Personal Musings category archive

No DL for Me

I had to work late at the jobsite, then I had to come home and work some more.

And tomorrow I have to walk into a classroom and be dynamic.

But it’s all billable.

I Love My Cell Phone

My client told me I should be able just to jack into the network and be on the internet, even though I could not log into the company network (which I have no desire to do anyway).

The network port appeared to be dead. Of course, a wise IT Department will turn off unused ports. It’s just good security.

So I fired up the good ole “Internet Connection Sharing” on my cell phone, jacked the computer into the cell, and, badda bing! I was on line. I did have to move the phone around a bit to find the sweet spot for the connection in the cubicle inside the big steel building, but, once I did, it worked just great okay. Not as fast as a T1 line, but not as slow as dialup.

Inquiring minds want to know.

Circling the wagons. God forgive that a Bushie and the truth should be found in the same room:

Hidden behind that appearance of objectivity, though, is a Pentagon information apparatus that has used those analysts in a campaign to generate favorable news coverage of the administration’s wartime performance, an examination by The New York Times has found.

The effort, which began with the buildup to the Iraq war and continues to this day, has sought to exploit ideological and military allegiances, and also a powerful financial dynamic: Most of the analysts have ties to military contractors vested in the very war policies they are asked to assess on air.

Those business relationships are hardly ever disclosed to the viewers, and sometimes not even to the networks themselves. But collectively, the men on the plane and several dozen other military analysts represent more than 150 military contractors either as lobbyists, senior executives, board members or consultants. The companies include defense heavyweights, but also scores of smaller companies, all part of a vast assemblage of contractors scrambling for hundreds of billions in military business generated by the administration’s war on terror. It is a furious competition, one in which inside information and easy access to senior officials are highly prized.

More comment here:

Who knew that the biggest threat of the 21st century was telling the American people the truth? The question is, will a media obsessed with flag pins and hair cuts devote any time to covering a story that damns the Bush administration, their own military analysts, and of course, themselves?

Delaware has already had its primary, but, because we here in upper Delaware are in the Greater Philadelphia Co-Prosperity Sphere, the local media have been all Pennsylvania primary all the time, not just the local rag that I read, but the more local rag headquartered just down the road.

Unlike Mithras, I am not personally invested in the Pennsylvania primary (though I know how I would like it to turn out, just like I know who I would like to see win the Phillies game tonight).

Like Mithras, I can’t wait for it to be over.

From Steven D.:

How can you parody these people?

The dogwoods are starting to bloom.

In two days, the area will be ablaze with dogwoods.

As I mentioned earlier, First Son is home from Afghanistan.

He was unexpectedly in the area this weekend, because of a crisis in First Daughter-in-Law’s family.

It was good to see the two of them.

We have honorable soldiers doing their jobs honorably.

Sadly, they were sent to do those jobs by persons without honor.

My son has served and will continue to serve with honor.

He lives up to his oath to the Constitution of the United States of America, unlike those who sent him.

When are you going to do something about those who dishonor his service by asking him to fight and die for lies?

I took a break from the news for the last couple of days.

No podcasts.

No radio in the vehicle, except for the Citizens Radio Service.

Not much radio at home.

Pretty, much, if it wasn’t in the local rag, I didn’t pay attention to it.

And, you know what? nothing changed.

The nation is still ruled by incompetent liars. (Well, not exactly. They are incompetent and they are liars, but, then again, they are very competent liars).

Good lives are still being thrown away for a lie.

People who call themselves Christians continue to embarrass those who are. (You know, I’ve pretty much observed, if you have to advertise that you are a believer–regardless of the creed–you probably are a hypocrite and a liar, but that’s another story.)

Voodoo economics is still the Republican way.

The rich are still getting richer–or, at least, thrown a life ring–and the poor, still getting poorer.

And Hillary Clinton, who apparently fears people who care enough about the course of this nation to, you know, like, actually get involved in citizen politics, still gives me the willies.

It’s going into the second overtime and I have to go to Coatesville tomorrow.

A cinnamon raisin bagel is not a proper bagel.

It’s an abomiination a cookie.

Tonight.

Me, I’ve watching the Phillies.

But the first thing I’ll do tomorrow after bringing in the daily Inky will be to turn to the back of the Metro section to see what’s in the obits.

The story goes that Herbert Hoover (a typical Republican failure as a President, except that he was an honest man and therefore would find no home in today’s Republican Party, but that’s a different issue–see the previous post) was walking down the street with Ogden Mills, his Secretary of the Treasury, in 1930.

This was back when Presidents were allowed to walk down the street.

Mr. Hoover said, “Can I borrow a nickel to call my friend.”

Mr. Mills said, “Here’s a dime. Call both of them.”

Now, instead of a chicken in every pot, we have pot in every chicken:

Police in Magnolia, Arkansas, say it wasn’t the fried chicken in Savalas Vantoli Stewart’s car that gave off a funky smell.

Instead, officers who pulled over Stewart on Friday night say they found a side dish of marijuana hidden in a recently purchased box of chicken.

Can anyone tell me what is the point of these “Over 55” communities that seem to be springing up?

