take the necessary steps to put up a website listing the manufacturers, re-sellers, and local dealers that do business with governmental entities or their employees in the State of California - from the big buyers in Sacramento to the Banning Police Department - so that we, as private buyers and enthusiasts, can refrain from doing business with these firms until such time as they repudiate any existing contracts and agree to refuse new business from political bodies in California or their employees.
"Or their employees": California, and many other jurisdictions, have created a two-tier system by which "special people" (judges, prosecutors, elected officials, police officers, etc) get to enjoy a whole range of rights and privileges not enjoyed by the peons - rights and privileges that tend to shield them from the bad effects of poorly thought out law. It is my intent in this suggestion that this demographic should again have something stronger than their internal moral compass to inspire their actions in this matter - say, a shortage of firearms and ammunition.
I'll write more later, but the above is my initial response...
"Or their employees": California, and many other jurisdictions, have created a two-tier system by which "special people" (judges, prosecutors, elected officials, police officers, etc) get to enjoy a whole range of rights and privileges not enjoyed by the peons - rights and privileges that tend to shield them from the bad effects of poorly thought out law. It is my intent in this suggestion that this demographic should again have something stronger than their internal moral compass to inspire their actions in this matter - say, a shortage of firearms and ammunition.
I'll write more later, but the above is my initial response...
The Dad Report
This is a brief one, but essentially he appears more alert and is clearly more interactive. Trach tube still in, but (as much as one can tell with voice not an option) mental presence is apparent. He's been moved to a much nicer room, with actual sunlight.
Downside is he's running a fever with pneumonia today, though the fever appears to have broken and the staff are quite attentive.
Downside is he's running a fever with pneumonia today, though the fever appears to have broken and the staff are quite attentive.
Bad blogger, Bad!
What with one thing and another, things have been a bit busy around here, to the point that blogging has fallen off in favor of sleep and the occasional episode of House, Boston Legal, or Shark (which requires little in the way of creativity beyond the occasional evil giggle).
My apologies for not being more prolific, and I will now subject you to several blurbs to catch you up in my wonderfully weird world - and then I shall rush off to do errands.
First off, and most recently, I recently returned from Memphis, TN and a training seminar there - I didn't get out much (I didn't rent a car this trip, depending on the hotel shuttle), so cannot wax either rhapsodic or derisive regarding the local club scene, but I can testify there are a whole bunch of wonderful barbecue joints down there - I specifically hit Corky's (more touristy) and Germantown Commissary (less touristy, and OMIGAWD good).
My CPL was good there, so as soon as was practical once I departed the "forbidden zone", the Keltec P32 re-entered my array of disaster resolution tools that I tote about. Something about Memphis being declared the murder capitol of the United States (the talk of the town while I was there).
There did appear to be a fair number of exceptionally well publicized murders in the local media, and a fair amount of controversy about the local mayoral election.
Good flights both ways, and a minimum of TSA silliness.
All in all, a pleasant and educational venture.
My apologies for not being more prolific, and I will now subject you to several blurbs to catch you up in my wonderfully weird world - and then I shall rush off to do errands.
First off, and most recently, I recently returned from Memphis, TN and a training seminar there - I didn't get out much (I didn't rent a car this trip, depending on the hotel shuttle), so cannot wax either rhapsodic or derisive regarding the local club scene, but I can testify there are a whole bunch of wonderful barbecue joints down there - I specifically hit Corky's (more touristy) and Germantown Commissary (less touristy, and OMIGAWD good).
My CPL was good there, so as soon as was practical once I departed the "forbidden zone", the Keltec P32 re-entered my array of disaster resolution tools that I tote about. Something about Memphis being declared the murder capitol of the United States (the talk of the town while I was there).
There did appear to be a fair number of exceptionally well publicized murders in the local media, and a fair amount of controversy about the local mayoral election.
Good flights both ways, and a minimum of TSA silliness.
All in all, a pleasant and educational venture.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Mens' Wearhouse
I like the Keltec P32 I bought years ago. I like the hip pocket holster that I had a friend build to carry it - while it will never be the fastest draw on the block, what it loses in speed, it makes up in subtlety.
But it requires a certain...depth of pocket and forgiving cut to conceal effectively.
This is my second time down at Men's Wearhouse, where I ran into understanding sales staff and a tailor willing to...help things along in the arena of discrete carry.
Moderately priced clothes, nice fit, and a *very* helpful and understanding staff. As I rebuild the ruins of my wardrobe, I'm thinking I'll be visiting there regularly - and at Nordstroms, of course.
Only thing that could be better would be an menswear shop that included firearms and accessories as simply a part of the line of inventory required to supply the well-educated gentleman.
But it requires a certain...depth of pocket and forgiving cut to conceal effectively.
This is my second time down at Men's Wearhouse, where I ran into understanding sales staff and a tailor willing to...help things along in the arena of discrete carry.
Moderately priced clothes, nice fit, and a *very* helpful and understanding staff. As I rebuild the ruins of my wardrobe, I'm thinking I'll be visiting there regularly - and at Nordstroms, of course.
Only thing that could be better would be an menswear shop that included firearms and accessories as simply a part of the line of inventory required to supply the well-educated gentleman.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
The appearance and reality of impropriety..
Lawdog, in his recent post on professionalism, highlights one level of inappropriate behavior that undermines good LE sorts everywhere...and apparently some sort of karmic floodgate was opened, when what do I run into but the rant blog regarding what sounds like a rather nasty situation in St Louis ...
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Interesting....
Don't know quite what to do with this one - I just got the first blogvertisement/semi-spam, and I don't know if (just this once) I'll refrain from deleting it. I'm a sentimentalist, you see, and the product in question and some of its related IP tools were good friends of mine in my first IT kind of job - and while I'm mostly operating from the command line these days (there's just something warm and fuzzy and comforting about having it all out there in front of god and everyone where you can easily track back, step by step, error-hunting as opposed to the occasional "wtf did the client do" moment...command line enforces a certain precision), I remember the clients fondly and think that for folks who aren't either geeks or aspiring geeks, that gui clients that just make it all automagically happen, are just dandy...and sometimes even for geeks and geek wannabe's.
On other notes, I'm just not a drinker these days, so going out clubbing without good company rapidly grows boring at best and annoying at worst - particularly as I find I have less patience for the cliche's and the club bunnies with every passing year.
Dinner with a friend, good live music (I'm still trying to get to this blues club I've heard of down on the waterfront), and making the effort to try and think kindly of those as may, from time to time, annoy me as the years pass seems more satisfying these days than many of the other options out there.
Could be that maturity is setting in, or I've simply sinned with enough vigor and variety that in the immortal worlds of Lili von Schtupp ("Blazing Saddles") I'm just tired....
Lili von Schtupp - "I'm Tired"
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On the other hand, I did have a great weekend hanging out with a friend clubbing...so perhaps I'm not *entirely* grown up yet :)
On other notes, I'm just not a drinker these days, so going out clubbing without good company rapidly grows boring at best and annoying at worst - particularly as I find I have less patience for the cliche's and the club bunnies with every passing year.
Dinner with a friend, good live music (I'm still trying to get to this blues club I've heard of down on the waterfront), and making the effort to try and think kindly of those as may, from time to time, annoy me as the years pass seems more satisfying these days than many of the other options out there.
Could be that maturity is setting in, or I've simply sinned with enough vigor and variety that in the immortal worlds of Lili von Schtupp ("Blazing Saddles") I'm just tired....
Lili von Schtupp - "I'm Tired"
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On the other hand, I did have a great weekend hanging out with a friend clubbing...so perhaps I'm not *entirely* grown up yet :)
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
FTP, a couple o' thoughts...
Once upon a time neither 'net, blogs, nor e-mail existed. Neither laptop nor desktop computer graced the land, and such computers as existed filled rooms and used funny shaped paper cards with holes punched in them to get information in and out of the behemoths - and someone to carry the boxes from computer to computer. Big boxes.
This quickly grew tiresome, and lo. FTP (File Transfer Protocol) was born, a way to send information over a wire in a standard/predictable fashion that folks at the far end could predictably and reliably read - a fax machine for computers. FTP was and is a manual (do it by hand) way of doing things, without any (in the modern sense) servers to handle fancy things like addresses - if you want to send it someplace you put in the address yourself!
The first e-mail was simply very small FTP transfers between machines - Bob in Seattle making a copy of a note on an engineering spec to Billy Joe in Atlanta and sending it along with the engineering logic. That sort of thing.
Pretty quickly, however, folks figured out that just leaving a file for someone to stumble across and read at their convenience (or when prompted by a phone call) was pretty much for the birds, and the beginnings of modern e-mail wafted up from the depths of ingenuity.
Still...e-mail was always for quick/small messages - not for serious file sending. Even today, with larger hard drives and file size limits, most e-mail servers will choke up at attached files over 1mb (megabyte) in size, or not long after, size-wise.
FTP remains, for all its' age and kludginess, with it's cousin SFTP (Secure FTP), pretty much king of the pile for moving big files like pictures and sound files back and forth - or moving an entire hard drive across country - just start up the FTP session, point the files you want moved at their destination, and go away while it automagically happens. You can get fancier, but that's the fundamentals.
And really, with modern clients and servers, FTP isn't all that kludgy - it's just another tool we've got (the battleaxe compared to the scalpel) to move information back and forth, reliably and far faster than big boxes of paper. Heh.
Just thought I'd mention it, as some of us do share pics of kids and grandkids and cool guns and neat toys - and start beating our heads against the e-mail size limits at some point, either just bot being able to send what we want, or our account fills up and bogs down - neither of which bites you in FTP.
This quickly grew tiresome, and lo. FTP (File Transfer Protocol) was born, a way to send information over a wire in a standard/predictable fashion that folks at the far end could predictably and reliably read - a fax machine for computers. FTP was and is a manual (do it by hand) way of doing things, without any (in the modern sense) servers to handle fancy things like addresses - if you want to send it someplace you put in the address yourself!
The first e-mail was simply very small FTP transfers between machines - Bob in Seattle making a copy of a note on an engineering spec to Billy Joe in Atlanta and sending it along with the engineering logic. That sort of thing.
Pretty quickly, however, folks figured out that just leaving a file for someone to stumble across and read at their convenience (or when prompted by a phone call) was pretty much for the birds, and the beginnings of modern e-mail wafted up from the depths of ingenuity.
Still...e-mail was always for quick/small messages - not for serious file sending. Even today, with larger hard drives and file size limits, most e-mail servers will choke up at attached files over 1mb (megabyte) in size, or not long after, size-wise.
FTP remains, for all its' age and kludginess, with it's cousin SFTP (Secure FTP), pretty much king of the pile for moving big files like pictures and sound files back and forth - or moving an entire hard drive across country - just start up the FTP session, point the files you want moved at their destination, and go away while it automagically happens. You can get fancier, but that's the fundamentals.
And really, with modern clients and servers, FTP isn't all that kludgy - it's just another tool we've got (the battleaxe compared to the scalpel) to move information back and forth, reliably and far faster than big boxes of paper. Heh.
Just thought I'd mention it, as some of us do share pics of kids and grandkids and cool guns and neat toys - and start beating our heads against the e-mail size limits at some point, either just bot being able to send what we want, or our account fills up and bogs down - neither of which bites you in FTP.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Latest News
Things are better on a number of fronts - whilst I'm still on (conceivably somewhat infectious) from direct hospital visits, I am improving nicely due to the twin blessings of steroids and anti-virals in conquering the vast annoyance that is Bell's Palsy. Have most of my face back under my control now, and consider this a real benefit.
Dad is doing better, from reports - I'm hearing he's on the respirator part time while he's fighting off an infection, but despite a challenged swallow reflex and the tracheotomy, he is more alert and has better color than he has had in some time.
Off in the wonderful world of work, well, I'm learning lots and my eagerness to learn has gone a whole week without being a tight rope stretched across the the hallway for myself and other, more innocent sorts, to trip over and and do the concrete hug.
Presently, I'm re-exploring after some time away from it, basic linux bash scripting - or "how to make it all happen automagically" in relationship to some otherwise very tedious tasks that because of their scheduling and very tedium, tend to generate human error.
This week, things are looking up, and today I get to clean out the garage!! Wallrat and another friend will be over to help load and keep me out of trouble, and a trip to the dump will be made. And perhaps a trip to storage. And a barter trip with the rental van to pick up a futon for friend #2.
Dad is doing better, from reports - I'm hearing he's on the respirator part time while he's fighting off an infection, but despite a challenged swallow reflex and the tracheotomy, he is more alert and has better color than he has had in some time.
Off in the wonderful world of work, well, I'm learning lots and my eagerness to learn has gone a whole week without being a tight rope stretched across the the hallway for myself and other, more innocent sorts, to trip over and and do the concrete hug.
Presently, I'm re-exploring after some time away from it, basic linux bash scripting - or "how to make it all happen automagically" in relationship to some otherwise very tedious tasks that because of their scheduling and very tedium, tend to generate human error.
This week, things are looking up, and today I get to clean out the garage!! Wallrat and another friend will be over to help load and keep me out of trouble, and a trip to the dump will be made. And perhaps a trip to storage. And a barter trip with the rental van to pick up a futon for friend #2.
Freedom isn't free...
Occasionally, I'll read something, and it will sit and gnaw at me for a couple of weeks or months until I can formulate some kind of response or somehow make sense of it.
Thus it was when an individual I respect as both a writer and an individual knocked out a piece attempting to carve out an exception to MYOB for seatbelts and motorcycle helmets. I could easily, softy that I am, see the humanitarian and fiscal sides of state intervention in requiring vehicle operators to ensure that they and all passengers wear seatbelts while an enclosed vehicle is in operation, and helmets when a motorcycle-style rig is in action.
The fiscal and humanitarian arguments spoke to me, orating on the horrific human and financial costs of brain-injured survivors and the needlessly deceased - formerly contributing members of society struck down in their prime, immediately reduced from functioning parent/child/caregiver/citizen/etc to dead or dependent for a lifetime of intense care.
Yet something troubled me about the regulatory approach, and initially I thought it might simply be that I get twitchy around the word "regulatory". Most regulation, after all, emerges from an honest (if misguided) belief by the originator(s) that a given problem can be resolved or prevented through careful regulatory application of the dead hand of the state - regardless of the said regulations real world effects after the law of unintended consequences kicks in.
For the classic horrible example with which most are familiar, Carrie Nation and her Temperance league were not setting about prohibiting alcohol as a means of promoting criminality and organized crime.
Though many laugh at them today, they saw before them the very real problem of addiction (to alcohol, in this instance) and its' effects on the alcoholic, the alcoholics family, and those in the vicinity of the out of control alcoholic - and made the logical leap that if they could remove the implement of addiction (alcohol) that all would be well with the world, as the addict would be deprived of the EEEEEVIIIIIIILLLL substance that turned them into a beast.
Didn't quite work out that way. Left, I think, a lot of us rather twitchy about the whole concept of regulation and unintended consequences. Supply, meet Demand, and his cousin, Greed.
More recently, the "War on Drugs" and the latest of the genre (the incipient "War on Tobacco") are in the process of working out about as well. There are many producers and suppliers of illicit recreational substances that, should they contemplate such things, are immensely grateful for the unintentional price supports for their products provided by the laws within the United States, and our fine nations tireless efforts to export those laws abroad.
All of which brings me back to my contemplation of honestly well-intended laws requiring seat belts and helmets. I suppose my take is that, hard-hearted as it may seem, the spectre of state intervention has sufficient historic downsides that I can get really supportive of educational efforts, but oppose governmental punitive measures with equal alacracity because of their tendency to backfire and splatter unintended consequences all over the landscape.
Thus it was when an individual I respect as both a writer and an individual knocked out a piece attempting to carve out an exception to MYOB for seatbelts and motorcycle helmets. I could easily, softy that I am, see the humanitarian and fiscal sides of state intervention in requiring vehicle operators to ensure that they and all passengers wear seatbelts while an enclosed vehicle is in operation, and helmets when a motorcycle-style rig is in action.
The fiscal and humanitarian arguments spoke to me, orating on the horrific human and financial costs of brain-injured survivors and the needlessly deceased - formerly contributing members of society struck down in their prime, immediately reduced from functioning parent/child/caregiver/citizen/etc to dead or dependent for a lifetime of intense care.
Yet something troubled me about the regulatory approach, and initially I thought it might simply be that I get twitchy around the word "regulatory". Most regulation, after all, emerges from an honest (if misguided) belief by the originator(s) that a given problem can be resolved or prevented through careful regulatory application of the dead hand of the state - regardless of the said regulations real world effects after the law of unintended consequences kicks in.
For the classic horrible example with which most are familiar, Carrie Nation and her Temperance league were not setting about prohibiting alcohol as a means of promoting criminality and organized crime.
Though many laugh at them today, they saw before them the very real problem of addiction (to alcohol, in this instance) and its' effects on the alcoholic, the alcoholics family, and those in the vicinity of the out of control alcoholic - and made the logical leap that if they could remove the implement of addiction (alcohol) that all would be well with the world, as the addict would be deprived of the EEEEEVIIIIIIILLLL substance that turned them into a beast.
Didn't quite work out that way. Left, I think, a lot of us rather twitchy about the whole concept of regulation and unintended consequences. Supply, meet Demand, and his cousin, Greed.
More recently, the "War on Drugs" and the latest of the genre (the incipient "War on Tobacco") are in the process of working out about as well. There are many producers and suppliers of illicit recreational substances that, should they contemplate such things, are immensely grateful for the unintentional price supports for their products provided by the laws within the United States, and our fine nations tireless efforts to export those laws abroad.
All of which brings me back to my contemplation of honestly well-intended laws requiring seat belts and helmets. I suppose my take is that, hard-hearted as it may seem, the spectre of state intervention has sufficient historic downsides that I can get really supportive of educational efforts, but oppose governmental punitive measures with equal alacracity because of their tendency to backfire and splatter unintended consequences all over the landscape.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
And so it goes...
Woke up last Weds with what felt like a bug bite or a hive slightly off-center on my back, and was quite bothersome as I dealt with that as my workplace presented high adventure. A rash spread out to about 2" or so, but I thought nothing of it...
Woohoo.
Sunday, I woke and about mid-day discovered my left eye was "blinking funny" and not closing properly. After much suggesting I was over-reacting, I nonetheless called the insurance nurse line where an RN walked me through and suggested that Bell's Palsy and shingles were possible, and that I should call the on-call doctor. I did, and he basically said don't panic, see someone in the morning.
I made an appointment for 10:45 the next morning. But as I was in the office, a co-worker pointed out my left face was drooping...as if I'd visited the dentist. I'd noticed some tingling, but since I had an appointment anyway...but given my Dad's recent adventures, was seriously distressed about potential stroke issues...
Got going, went to Dr. early, he saw me, and sure enough - Bell's Palsy with shingles (thankfully mild, thus far) for salsa. Also had a little lecture for me about appropriate use of the ER...
Summarized as "if bilateral symmetry goes wrong, get your ass to the phone, call 911 or make someone do so, and don't muck about - and don't try and drive yourself - and don't listen to anyone that tells ya otherwise!"
Heh. I suppose I do take the butch thing a little far...hopefully the Bell's will resolve favorably.
Woohoo.
Sunday, I woke and about mid-day discovered my left eye was "blinking funny" and not closing properly. After much suggesting I was over-reacting, I nonetheless called the insurance nurse line where an RN walked me through and suggested that Bell's Palsy and shingles were possible, and that I should call the on-call doctor. I did, and he basically said don't panic, see someone in the morning.
I made an appointment for 10:45 the next morning. But as I was in the office, a co-worker pointed out my left face was drooping...as if I'd visited the dentist. I'd noticed some tingling, but since I had an appointment anyway...but given my Dad's recent adventures, was seriously distressed about potential stroke issues...
Got going, went to Dr. early, he saw me, and sure enough - Bell's Palsy with shingles (thankfully mild, thus far) for salsa. Also had a little lecture for me about appropriate use of the ER...
Summarized as "if bilateral symmetry goes wrong, get your ass to the phone, call 911 or make someone do so, and don't muck about - and don't try and drive yourself - and don't listen to anyone that tells ya otherwise!"
Heh. I suppose I do take the butch thing a little far...hopefully the Bell's will resolve favorably.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
A few brief thoughts
It's late, so I'll keep it short. Others have covered the "remembrance" aspect of 9/11 far better than I hope to, and at far greater depth...thus, another path.
I remember the wonder as a child of going with my father to the airport to wave goodbye as he departed for, and returned from, his many business trips. He always brought Planters Peanuts for my brother and I from the flight on the trips home, and every visit to the airport was precious watching the miracle of those great big planes taking off and landing. For years, whenever I traveled, a bit of that wonder remained with me every time I flew or picked up friends at the airport.
I remember privacy, the aftermath of the freedom of speech movement (that miraculous time when it seemed one could say anything without fear of a federal agent turning up to chat), a time when our national pride was in resurgence.
I remember the day when it began to crumble, when out of fear and a need to appear to be doing something our leaders gladly passed the abomination of the Patriot Acts.
I miss flying and being met by friends and family at the gate. I miss not having to carry ID and the spontaneity of ticket counter sales. I miss the checks and balances of competing agency interests prior to the mutant stepchild of Homeland Security. I miss bookstores and libraries who didn't have to worry about getting "National Security Letters" to cough up your reading habits because someone needed to look busy.
I am a firm believer in "you break it, you bought it" - we clearly needed to have a little chat with Afghanistan after 9/11. I am less sure of the need for our chat with Iraq, beyond the eternal truth that it is better to squash the villains whilst they are small and have not yet precipitated multi-continental conflicts. I am sure, in both instances, we went in (necessarily or not, an argument for another day) and stomped some rather bad folk, and in the process busted up the allegorical bar.
Honor requires we pay the barkeep. We need to commit the troops and treasure to restore both nations to a condition where they are at least vaguely self-sufficient, and not terribly much worse off than prior to our arrival, sans a few missing villains who will likely be replaced by eager volunteers.
We lost lives on 9/11 in as big a peacetime tragedy as I believe we've seen in the U.S. - but then we got busy about it, and threw a lot of what makes life worth living as an American away. "May I see your papers please? Do you have a permit to chance your residence or travel?"
Thompson for President. Perhaps he can slow the slippery slide to perdition.
I remember the wonder as a child of going with my father to the airport to wave goodbye as he departed for, and returned from, his many business trips. He always brought Planters Peanuts for my brother and I from the flight on the trips home, and every visit to the airport was precious watching the miracle of those great big planes taking off and landing. For years, whenever I traveled, a bit of that wonder remained with me every time I flew or picked up friends at the airport.
I remember privacy, the aftermath of the freedom of speech movement (that miraculous time when it seemed one could say anything without fear of a federal agent turning up to chat), a time when our national pride was in resurgence.
I remember the day when it began to crumble, when out of fear and a need to appear to be doing something our leaders gladly passed the abomination of the Patriot Acts.
I miss flying and being met by friends and family at the gate. I miss not having to carry ID and the spontaneity of ticket counter sales. I miss the checks and balances of competing agency interests prior to the mutant stepchild of Homeland Security. I miss bookstores and libraries who didn't have to worry about getting "National Security Letters" to cough up your reading habits because someone needed to look busy.
I am a firm believer in "you break it, you bought it" - we clearly needed to have a little chat with Afghanistan after 9/11. I am less sure of the need for our chat with Iraq, beyond the eternal truth that it is better to squash the villains whilst they are small and have not yet precipitated multi-continental conflicts. I am sure, in both instances, we went in (necessarily or not, an argument for another day) and stomped some rather bad folk, and in the process busted up the allegorical bar.
Honor requires we pay the barkeep. We need to commit the troops and treasure to restore both nations to a condition where they are at least vaguely self-sufficient, and not terribly much worse off than prior to our arrival, sans a few missing villains who will likely be replaced by eager volunteers.
We lost lives on 9/11 in as big a peacetime tragedy as I believe we've seen in the U.S. - but then we got busy about it, and threw a lot of what makes life worth living as an American away. "May I see your papers please? Do you have a permit to chance your residence or travel?"
Thompson for President. Perhaps he can slow the slippery slide to perdition.
Friday, August 31, 2007
And how's Dad doing?
Was over at the hospital tonight, left Dad a note as he was zonked off in happyland. They are currently sedating him in the evenings.
Nurse told us that they changed the canula in his tracheotomy (the tube thing) and he is requiring less suction; it is yet to be determined if he is (a) simply starting to control his own secretions or secreting less, (b) a bright shiny new canula is all spiffy and making things better, or (c) some combination of the above. Social worker discovered from Mom he had his dentures there, and first session post-discovery with lipreader was apparently improved.
He is quite weak, and this concerns both Mom and I. Depression is an ongoing issue for him, so I've suggested to the relatives that keeping upbeat cards and letters coming is a *good* thing as Mom will read them to him and they seem to cheer him. He has his "talking computer" I built, but is not presently either up to, willing, or able to use it (weakness, remember?) ... it's hard to tell which.
Mom is doing reasonably well, though pushing herself quite hard - Tuesday was the first day she'd missed visiting the hospital since this all began back in mid-June. I'm very pleased that she is driving again and broadening her horizons, but somewhat concerned regarding potential exhaustion - which seldom ever increases ones effectiveness.
Nurse told us that they changed the canula in his tracheotomy (the tube thing) and he is requiring less suction; it is yet to be determined if he is (a) simply starting to control his own secretions or secreting less, (b) a bright shiny new canula is all spiffy and making things better, or (c) some combination of the above. Social worker discovered from Mom he had his dentures there, and first session post-discovery with lipreader was apparently improved.
He is quite weak, and this concerns both Mom and I. Depression is an ongoing issue for him, so I've suggested to the relatives that keeping upbeat cards and letters coming is a *good* thing as Mom will read them to him and they seem to cheer him. He has his "talking computer" I built, but is not presently either up to, willing, or able to use it (weakness, remember?) ... it's hard to tell which.
Mom is doing reasonably well, though pushing herself quite hard - Tuesday was the first day she'd missed visiting the hospital since this all began back in mid-June. I'm very pleased that she is driving again and broadening her horizons, but somewhat concerned regarding potential exhaustion - which seldom ever increases ones effectiveness.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
On Sen. Craig
I've given this one a bit of thought, and can't say I care much for it. Yet forward through the flaming hoops of slime we shall tumble, in hopes it will be educational (or at least, having vented, I can ponder other imponderables).
First off, "ewwwwww" is a miserable basis for legislation. God knows it's tempting, but it's a slippery slope with rocks at the bottom. Personally, I would tend to favor requiring licenses for spandex and tight-fitting garments on aesthetic grounds - but where would such a thing end? Law should and must address injury, economic or physical (i.e., measurable) to some individual, and only then should it factor in such immeasurables as psychological damage and such.
Then let's look at the charging specification, shall we? The arresting officer states Sen. Craig engaged in behavior "often used by persons communicating a desire to engage in sexual conduct."
Oh, goodness my. If we are to see even-handed enforcement here, there won't be a singles bar (gay or straight) open in Minnesota by Friday. Perhaps I'm just hopelessly libertarian, but to me, any time one competent adult communicates to another competent adult a desire to engage in sexual conduct (say, in 20' letters of fire written across the sky - or perhaps more subtle mechanisms), unless one of the adults is *me* or my to-be-fondly-hoped-for spousal unit - it promptly becomes neither my business or anyone else's.
There are exceptions to the above rule. If someone is overly insistent in their amorous intent once declined, it is only reasonable that it become a matter of police interest; similarly, if force is used; again, if one of the parties is over-enthusiastic in expressing their disinterest in a liason (initiating the aggressive use of force is BAD, after all). But simple queries of, with greater or lesser diplomacy and verbiage, "Hey, wanna ____?" seem logically covered by freedom of speech, though they are frequently a bit blunt.
If I don't have to watch, listen, participate, or take notes on technique - I don't see how I have any interest in the matter. And neither should a police department with limited resources.
Tacky is not a crime, or entire regions of the nation would be depopulated and there wouldn't be enough jails to hold the guilty.
And then we come to Senator Craig, specifically. Sen. Craig is, in my estimation, a bit of a toad. Pity about that. I am seldom a fan of anti-gun politicians, nor am I any more a fan of anti-gay politicians. Sen. Craigs record speaks for itself.
Nonetheless, out of fairness, let us look at the possibilities. Trying *really* hard to be kindly and charitable, here.
First off, it could be that the good Senator is simply a dork. Coming from Idaho, certainly no hotbed of insurrection by the Festive Nation, Sen. Craig may very well have been *unaware* of the significance of his conduct to the same extent that many of the heterosexual persuasion are unaware of the "hanky code" of yore, or a fair amount of other rather specialized history and triviata in the LGBT community. Could be the man is simply dumb as a stump.
Secondly, let's look at where the man comes from in terms of both time and place. Sen. Craig emerges from the *very conservative* State of Idaho, a place where unlike say...Houston, Seattle, Minneapolis, or Toronto of today (recall, he's not precisely a youngster, and his values and world-view were formed a good while back), it's much easier to pretend *really hard* to be what you want to be (straight & accepted & successful) and do the whole "get married, try to have kids, and fake it" bit - particularly when in the Senator's long-distant youth he was coming to an understanding of the world...and explain away occasional "slips" as misunderstandings (drunken or otherwise), somebody elses fault, or temporary lunacy.
Given that frequently the "pretend really hard bit" involves going way the heck overboard in the opposite direction (taking an often physically violent, punitive, bigoted stance against LGBT folks), I wouldn't be really all that surprised if Senator Craig was an old-school closet queen.
The problem, though, with the "pretend really hard" approach is the cost. More than ever, in an era of rapidly diminishing privacy, secrets will out. And, even in conservative Idaho, denial can only be sustained for so long by even the very most understanding spouse/child/friend/acquaintance. There's an upper limit to the number of possible misunderstandings before certain questions become rather....obvious. Usually followed by a few rounds of "I'm not gay, never have been, never will be" by the closet case in question.
And once the biowaste mets the rotating oscillator, there is plenty of devastation, hurt, drama, and pain to go around for everyone. Divorce, ostracization, and more!
Faced with (in that era) ostracism, criminal charges, abuse, and poverty should he remain in Idaho on the one hand; vs. leaving family and friends behind as quickly as possible and building a life someplace more accepting; vs "pretending really hard" - in this scenario, a callow and somewhat shallow Craig voted for "pretending really hard".
A lot of folks have "pretended really hard". Just enough have gotten way with it to offer false hope to the desperate. Usually it ends badly, and in todays more accepting environment (in most areas, and if you're not in one of those areas, it is far easier to get out to someplace more accepting today - if nothing else, there are more such accepting places) it is thankfully a less common occurance.
I'm not particularly offended by Sen. Craig. Depending on what facts eventually come out, I may feel sorry for him as a relic of a past era; I may giggle and think a busybody bigot got precisely what he had coming to him; I may gasp and wonder "how could he not KNOW better?". Might even be a combination thereof.
Only time will tell.
First off, "ewwwwww" is a miserable basis for legislation. God knows it's tempting, but it's a slippery slope with rocks at the bottom. Personally, I would tend to favor requiring licenses for spandex and tight-fitting garments on aesthetic grounds - but where would such a thing end? Law should and must address injury, economic or physical (i.e., measurable) to some individual, and only then should it factor in such immeasurables as psychological damage and such.
Then let's look at the charging specification, shall we? The arresting officer states Sen. Craig engaged in behavior "often used by persons communicating a desire to engage in sexual conduct."
Oh, goodness my. If we are to see even-handed enforcement here, there won't be a singles bar (gay or straight) open in Minnesota by Friday. Perhaps I'm just hopelessly libertarian, but to me, any time one competent adult communicates to another competent adult a desire to engage in sexual conduct (say, in 20' letters of fire written across the sky - or perhaps more subtle mechanisms), unless one of the adults is *me* or my to-be-fondly-hoped-for spousal unit - it promptly becomes neither my business or anyone else's.
There are exceptions to the above rule. If someone is overly insistent in their amorous intent once declined, it is only reasonable that it become a matter of police interest; similarly, if force is used; again, if one of the parties is over-enthusiastic in expressing their disinterest in a liason (initiating the aggressive use of force is BAD, after all). But simple queries of, with greater or lesser diplomacy and verbiage, "Hey, wanna ____?" seem logically covered by freedom of speech, though they are frequently a bit blunt.
If I don't have to watch, listen, participate, or take notes on technique - I don't see how I have any interest in the matter. And neither should a police department with limited resources.
Tacky is not a crime, or entire regions of the nation would be depopulated and there wouldn't be enough jails to hold the guilty.
And then we come to Senator Craig, specifically. Sen. Craig is, in my estimation, a bit of a toad. Pity about that. I am seldom a fan of anti-gun politicians, nor am I any more a fan of anti-gay politicians. Sen. Craigs record speaks for itself.
Nonetheless, out of fairness, let us look at the possibilities. Trying *really* hard to be kindly and charitable, here.
First off, it could be that the good Senator is simply a dork. Coming from Idaho, certainly no hotbed of insurrection by the Festive Nation, Sen. Craig may very well have been *unaware* of the significance of his conduct to the same extent that many of the heterosexual persuasion are unaware of the "hanky code" of yore, or a fair amount of other rather specialized history and triviata in the LGBT community. Could be the man is simply dumb as a stump.
Secondly, let's look at where the man comes from in terms of both time and place. Sen. Craig emerges from the *very conservative* State of Idaho, a place where unlike say...Houston, Seattle, Minneapolis, or Toronto of today (recall, he's not precisely a youngster, and his values and world-view were formed a good while back), it's much easier to pretend *really hard* to be what you want to be (straight & accepted & successful) and do the whole "get married, try to have kids, and fake it" bit - particularly when in the Senator's long-distant youth he was coming to an understanding of the world...and explain away occasional "slips" as misunderstandings (drunken or otherwise), somebody elses fault, or temporary lunacy.
Given that frequently the "pretend really hard bit" involves going way the heck overboard in the opposite direction (taking an often physically violent, punitive, bigoted stance against LGBT folks), I wouldn't be really all that surprised if Senator Craig was an old-school closet queen.
The problem, though, with the "pretend really hard" approach is the cost. More than ever, in an era of rapidly diminishing privacy, secrets will out. And, even in conservative Idaho, denial can only be sustained for so long by even the very most understanding spouse/child/friend/acquaintance. There's an upper limit to the number of possible misunderstandings before certain questions become rather....obvious. Usually followed by a few rounds of "I'm not gay, never have been, never will be" by the closet case in question.
And once the biowaste mets the rotating oscillator, there is plenty of devastation, hurt, drama, and pain to go around for everyone. Divorce, ostracization, and more!
Faced with (in that era) ostracism, criminal charges, abuse, and poverty should he remain in Idaho on the one hand; vs. leaving family and friends behind as quickly as possible and building a life someplace more accepting; vs "pretending really hard" - in this scenario, a callow and somewhat shallow Craig voted for "pretending really hard".
A lot of folks have "pretended really hard". Just enough have gotten way with it to offer false hope to the desperate. Usually it ends badly, and in todays more accepting environment (in most areas, and if you're not in one of those areas, it is far easier to get out to someplace more accepting today - if nothing else, there are more such accepting places) it is thankfully a less common occurance.
I'm not particularly offended by Sen. Craig. Depending on what facts eventually come out, I may feel sorry for him as a relic of a past era; I may giggle and think a busybody bigot got precisely what he had coming to him; I may gasp and wonder "how could he not KNOW better?". Might even be a combination thereof.
Only time will tell.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Murphy, Romance, and Gay Death
Whingeing (sp?) is a fine old tradition, and one gloriously indulged in the blogosphere, so it's time for me to do my small part.
In a world where "gay dating death" occurs for the most part on one's thirtieth birthday, the prospects get a little thin on the ground something over a decade later - even considering the currently distorted demographic.
Between the two-legged petri dishes, the bugfuck crazy, the well-marinated in various recreational substances, and finally, the ones that're already hitched - the ones both available and interesting are somewhat limited in number.
This, of course, is where Murphy arrives on the scene giggling madly at his latest madcap prank - of the remaining number of potential mates, barring hell freezing over, there will either be a distinct lack of chemistry, actual visceral repugnance (as one observes the howls of terror from the dogs and small children shrieking over the horizon after exposure to a regrettable visage or fashion sense), or other factors shredding any realistic hope of romance.
That's not to say there aren't good folk and fascinating conversationalists amongst all of the above; just a distinct shortage of marriageable, or even dateable sorts.
Grr.
That will be the kvetch for the day. That is all.
Feh. In the cool gray light of morning, when less cranky about long walks chasing urban transit and other matters, it seems only fair to admit that I've my own share of flaws and "unavailabilities" that contribute to events. Simply, like an old pair of jeans that're on the verge of falling apart, they're worn in and comfortable and haven't irritated me lately. (edit 0700, 08/29).
In a world where "gay dating death" occurs for the most part on one's thirtieth birthday, the prospects get a little thin on the ground something over a decade later - even considering the currently distorted demographic.
Between the two-legged petri dishes, the bugfuck crazy, the well-marinated in various recreational substances, and finally, the ones that're already hitched - the ones both available and interesting are somewhat limited in number.
This, of course, is where Murphy arrives on the scene giggling madly at his latest madcap prank - of the remaining number of potential mates, barring hell freezing over, there will either be a distinct lack of chemistry, actual visceral repugnance (as one observes the howls of terror from the dogs and small children shrieking over the horizon after exposure to a regrettable visage or fashion sense), or other factors shredding any realistic hope of romance.
That's not to say there aren't good folk and fascinating conversationalists amongst all of the above; just a distinct shortage of marriageable, or even dateable sorts.
Grr.
That will be the kvetch for the day. That is all.
Feh. In the cool gray light of morning, when less cranky about long walks chasing urban transit and other matters, it seems only fair to admit that I've my own share of flaws and "unavailabilities" that contribute to events. Simply, like an old pair of jeans that're on the verge of falling apart, they're worn in and comfortable and haven't irritated me lately. (edit 0700, 08/29).
Monday, August 27, 2007
A brief introduction...
I really shouldn't be so greedy, keeping CrankyProf's blog full o' erudite snarking all to myself. So I won't. Read, share, enjoy! And good luck to the Squeaker!!
Ninnyhammers
State Assemblman and State Senate candidate Mark Leno graciously provides us a link to his campaign blog where we can all make our opinion of his stand to protect the residents of the City and County of San Francisco from the dreaded scourge of exercising their rights and being treated like adults.
He proposes to ban gun shows from the Cow Palace, a facility owned by the State Department of Agriculture and thus outside the reach of San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom and his deeply misguided (and costly) attempts at a San Francisco wide gun ban.
The good folks at Pink Pistols (a LGBT pro-self-defense group) publicly took a stand against this silliness in 2005 during the attempt at the Great San Francisco Gun Ban (overthrown with the gentle help of a federal judge and the Second Amendment Foundation in 2006), but the misguided sorts seem to be coming back for another go-round.
Now, surprising as it might be to some, I actually have a nice word to say about a Democrat. State Senator Carole Migden - she's not Mark Leno. While not without flaws, she's not Mark Leno. While bereft, as far as I can tell, of any particular virtue...she's not Mark Leno. Helpful kinda guy that I am, I'm even going to provide a link to her campaign website where folks can donate.
The basic reality here is that for the foreseeable future, San Francisco and Marin County is going to continue electing whacky folks that'd be considered utter loons in the vast majority of the rest of the country. (See: Nancy Pelosi) Our sole hope is to contribute where we legally can (and yes, I know the argument "it's my money, dammit, I'll give it to whom I please" - it's just various judges and legislators disagree quite unpleasantly), and speak out loudly and with derision for the very worst of the lot.
While I'm a strong supporter of same sex marriage for fairly non-intuitive reasons, I'm also a big supporter of folks being able to defend themselves until the nice folks with badges and flashy pretty lights show up to take over the show - and this leads me to the notion that Newsom and Leno (among others) have crossed a line.
Specifically, a line sufficiently broad to require that I at least speak my mind in the most public venue available to me, and share my unvarnished opinion thereof - and encourage others to take such lawful actions as are available to them to remove these ninnyhammers from public life.
He proposes to ban gun shows from the Cow Palace, a facility owned by the State Department of Agriculture and thus outside the reach of San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom and his deeply misguided (and costly) attempts at a San Francisco wide gun ban.
The good folks at Pink Pistols (a LGBT pro-self-defense group) publicly took a stand against this silliness in 2005 during the attempt at the Great San Francisco Gun Ban (overthrown with the gentle help of a federal judge and the Second Amendment Foundation in 2006), but the misguided sorts seem to be coming back for another go-round.
Now, surprising as it might be to some, I actually have a nice word to say about a Democrat. State Senator Carole Migden - she's not Mark Leno. While not without flaws, she's not Mark Leno. While bereft, as far as I can tell, of any particular virtue...she's not Mark Leno. Helpful kinda guy that I am, I'm even going to provide a link to her campaign website where folks can donate.
The basic reality here is that for the foreseeable future, San Francisco and Marin County is going to continue electing whacky folks that'd be considered utter loons in the vast majority of the rest of the country. (See: Nancy Pelosi) Our sole hope is to contribute where we legally can (and yes, I know the argument "it's my money, dammit, I'll give it to whom I please" - it's just various judges and legislators disagree quite unpleasantly), and speak out loudly and with derision for the very worst of the lot.
While I'm a strong supporter of same sex marriage for fairly non-intuitive reasons, I'm also a big supporter of folks being able to defend themselves until the nice folks with badges and flashy pretty lights show up to take over the show - and this leads me to the notion that Newsom and Leno (among others) have crossed a line.
Specifically, a line sufficiently broad to require that I at least speak my mind in the most public venue available to me, and share my unvarnished opinion thereof - and encourage others to take such lawful actions as are available to them to remove these ninnyhammers from public life.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
MYOB
The laws of probability dictate that even the whack jobs and the conspiracy theorists get it at least partially right now and again, more or less in the same way that a broken clock is right twice a day. Thus it is with a certain broadly derided blogger who expresses reservations regarding the RealID act - RealID is a bad thing, though for completely different reasons (and much more rational ones) than she cites.
RealID creates a National Identification Card via devious means, inflicting an massive unfunded mandate enforced with punitive measures against the non-compliant upon the states to create a standardized identification card out of their former drivers license programs and generates four main rational arguments against itself, with a plethora of lesser arguments in opposition.
Cost leaps out right away as an issue for all those who understand the notion of TANSTAAFL - the bills must be paid, and given the distinct lack of a National ID fairy flitting about the landscape dispersing nine figure sums of cash, the burden will fall almost entirely on the already cash-strapped states - to the tune of 120 million dollars a year, on average. Financially alone, RealID is a very bad notion. One reason that 17 states have passed legislation barring participation in the RealID scheme.
States Rights. Once the trite and discredited creed of apologists for the Old South, more and more folks in the West and the unfallen Northern states have hearkened to the old call in recognition that a dynamic tension and division of powers between and amongst the states and the federal centrist government is fundamental to preserving the basic freedom and diversity that allows each state to screw things up in it's own unique fashion (allowing fifty potential chances to get things right) as opposed putting all our national interests in the single basket of a top-down national government. RealID is a hefty step forward towards that top-down hierarchical structure of a national government simply instructing subordinate bodies.
Privacy. Because of the structure of the proposed RealID program wherein RFID chips with weak encryption are utilized carrying key personal data, a broad array of private and governmental misconduct becomes possible including enhanced opportunities for identity theft, improved stalking opportunities, indiscriminate commercial/private/governmental tracking of location/transactions/etc, and a fundamental breakdown in the concept of privacy (barring a warrant) from governmental and other intrusion. This does not even begin to contemplate the inevitable database intrusions and inadvertent (and occasionally malicious) data exposures.
From our beginning as a nation, a fundamental tenet of our national conversation is that we are all innocent until proven guilty in a court of law - accompanied by the equally important tenet that we are, in lieu of due legal process, secure in our papers and belongings. RealID reverses all this when, unless we take deeply inconvenient and questionably legal steps, our every move through life is tracked directly or through inference and maintained in massive national databases available to any schmo of a clerk in some organization trying to look busy.
For a particularly painful example, let us contemplate our lives as gun owners. I choose, because I have a dear friend in NYC, to visit dear friend. No problem thus far. However, the NYC Mayor, being a non-fan of private firearms ownership has implemented a plan to ensure his cities safety from bad thoughts.
He has instructed NYPD to implement a search of all incoming passengers data against the national databases containing CCW licenses, ammunition purchases, and firearms purchases in the last twenty years. Having bought a nice .45 LC revolver in the last year, and shooting it regularly, and made these purchases using my visa card...as soon as I board my plane in Portland, I'm targeted for a *very special greeting* from NY's finest on landing at La Guardia.
You can do wonderful things with data, just like any other tool, but you can also misuse data manipulation in direct proportion to the potential benefit.
Oh, those 17 states? They cover the political spectrum. Try Tennessee, South Carolina, Nebraska, New Hampshire, Oklahoma, Illinois, Missouri, Nevada, Colorado, Georgia, Hawaii, North Dakota, Washington, Montana, Arkansas, Idaho, Maine. (Courtesy of the Epic website.)
By the way - MYOB is "mind your own business". My government doesn't *need* to know what I own, where I travel, or to have the authority to deny me the right to travel until such time as they can get a judge to go along with the deal in public. Nor does any government I'm terribly comfortable with supporting. MYOB. (MYOB isn't mine...for it's origin, look to Eric F. Russell and "Then there were none".)
RealID creates a National Identification Card via devious means, inflicting an massive unfunded mandate enforced with punitive measures against the non-compliant upon the states to create a standardized identification card out of their former drivers license programs and generates four main rational arguments against itself, with a plethora of lesser arguments in opposition.
Cost leaps out right away as an issue for all those who understand the notion of TANSTAAFL - the bills must be paid, and given the distinct lack of a National ID fairy flitting about the landscape dispersing nine figure sums of cash, the burden will fall almost entirely on the already cash-strapped states - to the tune of 120 million dollars a year, on average. Financially alone, RealID is a very bad notion. One reason that 17 states have passed legislation barring participation in the RealID scheme.
States Rights. Once the trite and discredited creed of apologists for the Old South, more and more folks in the West and the unfallen Northern states have hearkened to the old call in recognition that a dynamic tension and division of powers between and amongst the states and the federal centrist government is fundamental to preserving the basic freedom and diversity that allows each state to screw things up in it's own unique fashion (allowing fifty potential chances to get things right) as opposed putting all our national interests in the single basket of a top-down national government. RealID is a hefty step forward towards that top-down hierarchical structure of a national government simply instructing subordinate bodies.
Privacy. Because of the structure of the proposed RealID program wherein RFID chips with weak encryption are utilized carrying key personal data, a broad array of private and governmental misconduct becomes possible including enhanced opportunities for identity theft, improved stalking opportunities, indiscriminate commercial/private/governmental tracking of location/transactions/etc, and a fundamental breakdown in the concept of privacy (barring a warrant) from governmental and other intrusion. This does not even begin to contemplate the inevitable database intrusions and inadvertent (and occasionally malicious) data exposures.
From our beginning as a nation, a fundamental tenet of our national conversation is that we are all innocent until proven guilty in a court of law - accompanied by the equally important tenet that we are, in lieu of due legal process, secure in our papers and belongings. RealID reverses all this when, unless we take deeply inconvenient and questionably legal steps, our every move through life is tracked directly or through inference and maintained in massive national databases available to any schmo of a clerk in some organization trying to look busy.
For a particularly painful example, let us contemplate our lives as gun owners. I choose, because I have a dear friend in NYC, to visit dear friend. No problem thus far. However, the NYC Mayor, being a non-fan of private firearms ownership has implemented a plan to ensure his cities safety from bad thoughts.
He has instructed NYPD to implement a search of all incoming passengers data against the national databases containing CCW licenses, ammunition purchases, and firearms purchases in the last twenty years. Having bought a nice .45 LC revolver in the last year, and shooting it regularly, and made these purchases using my visa card...as soon as I board my plane in Portland, I'm targeted for a *very special greeting* from NY's finest on landing at La Guardia.
You can do wonderful things with data, just like any other tool, but you can also misuse data manipulation in direct proportion to the potential benefit.
Oh, those 17 states? They cover the political spectrum. Try Tennessee, South Carolina, Nebraska, New Hampshire, Oklahoma, Illinois, Missouri, Nevada, Colorado, Georgia, Hawaii, North Dakota, Washington, Montana, Arkansas, Idaho, Maine. (Courtesy of the Epic website.)
By the way - MYOB is "mind your own business". My government doesn't *need* to know what I own, where I travel, or to have the authority to deny me the right to travel until such time as they can get a judge to go along with the deal in public. Nor does any government I'm terribly comfortable with supporting. MYOB. (MYOB isn't mine...for it's origin, look to Eric F. Russell and "Then there were none".)
House-Cleaning
Full Room Air = No mechanical respiration, no additional humidity, no heating the air supply, no additional oxygen, no special filtering, etc. Just plain ol' air.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
New stuff
Couple o' new links, over to who brings a delightfully wry and insightful view to things, and to Helena off in lovely Scotland who brings a delightfully different view to the table. Good writers, the both of them.
In other news, the talk box is (mostly) up'n'running and onsite @ hospital for Dad if/when he's feeling up to it. The talk box is that PC converted over to a text>voice I was babbling about a few posts back. Turns out that either XP or Win2k are good platforms for such endeavor, and that DSpeech is pretty cool as an interface. If anyone with more money than expenses is out there listening, the author of DSpeech would be willing to consider adding some user-programmable buttons for frequently used phrases...
Dad continues better, was on total room air today.
In other news, I'd been wondering for awhile if sparks would fly between Ambo and Babs, and to my surprise and delight, it appears they have. Couldn't happen to a couple of better folks, we should all be so fortunate. :)
In other news, the talk box is (mostly) up'n'running and onsite @ hospital for Dad if/when he's feeling up to it. The talk box is that PC converted over to a text>voice I was babbling about a few posts back. Turns out that either XP or Win2k are good platforms for such endeavor, and that DSpeech is pretty cool as an interface. If anyone with more money than expenses is out there listening, the author of DSpeech would be willing to consider adding some user-programmable buttons for frequently used phrases...
Dad continues better, was on total room air today.
In other news, I'd been wondering for awhile if sparks would fly between Ambo and Babs, and to my surprise and delight, it appears they have. Couldn't happen to a couple of better folks, we should all be so fortunate. :)
Sunday, August 19, 2007
The Update
Was over visiting Dad today, who's been unusually zonked for the last few days, when we ran into an unusually lucid respiratory therapist - one who made it his business to make sure we *understood* the why's of what's going on with the respirator weaning process as well as the what's.
Essentially Dad has been sedated the last week because of what we were told was "unusual and possibly dangerous heart rates" and sedation (Atavan) was being used to counter. Fine'n'dandy.
But as Paul Harvey used to say, the rest of the story...as it turns out, and not surprisingly, being weaned off a respirator can be a bit traumatic as it can feel like your air is cut off. Anxiety-producing, even.
Anxiety, in turn, ramps up the metabolism with increased heart rate and respiratory effort...followed shortly by aspiration and return to the respirator. As I understand it, this leads to the current regiment of a delicate balance between zombie and over-anxious during the weaning itself, followed post-weaning by bringing the patient back up mentally, if all has gone well.
Yesterday Dad was on heated & and humidified air w/o mechanical respiration for 16 hours. Today when we were in, he still required suction, but was on heated/humidified air with a 29% oxygen content, 98% oxygen saturation, a good sinus rhythm, and a heartrate of around 70...
Sounds like improvement, though not immediately apparent at a visual level, particularly as he was zonked on atavan when we arrived and his leads had disconnected when he'd moved...resulting in *instant* consultation time (I was good. I did not use the classic "He who shall be obeyed" in combination with attention getting verbiage. )
We'll see what the next few days hold.
Essentially Dad has been sedated the last week because of what we were told was "unusual and possibly dangerous heart rates" and sedation (Atavan) was being used to counter. Fine'n'dandy.
But as Paul Harvey used to say, the rest of the story...as it turns out, and not surprisingly, being weaned off a respirator can be a bit traumatic as it can feel like your air is cut off. Anxiety-producing, even.
Anxiety, in turn, ramps up the metabolism with increased heart rate and respiratory effort...followed shortly by aspiration and return to the respirator. As I understand it, this leads to the current regiment of a delicate balance between zombie and over-anxious during the weaning itself, followed post-weaning by bringing the patient back up mentally, if all has gone well.
Yesterday Dad was on heated & and humidified air w/o mechanical respiration for 16 hours. Today when we were in, he still required suction, but was on heated/humidified air with a 29% oxygen content, 98% oxygen saturation, a good sinus rhythm, and a heartrate of around 70...
Sounds like improvement, though not immediately apparent at a visual level, particularly as he was zonked on atavan when we arrived and his leads had disconnected when he'd moved...resulting in *instant* consultation time (I was good. I did not use the classic "He who shall be obeyed" in combination with attention getting verbiage. )
We'll see what the next few days hold.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
You know things have been a little odd when...
| This Is My Life, Rated | |
| Life: |  4.1 |
| Mind: |  5.5 |
| Body: | 4.4 |
| Spirit: | 5.4 |
| Friends/Family: |  3.4 |
| Love: |  0.8 |
| Finance: | 3.4 |
| Take the Rate My Life Quiz | |
Monday, August 13, 2007
Talker Project
For anyone interested, there will be a how-to with all the fun details, when the talk-box is delivered and works to user satisfaction. Proposed user is suddenly hesitant, understandably, about potential interaction of cables and respirator tubes. (Valuing proposed user, this seems unlikely as all cables within 8' or so of the bed are encased in 1.5" wire loom).
Ah-ha
The pay, at best, is adequate - but why do I like working IT, and particularly tech support roles?
It's the ah-ha moments. Almost as bad as politics, tobacco, whisky, gun shops, and cute guys the the "ah-ha" moment subtly addicts, as the momentary flare of triumph over tech and/or the forces of ignorance (and now and again, fear and stupidity) surges through ones veins and a sense of rightness with the Universe pervades - at much lower cost than most other such vices - hell, I get PAID to have these little triumphs.
Today I got several - I won't turn down a raise, should one come my way, but keep me in "ah-ha" moments and the occasional compliments, and I can stay happy for a fair amount of time before economic reality sets in.
Really must adjust that viewpoint. :)
It's the ah-ha moments. Almost as bad as politics, tobacco, whisky, gun shops, and cute guys the the "ah-ha" moment subtly addicts, as the momentary flare of triumph over tech and/or the forces of ignorance (and now and again, fear and stupidity) surges through ones veins and a sense of rightness with the Universe pervades - at much lower cost than most other such vices - hell, I get PAID to have these little triumphs.
Today I got several - I won't turn down a raise, should one come my way, but keep me in "ah-ha" moments and the occasional compliments, and I can stay happy for a fair amount of time before economic reality sets in.
Really must adjust that viewpoint. :)
Friendly geeks chatting...re the talker project.
NWFreethinker says (9:04 PM):
brb...gotta check a backup...and if I'm lucky initiate a RAID 1 conversion
Ditmir says (9:04 PM):
ok
NWFreethinker says (11:52 PM):
bleh
Ditmir says (11:53 PM):
oh?
NWFreethinker says (11:53 PM):
lol
NWFreethinker says (11:53 PM):
I was hoping to bullet proof things a wee bit by mirroring
Ditmir says (11:53 PM):
ah
NWFreethinker says (11:53 PM):
as from dad's point of view this will be a mission critical app
NWFreethinker says (11:54 PM):
and had spent considerable time getting all set up so it'd be possible
NWFreethinker says (11:54 PM):
only to discover after taking the drives dynamic
NWFreethinker says (11:54 PM):
and achieving blue screen of death status
NWFreethinker says (11:54 PM):
requiring FINDING and then using an install disk, the repair console, and a new boot.ini to fix...
Ditmir says (11:55 PM):
ew. fun.
NWFreethinker says (11:55 PM):
that y'all can't get there from here. At least not without a 3rd HDD and a "scream twice and start over with a reformatted Hard Drive adventure."
NWFreethinker says (11:55 PM):
argh.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
A long day
It's a bit narrative, but...it's my blog, dammit.
Kept busy Saturday, crawling out at 7, and after breakfast, built a linux voice-to-text box utilizing the "Festival" package set. Can't say I'm really happy with it, but since I was making software designed for the KDE desktop to work on a Gnome desktop (quickly, where the various generations of Windows have ONE user interface that is "just Win" for that generation - Linux has DOZENS of possible user interfaces, the way things look/feel/act/interact and KDE and Gnome are the two big kids on the Linux User Interface block), I'm not sure it's a fair comparison to what I've been playing with building a similar Windows box.
Suffice to say it made ME cranky, and I'm not having to tramp through diminished motor skills to try and make it work. If I had diminished strength and skills in my hands, it would make me truly crazy. The fonts were not adjustable, you couldn't change the speed or pitch of the voice engine significantly, and importing additonal voices was...challenging. Most annoying was that you couldn't just type what you were trying to say and hit enter and have a voice erupt. You had to mouse up to the top of the screen and click on a teeny tiny "play" button.
Not good when your hands are shaky to begin with. We're sending the Linux text>voice concept back to the stable until I can dedicate the time to switch a box from Ubuntu to Kubuntu (Gnome vs. KDE) and run the software on the desktop it's intended to run on.
At the same time, I spent a fair portion of the Saturday cleaning up an old Windows 2000 PC and setting it up as Dad's talker box. Since there's software on there I'd like to keep, I can't just nuke the hard drive and start from scratch, and as a result it slows things down.
Amids all this , visited Dad, got the magazines as done as Mom will let me (years of accumulation, to the point of fire hazard and other issues), got a walkway cleared through the basement disaster area, and will start on the RAID box if I get all enthused again. A long day, over all, but productive.
Kept busy Saturday, crawling out at 7, and after breakfast, built a linux voice-to-text box utilizing the "Festival" package set. Can't say I'm really happy with it, but since I was making software designed for the KDE desktop to work on a Gnome desktop (quickly, where the various generations of Windows have ONE user interface that is "just Win" for that generation - Linux has DOZENS of possible user interfaces, the way things look/feel/act/interact and KDE and Gnome are the two big kids on the Linux User Interface block), I'm not sure it's a fair comparison to what I've been playing with building a similar Windows box.
Suffice to say it made ME cranky, and I'm not having to tramp through diminished motor skills to try and make it work. If I had diminished strength and skills in my hands, it would make me truly crazy. The fonts were not adjustable, you couldn't change the speed or pitch of the voice engine significantly, and importing additonal voices was...challenging. Most annoying was that you couldn't just type what you were trying to say and hit enter and have a voice erupt. You had to mouse up to the top of the screen and click on a teeny tiny "play" button.
Not good when your hands are shaky to begin with. We're sending the Linux text>voice concept back to the stable until I can dedicate the time to switch a box from Ubuntu to Kubuntu (Gnome vs. KDE) and run the software on the desktop it's intended to run on.
At the same time, I spent a fair portion of the Saturday cleaning up an old Windows 2000 PC and setting it up as Dad's talker box. Since there's software on there I'd like to keep, I can't just nuke the hard drive and start from scratch, and as a result it slows things down.
Amids all this , visited Dad, got the magazines as done as Mom will let me (years of accumulation, to the point of fire hazard and other issues), got a walkway cleared through the basement disaster area, and will start on the RAID box if I get all enthused again. A long day, over all, but productive.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Project #1 (Long, Geekish, Possibly Educational)
Alright, project #1 is multi-tasking.
1) Build & Test RAID 5 Array utilizing MDADM Raid Software under Linux. Take apart, go to #2
2) Build & Test (and perhaps set up for external exposure) RAID 1 under Redhat Antique, upgrading to utilize MADM 2.6.2 requiring GLIBc2.3
3) With spare HDD generated under 1 & 2, build text>voice PC for Dad, first under Linux, then under Windows XP or 2k.
Why, you ask, this rather complex approach? And what is RAID 1 or 5, and why do I care? And what's this about Linux? You're writing this on an XP box after all!
Well, the answer is complex. Suffice to say I need to first learn how to build a software-controlled RAID 5 array (I'll explain what that is in a minute) utilizing whatever flavor of Linux comes to hand (I like Ubuntu, a LOT - at least partly because it's an easy install on even moderately modern hardware), just so I know how and can say I've done it.
RAID translates to "Redundant Array of Inexpensive Drives" and comes in six main flavors with a variety of toppings; the main goal is to increase the speed at which the computer can get at stored data, and at the same time make that data safer (ideally) by hedging ones bets against hard drive crash. It's an approach mainly found on servers, but with HDD prices coming down, a RAID 5 array can give one a warm/fuzzy/safe feeling when it comes to ones data - and while no substitute for regular/religious backups, can get you back up and in business a great deal faster than restoring from tape/cd/dvd.
In other words, if you're a belt'n'suspenders sort who scatters fire extinguishers and firearms in safe and strategic locations throughout your life - RAID may just give you that same warm'n'fuzzy feeling about your data when combined with good backup practices ("I've done MY part, the rest is up to the Fates!")
"So what's this RAID thing you go on and on about?"
That brings us to building that Redhat Antique box. A buddy has an Antique box that he uses in his business - someone back in the late '90's built it for him and hung, what for the time, was a cool new thing called RAID 1 on it. It's getting old'n'sick, but he's asked me to limp it along for him and keep an eye on it for him. So...before setting my alleged evil genius loose, I've kidnapped an old PC of mine and am using it as a disposable box that if I succeed I'll turn into a back-up file server here at the house - but if I fail, I've only trashed my own equipment.
We'll see how it goes. G'nite all.
1) Build & Test RAID 5 Array utilizing MDADM Raid Software under Linux. Take apart, go to #2
2) Build & Test (and perhaps set up for external exposure) RAID 1 under Redhat Antique, upgrading to utilize MADM 2.6.2 requiring GLIBc2.3
3) With spare HDD generated under 1 & 2, build text>voice PC for Dad, first under Linux, then under Windows XP or 2k.
Why, you ask, this rather complex approach? And what is RAID 1 or 5, and why do I care? And what's this about Linux? You're writing this on an XP box after all!
Well, the answer is complex. Suffice to say I need to first learn how to build a software-controlled RAID 5 array (I'll explain what that is in a minute) utilizing whatever flavor of Linux comes to hand (I like Ubuntu, a LOT - at least partly because it's an easy install on even moderately modern hardware), just so I know how and can say I've done it.
RAID translates to "Redundant Array of Inexpensive Drives" and comes in six main flavors with a variety of toppings; the main goal is to increase the speed at which the computer can get at stored data, and at the same time make that data safer (ideally) by hedging ones bets against hard drive crash. It's an approach mainly found on servers, but with HDD prices coming down, a RAID 5 array can give one a warm/fuzzy/safe feeling when it comes to ones data - and while no substitute for regular/religious backups, can get you back up and in business a great deal faster than restoring from tape/cd/dvd.
In other words, if you're a belt'n'suspenders sort who scatters fire extinguishers and firearms in safe and strategic locations throughout your life - RAID may just give you that same warm'n'fuzzy feeling about your data when combined with good backup practices ("I've done MY part, the rest is up to the Fates!")
"So what's this RAID thing you go on and on about?"
RAID Level 0 splits all your data as it is written and puts an equal portion on each disk. This is/was a speed trick, because by sharing out the data being read/written across several hard drives read/write heads, each head does a less work faster. Think of thirty folks writing " I will never use this" a total of a hundred times between them vs. one person writing the same sentence a hundred times - the group finishes the job first. Speeds things up, but if one drive crashes, every shred of data on the group of hard drives is gone forever - even if 9 out of 10 are just fine.
RAID Level 1 makes exact copies of data on several (2+) hard drives - if you have 1 primary disk, you have 1 secondary/mirror. If you have 10 primaries under this scheme, you have 10 secondaries. If a primary drive croaks, the secondary picks up the slack till you throw a replacement for the deader in, and then the "secondary" writes back to the new primary. Not cheap, due to the 1:1 ratio of hard drives.
RAID Level 2 obsolete, seldom if ever used in the real world. Requires 39 drives to pull it off (not 38, not 40). Not especially practical.
RAID Levels 3 and 4 take your data when it's being written and schmear it in equal portions in what are called "stripes" across several hard drives, and keeps a record of what's where (parity) on a special drive set aside from ONLY that kind of thing. Should a non-parity drive melt down (one of the ones with data on it) , the parity drive can rebuild the data. Downside is that this approach slows things down as the parity is figured out and written when the data is written, more steps=more time. Bonus is that if you do have a data drive drop dead, if you've put a spare drive on in advance, the array can pick it up and roll it in as a replacement without your intervention - but don't forget to pull the deader and replace it with a shiny new spare.
RAID Level 5 is for big kids and kids that like really cool toys. It takes your data as it's being written ans splats it AND the parity data across several hard drives (3+, all identical). Since it can read and write at the same time, speed picks up, and again, if one drive drops life is good. Two or more drives dropping at once, and you're in deep kimchee with total data loss (unless you've been backing up regularly). A bonus on this approach is that you use multiple identical drives, and the storage you get boils out to "n-1" where n represents the total number of drives - thus, if I have 3 100gb HDD in a RAID 5, I effectively have 200gb of HDD storage available to me; conversely, if I'm flying at RAID 1, if i have two 100gb HDD, I've 100gb of effective HDD space. Ick.
The reason that RAID is cool at home or in other environments is that it's dependable (like all things, if done right) and in 1/3/4/5 (additional levels exist, I've just burbled enough), and if you've ever restored the hard way (from CD/DVD/Tape/Etc)...it's a whole bunch faster. And for the bad children among us who don't back up, RAID can save your bacon (not "will", but "can") if all goes well after a hard drive crash.
For just a nasty moment or two, think of what's on your PC - and how much fun it would be to lose it all. Now, think back-up and RAID and see how warm'n'fuzzy it leaves ya feeling.
Now as a less-evil techie guy, I *like* to test out stuff on my own gear before trying it on other folks. I tend to think this approach adds a certain...stability and peace of mind to my little world. Cuts down on the number of embarrassing surprises.That brings us to building that Redhat Antique box. A buddy has an Antique box that he uses in his business - someone back in the late '90's built it for him and hung, what for the time, was a cool new thing called RAID 1 on it. It's getting old'n'sick, but he's asked me to limp it along for him and keep an eye on it for him. So...before setting my alleged evil genius loose, I've kidnapped an old PC of mine and am using it as a disposable box that if I succeed I'll turn into a back-up file server here at the house - but if I fail, I've only trashed my own equipment.
We'll see how it goes. G'nite all.
Catching Up...
Things have gotten a tad busy and/or I've been known to decline into "me go home now, fall down, go boom" level of directness when sufficiently tired - with necessary levels of crankiness employed to remove obstructions between myself and the corner I've chosen to fall down in. By mid-week, I was fairly direct and have largely remained thus.
Just about Tuesday, as I mentioned before, Dad made what we all hope will be his long term escape from ICU to his first therapeutic stop over at the Breathing and Extra Complicated Care Facility. Between one thing and another, he qualifies.
Thursday I got over to see Dad after work, and he was quite tired but was watching television. He is still getting accustomed to his tracheotomy tube, and in attempting to adjust it Thursday morning started some bleeding which took a bit to resolve, but finally cleared up.
I'm told that last night he made the trip to London on Hallucinatory Airlines and didn't get a wink of sleep, but apparently enjoyed himself. As I recall all too well, departing tedious reality when cooped up in a hospital can be a morale boost as well as offering recuperative benefits - given the choice between being miserable and mentally present, and miserable and off in happy-land, I'm pretty ok with folks visiting happy-land so long as it's not overdone and the return trip is properly scheduled.
However, after such an exhausting trip, Dad was quite tired today, and slept a good deal - however, the folks at the facility have had him sitting up for a couple of hours a day now, and taking a few walker assisted steps. Small, but significant progress.
This weekend is likely to be another busy one...I'm going to try and start a load of laundry before I hit the sack, but in addition to visiting Dad, there are a couple of ceilings calling out to me as needing painted, and with a couple of exceptions (mainly the keyboard and a trackball) I've got the pieces I need for a build of the machine itself, and the software has been ready for sometime.
Mom is tired, but mostly well. She is, of course, quite concerned about Dad - but the upshot is that she can now drive herself over to visit him without serious drive-related stress, and that's (I think) good for her, allowing a previously difficult level of independence for her, and more ability to set her own schedule without worrying about rides or cabs. We all have our good days and our bad days, but are bearing up.
Just about Tuesday, as I mentioned before, Dad made what we all hope will be his long term escape from ICU to his first therapeutic stop over at the Breathing and Extra Complicated Care Facility. Between one thing and another, he qualifies.
Thursday I got over to see Dad after work, and he was quite tired but was watching television. He is still getting accustomed to his tracheotomy tube, and in attempting to adjust it Thursday morning started some bleeding which took a bit to resolve, but finally cleared up.
I'm told that last night he made the trip to London on Hallucinatory Airlines and didn't get a wink of sleep, but apparently enjoyed himself. As I recall all too well, departing tedious reality when cooped up in a hospital can be a morale boost as well as offering recuperative benefits - given the choice between being miserable and mentally present, and miserable and off in happy-land, I'm pretty ok with folks visiting happy-land so long as it's not overdone and the return trip is properly scheduled.
However, after such an exhausting trip, Dad was quite tired today, and slept a good deal - however, the folks at the facility have had him sitting up for a couple of hours a day now, and taking a few walker assisted steps. Small, but significant progress.
This weekend is likely to be another busy one...I'm going to try and start a load of laundry before I hit the sack, but in addition to visiting Dad, there are a couple of ceilings calling out to me as needing painted, and with a couple of exceptions (mainly the keyboard and a trackball) I've got the pieces I need for a build of the machine itself, and the software has been ready for sometime.
Mom is tired, but mostly well. She is, of course, quite concerned about Dad - but the upshot is that she can now drive herself over to visit him without serious drive-related stress, and that's (I think) good for her, allowing a previously difficult level of independence for her, and more ability to set her own schedule without worrying about rides or cabs. We all have our good days and our bad days, but are bearing up.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
A good friend sent me this....
Back in December, Seattle had a bit of weird weather. In fact, it had a whole winter full of weird weather, even for Seattle, which while it doesn't have the worlds weirdest climates, certainly has one of the damper, soggier, and moldier ones - combined with very steep hills, lots of trees (many of them rather....shallow-rooted) and about once every four or five years, serious snow.
Last winter was kind of a jackpot. Wind, rain, snow, and a fatality by drowning. Kate Fleming, the narrator of some 250 audio books, and mourned by family, friends, and her partner, Charlene Strong.
Charlene's account was published in the Seattle Times the other day, and a friend forwarded this to me. There's a reason folks think marriage is a good idea....for everyone that can find someone mutually tolerable.
Last winter was kind of a jackpot. Wind, rain, snow, and a fatality by drowning. Kate Fleming, the narrator of some 250 audio books, and mourned by family, friends, and her partner, Charlene Strong.
Charlene's account was published in the Seattle Times the other day, and a friend forwarded this to me. There's a reason folks think marriage is a good idea....for everyone that can find someone mutually tolerable.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Dang it...
I'm falling behind (again), dang it. I'm trying to keep up and for once make 31 *quality* posts in 31 days, and I'm already two days behind. Drat.
But before I get going I need to steal a phrase and ask "What in gay hell is THIS?" GayPatriot gets the credit for bringing this to my attention, but I can't say I favor this any more than a fire or police chief forbidding his/her/etc sundry troopies from marching in uniform on their own time, perhaps even w/ departmental eqp't that's not immediately mission-critical (I'm a little more conflicted about tax payer dollars being spent to have ANY governmental employee paid to march in ANY parade - call me an equal opportunity cheapskate, if you must!).
But moving along, after noting that I hope the firefighters involved can retire to a comfortable life of ease on their winnings and wishing a year of daily wedgies on the dingbat who would give such an order...as GayPatriot notes, a gay firefighter ordered to attend the Rev. Phelps B'day Party, Revival, and Cross-burning Parade would certainly be entitled to a big ol' hissy fit with judges and juries and chocolate icing...certainly turnabout seems only fair.
Dad has made the great escape (hopefully for the duration) from the ICU at the local version of the GFB Hospital on Pill Hill to a place specializing in resipiratory and complex cases, and noises are finally being made about a diagnosis of TIA rather'n stroke, which suggests a more positive prognosis.
Pace picked up today a bit at the office, with some linux and software RAID issues, testing a database script, and sundry other adventures. Of course, with the phone system melting down, the first half of the day was kind of slow.
And, speaking of melting down, it's that hour of the night when I'm starting to wrinkle around the edges, so a good evening to all, and to all a good night.
But before I get going I need to steal a phrase and ask "What in gay hell is THIS?" GayPatriot gets the credit for bringing this to my attention, but I can't say I favor this any more than a fire or police chief forbidding his/her/etc sundry troopies from marching in uniform on their own time, perhaps even w/ departmental eqp't that's not immediately mission-critical (I'm a little more conflicted about tax payer dollars being spent to have ANY governmental employee paid to march in ANY parade - call me an equal opportunity cheapskate, if you must!).
But moving along, after noting that I hope the firefighters involved can retire to a comfortable life of ease on their winnings and wishing a year of daily wedgies on the dingbat who would give such an order...as GayPatriot notes, a gay firefighter ordered to attend the Rev. Phelps B'day Party, Revival, and Cross-burning Parade would certainly be entitled to a big ol' hissy fit with judges and juries and chocolate icing...certainly turnabout seems only fair.
Dad has made the great escape (hopefully for the duration) from the ICU at the local version of the GFB Hospital on Pill Hill to a place specializing in resipiratory and complex cases, and noises are finally being made about a diagnosis of TIA rather'n stroke, which suggests a more positive prognosis.
Pace picked up today a bit at the office, with some linux and software RAID issues, testing a database script, and sundry other adventures. Of course, with the phone system melting down, the first half of the day was kind of slow.
And, speaking of melting down, it's that hour of the night when I'm starting to wrinkle around the edges, so a good evening to all, and to all a good night.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Updates and things
Well, Dad is perkier and much more alert, but conversely, since he's more alert, he's much more desirous of his usual chatty ways and much more easily frustrated when communications via letterboard fail. Overall, he's better.
A social worker spoke to Mom on Friday about moving Dad from ICU to an acute care facility now that he has his tracheotomy in place and stomach wall feeding tube. A family friend with a history in nursing brought some salient questions to the table about the importance of continuity in care and questioning why a transfer direct from ICU to an off-campus acute care facility was advisable when non-ICU beds were available on-site and much closer to more intense services should it all go pear-shaped...
On another front, I learned to turn a WinXP box into an assistive text>speech device (next: migrating application from test-bed to production environment). A free program called DSpeech translates typed text to spoken word rather nicely, and I know where I can get a large key keyboard.
My biggest problem is that ideally, I need someone clueful that can weld or do amazing woodwork (welding is better, I suspect, from an infectious disease standpoint - easier to wipe down metal and keep it sterile). What I am imagining is a mutant hospital bed table wherein as Dad lays in bed, the top of the stand holding the keyboard at an adjustable height and a flatscreen LCD monitor and a pointing device (I'm thinking a large trackball with low sensitivity/click rate).
Ideally the CPU box would be a tower, slung low on the support base of this mutant wheeled table.
So, am beginning the quest in search of someone that knows how to weld (I don't) and contemplating which PC gear to pirate for my cause out of the house here, or alternatively, picking up a new dedicated box (appealing on a number of fronts) that Dad can wheel around - essentially a disposable PC that's designed around the notion it's going to take a beating, fail, and then be replaced.
Mom is running low on steam as we approach 2 months in, and I grow concerned. Understandably, she wants to be at the hospital every day, but at when approaching the eighth decade that is not an entirely supportable pace - particularly when to/fro involves cab rides or, alternatively, attempting the drive herself or doing the bus thing.
This is not made any better by the impending 11 day traffic adventure in the area, with the major north/south freeway closing to one lane in each direction - traffic is predicted to back up to 33 miles (or more) by the State DOT unless at least half of commuters abandon their cars in favor of buses or other forms of transportation.
Finally, on a more upbeat note, Mom and I picked up some lights for the kitchen today on the way back from the hospital. Working on getting the house sufficiently beaten into shape that Mom feels confident she can make the whole thing work on her own, if she needs to (the new job requires me to travel, if naught else).
Being able to see to cook, run the furnace controls, and generally keep the place in working order has its' little advantages. Dad's not got a lot of strength in his hands so I'm struggling to install some faucets that turn easily I bought a few years ago, before he gets back so he can at least wash his hands w/o asking for help...a ramp in front of the house is also on the "to-do" list.
Another day, another adventure.
A social worker spoke to Mom on Friday about moving Dad from ICU to an acute care facility now that he has his tracheotomy in place and stomach wall feeding tube. A family friend with a history in nursing brought some salient questions to the table about the importance of continuity in care and questioning why a transfer direct from ICU to an off-campus acute care facility was advisable when non-ICU beds were available on-site and much closer to more intense services should it all go pear-shaped...
On another front, I learned to turn a WinXP box into an assistive text>speech device (next: migrating application from test-bed to production environment). A free program called DSpeech translates typed text to spoken word rather nicely, and I know where I can get a large key keyboard.
My biggest problem is that ideally, I need someone clueful that can weld or do amazing woodwork (welding is better, I suspect, from an infectious disease standpoint - easier to wipe down metal and keep it sterile). What I am imagining is a mutant hospital bed table wherein as Dad lays in bed, the top of the stand holding the keyboard at an adjustable height and a flatscreen LCD monitor and a pointing device (I'm thinking a large trackball with low sensitivity/click rate).
Ideally the CPU box would be a tower, slung low on the support base of this mutant wheeled table.
So, am beginning the quest in search of someone that knows how to weld (I don't) and contemplating which PC gear to pirate for my cause out of the house here, or alternatively, picking up a new dedicated box (appealing on a number of fronts) that Dad can wheel around - essentially a disposable PC that's designed around the notion it's going to take a beating, fail, and then be replaced.
Mom is running low on steam as we approach 2 months in, and I grow concerned. Understandably, she wants to be at the hospital every day, but at when approaching the eighth decade that is not an entirely supportable pace - particularly when to/fro involves cab rides or, alternatively, attempting the drive herself or doing the bus thing.
This is not made any better by the impending 11 day traffic adventure in the area, with the major north/south freeway closing to one lane in each direction - traffic is predicted to back up to 33 miles (or more) by the State DOT unless at least half of commuters abandon their cars in favor of buses or other forms of transportation.
Finally, on a more upbeat note, Mom and I picked up some lights for the kitchen today on the way back from the hospital. Working on getting the house sufficiently beaten into shape that Mom feels confident she can make the whole thing work on her own, if she needs to (the new job requires me to travel, if naught else).
Being able to see to cook, run the furnace controls, and generally keep the place in working order has its' little advantages. Dad's not got a lot of strength in his hands so I'm struggling to install some faucets that turn easily I bought a few years ago, before he gets back so he can at least wash his hands w/o asking for help...a ramp in front of the house is also on the "to-do" list.
Another day, another adventure.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Prejudices
Now and again, it can be nice (in a warped kind of way) to get the kind of sharp poke in the slats that while it doesn't do any actual harm, does provide an inspirational stimuli and a bit of food for thought.
Perhaps I'm just odd, but I don't insist that I agree with everything I read or everyone who writes it - not merely at the detail level, but at the macro level as well. Everyone sitting around in a circle nodding their head while uttering "uh-huh, uh-huh, Kumbayah" in self-congratulatory agreement doesn't strike me as terribly stimulating, or likely to produce a great deal of original thought (or even thought that while previously expressed by others, is bright/shiny/new unto the thinker).
I read folks and material I disagree with, sometimes regularly, to the extent my digestion will tolerate such adventures - because I disagree with them, because they are thinking differently than I am, and in some cases because I want to keep a weather eye on them.
For instance, I'll read an anti-gun blogger, just to see what happy fun the lovely souls of that inclination dream of ram-rodding through the next meeting of the Legislature. On the same note, I keep a weather eye out for the Rev. Fred Phelps and his vile ilk out of a similar sense of wanting to know where the hostiles are - but those are extremes, and much more commonly, I'll enjoy reading a pro-life piece or a pro-abortion piece (I actually disagree with both schools of thought in that arena) because, who knows? Some writer in either camp may come up with a take on things I hadn't considered, and re-order my thoughts for the better.
We all come to the table with prejudices, some more socially acceptable in a given era than others, just as we all come to that same table with preferences - two sides of the same coin, really. To me, intellectual honesty demands I admit it when, based on whimsy/prior experience/rampant emotionalism/etc (take a choice on a given day) that to the best of my ability I fess up to these shortcomings (I.e., "I rarely agree or rarely agree on a 1:1 basis with thus and so, but consider them a good person/writer/carpenter/etc) and having admitted the intellectual flaw, man up and try and wade through the prose with what passes for an open mind - i.e., being conscious of my preferences/prejudices, and trying to keep them somewhat restrained as I scroll through.
Other folks do it differently.
Perhaps I'm just odd, but I don't insist that I agree with everything I read or everyone who writes it - not merely at the detail level, but at the macro level as well. Everyone sitting around in a circle nodding their head while uttering "uh-huh, uh-huh, Kumbayah" in self-congratulatory agreement doesn't strike me as terribly stimulating, or likely to produce a great deal of original thought (or even thought that while previously expressed by others, is bright/shiny/new unto the thinker).
I read folks and material I disagree with, sometimes regularly, to the extent my digestion will tolerate such adventures - because I disagree with them, because they are thinking differently than I am, and in some cases because I want to keep a weather eye on them.
For instance, I'll read an anti-gun blogger, just to see what happy fun the lovely souls of that inclination dream of ram-rodding through the next meeting of the Legislature. On the same note, I keep a weather eye out for the Rev. Fred Phelps and his vile ilk out of a similar sense of wanting to know where the hostiles are - but those are extremes, and much more commonly, I'll enjoy reading a pro-life piece or a pro-abortion piece (I actually disagree with both schools of thought in that arena) because, who knows? Some writer in either camp may come up with a take on things I hadn't considered, and re-order my thoughts for the better.
We all come to the table with prejudices, some more socially acceptable in a given era than others, just as we all come to that same table with preferences - two sides of the same coin, really. To me, intellectual honesty demands I admit it when, based on whimsy/prior experience/rampant emotionalism/etc (take a choice on a given day) that to the best of my ability I fess up to these shortcomings (I.e., "I rarely agree or rarely agree on a 1:1 basis with thus and so, but consider them a good person/writer/carpenter/etc) and having admitted the intellectual flaw, man up and try and wade through the prose with what passes for an open mind - i.e., being conscious of my preferences/prejudices, and trying to keep them somewhat restrained as I scroll through.
Other folks do it differently.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Blog Tag....
The Queen of Dysfunction has tagged me, and it seems only reasonable that if I expect HER to respond to the meme tag I sent her several days ago, the least I can do is respond to her tag.
2) DiamondMair. Back in December, she was the first one to stumble and comment on my blog, and has once or twice suggested topics for me to play with - and the posts I wrote even turned out half-way decent. She's also a pretty good writer.
3) Babs. A fount of kindness and common sense, as well as good writing - and no small beauty in the bargain. I enjoy the incisive way she cuts through the silliness to the core of matters, and the occasional goring of sacred cattle is a pleasure to behold. If only she were a guy.
4) Marko. I *know* I have a soft heart, and one that will likely always keep me a (l)ibertarian rather'n a (L)ibertarian. He makes logical points, is a talented writer, and believes in his principles. I just can't always bring myself to agree with him, even when intellectual honesty coerces me to admit that he's right on the facts and the logic. A good read, and a good inspiration for the allegorical pen to emerge on occasion.
5) Riverdog. Well, what can I say? I rarely agree with him, but he certainly can inspire the occasional responsive rant....
1. Copy and link to this post (meaning these rules and the Award icon).
2. Reflect on five bloggers who cause you to gnash your teeth when reading their posts, but who you nevertheless feel compelled to return to and read time and again. Write a short sincere (or not) paragraph about each one
3. Make sure you link this post so others can read it and the rules.
4. Go leave your chosen bloggers a comment and let them know they,ve been given the award.
5. Put the award icon on your site.
6. Did I mention you should link this post?
This award should make you reflect on five bloggers who have motivated you to unleash fire breathing partisan posts of your own. Carefully crafted logical arguments and good writing are a bonus but don't overlook particularly sharp satire, biting snark, or a high octane flamer. Try to keep the quality high, but in a pinch, feel free to substitute your basic journeyman partisan hack.
Well. Such an assignment. I'm honored, really. I think I've managed the first bit.
Now on to the second, honoring bloggers that on occasion launch me off onto tangents either by request or because they simply provide enough of a bump in the road to jar loose original thought.
1) Lawdog. Lawdog's was the first blog I could be troubled to read after running across his fine writing on TFL (I believe) and coming to the conclusion that I wanted more of those stories -and the conclusion to the Pink Gorilla Suit Story. However, once in a while he (I am certain with no particular intention) will wind my crank and off I'll go....2) DiamondMair. Back in December, she was the first one to stumble and comment on my blog, and has once or twice suggested topics for me to play with - and the posts I wrote even turned out half-way decent. She's also a pretty good writer.
3) Babs. A fount of kindness and common sense, as well as good writing - and no small beauty in the bargain. I enjoy the incisive way she cuts through the silliness to the core of matters, and the occasional goring of sacred cattle is a pleasure to behold. If only she were a guy
4) Marko. I *know* I have a soft heart, and one that will likely always keep me a (l)ibertarian rather'n a (L)ibertarian. He makes logical points, is a talented writer, and believes in his principles. I just can't always bring myself to agree with him, even when intellectual honesty coerces me to admit that he's right on the facts and the logic. A good read, and a good inspiration for the allegorical pen to emerge on occasion.
5) Riverdog. Well, what can I say? I rarely agree with him, but he certainly can inspire the occasional responsive rant....
Now that we've got that out of our system, what say we have a lovely Friday night doing laundry and chores? :)
Disaster & Imperial Visits
Alright, I've had it. Been good and held my tongue, but just can't anymore.
The last thing in the whole wide world that a medium to major disaster/crisis area needs is a visit from the President or First Lady and their security/support entourage to soak up resources that could be better devoted to rescue and damage control - and a pox with purple pustulent boils upon the genitalia of those who would suggest that not rushing to inflict Presidential Presence on a disaster area is an indication of a lack of caring, support, or interest by said President.
A Presidential visit, or even a recently past President/First Lady visiting, is a huge pain for local emergency services ranging from amp'd up emergency medical response lest the Great One inhale a stogie, stroke out, pass out in a compromising position, or whatever - and limited law enforcement resources are drained away from actually helping to protect the Great One from said Great One's "un-friends".
Our President and sundry lesser Great Ones (at least in their own mind) need to have the balls and the self-respect to stand in front of a television camera and say "No, I'm not going to disaster du jour - my presence would inflict unnecessary suffering on those already hurting, divert needed resources from assistance and recovery, and just generally screw things up beyond current levels of chaos. I care, I wish I could responsibly go, but where my presence will only make a bad situation worse I know it's my responsibility to stay away."
George, Laura - stay home or stay in the air. Unless you can run a crane or hold a degree in forensic mechanical engineering, y'all are a burden, not a help.
The last thing in the whole wide world that a medium to major disaster/crisis area needs is a visit from the President or First Lady and their security/support entourage to soak up resources that could be better devoted to rescue and damage control - and a pox with purple pustulent boils upon the genitalia of those who would suggest that not rushing to inflict Presidential Presence on a disaster area is an indication of a lack of caring, support, or interest by said President.
A Presidential visit, or even a recently past President/First Lady visiting, is a huge pain for local emergency services ranging from amp'd up emergency medical response lest the Great One inhale a stogie, stroke out, pass out in a compromising position, or whatever - and limited law enforcement resources are drained away from actually helping to protect the Great One from said Great One's "un-friends".
Our President and sundry lesser Great Ones (at least in their own mind) need to have the balls and the self-respect to stand in front of a television camera and say "No, I'm not going to disaster du jour - my presence would inflict unnecessary suffering on those already hurting, divert needed resources from assistance and recovery, and just generally screw things up beyond current levels of chaos. I care, I wish I could responsibly go, but where my presence will only make a bad situation worse I know it's my responsibility to stay away."
George, Laura - stay home or stay in the air. Unless you can run a crane or hold a degree in forensic mechanical engineering, y'all are a burden, not a help.
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