I sure wouldn’t want to live in a place where all my neighbors were geezers like me. This street was built in 1954 and 1955. We have residents ranging from (almost) newlyweds to some of the original purchasers (and there’s no better security than nosy retired persons who are at home all day, but that’s another story).

I get no end of enjoyment watching my neighbors’ little girls (all the little kids on the street are girls–must be something in the water) play.

The one was out trying to fly a kite this afternoon. Of course, there’s no wind, so, when she ran out of running room, the kite came right back down–and there are so many trees that, if there had been a wind, it would have turned into a Charley Brown kite, but that’s not the issue.

And, ya know what? if she falls down and breaks her crown, no one’s going to come running to me to fix it.

What could be better than that: all the enjoyment, none of the responsibility?

So why do people want to wall themselves off in “Over 55” communities. Beats the hell out of me.

Mithras has a great post over at his place. I can’t think of any kind of cool or snappy lead in to it.

Just please go read it.

And, remember, it wasn’t that so long ago and a lot has not changed (via Atrios).

The problem with this consulting thing is that, from time to time, one is actually expected to, well, consult.

And when it’s a technical topic, you can’t fake it, at least, not for long.

(Management consulting is so much easier. You don’t need new ideas–just a three-piece suit, new bottles for old wine, and a snappy line of with-it buzzwords. Hell, you’re outta there when, five years later, the client realizes that his company is still a sucky place to work and his employees all hate him, hate the company, and hate their jobs because he’s a jerk, his executive stall are all jerks, and all the training in the world can’t paper over someone’s essential jerkiness.)

My newest development project is one of the most challenging I’ve had in a long time. I’m working with a local electric utility (no, not that one, the other one) to help develop instruction for a community college curriculum in power plant management and operations. The company wants qualified applicants and they are willing to give a grant to the college to help get them.

One fascinating thing I have learned is this: Electricity can’t be stored (well, it can in a sense–that’s what batteries are all about–but it cannot be stored in terms of the umpty-ump megawatts it takes to power the grid over multiple states). As a result, utilities run a daily race to match generating capacity to demand.

In most cases, the baseload is covered by nukes and coal plants–they are complicated and time-consuming to get working and can’t be just turned off and on. Utilities forecast power demands on an hourly basis. As the need increases and decreases during the day, they continually try to match generating capacity to demand, ramping up and turning off supplementary generating facilities, primarily gas turbines (which can be started almost immediately) to match supply with demand.

In the old days (like, 20 years ago), not having adequate power to meet demand was not necessarily a big deal, as long as the deficit was not enough to cause a brownout. A utility could fudge on the margins. Your electric clock, which depends on the 60 cycles a second to keep time, might run a little slower and your electric space heater might not heat as much and your electric oven might not heat up so quickly. Your plasma cutter and welder there in the factory might not work so quickly. But life wouldn’t stop.

These days, even marginal differentials are a really big deal, because all those computers–not just your and my personal computers that enable us to screw about on the Internet, but all those computers that run businesses and enable you to buy things on line and enable the government to spy on you and run the robots in factories and schedule just-in-time deliveries for manufacturing and generally enable business to do business–and all those other things that are computer-based, just we don’t realize it, like cell phone connectivity–just won’t work without the correct level of power.

Next time I write my check to my local utility, I’ll still complain. But I’ll complain a little less loudly, because the only blackout we’ve had here in the last five years was when some doofus ran into a light pole at the foot of the street.

These statements seem to be the daily fru-fa:

And the big deal is . . . what?

Many persons are frustrated and frightened and feel left out. Because, by God, they have been left out and left behind for heaven’s sake. Go to Butler or Coalton or New Castle, Pa.–all places I’ve been.

Look at the closed factories and the empty storefronts. And come back and tell me that everything is hunky-dory there. Tell me that people don’t feel left out, don’t feel left behind, don’t feel bitterness that their incomes and lifestyles and sense of security are going, going, gone.

And when a candidate remarks on that, it’s a bad thing?

But I guess, following the logic of the Clinton and McCain campaigns, it’s a bad thing to point things ain’t necessarily all that great for anyone who’s not a CEO of an oil company, a hedge fund, an insurance conglomerate, or a private army.

Because (gasp!) identifying problems might lead to dealing with them. And we can’t have that. It might require someone to think differently and maybe do something other than spout lies about tax cuts that pay for themselves and quick and easy wars and the other crap we’ve been fed as the rich get richer and the poor get poorer.

Folks, it’s football. It’s a misdirection play, and while you’re distracted, you’re gonna get blindsided.

Unless you keep your eyes open and watch the ball, rather than the bull.

Ray has more.

So does John Cole and the Booman.

I’m watching my third Philles game in a row.

And they are not even an AL team. They play in the astroturf National League.

Many years ago, when I first moved to this area, my daughter was visiting me and we went to a Phillies game

We took the train from Narberth to Suburban Station, then caught the Broad Street subway to the Vet and got seats in the 700 level. (In the 700 level, you pretty much had to bring your own oxygen tank if you wanted to breath).

Mike Schmidt, one of the best third basemen in the history of baseball, was still playing. He was not any Brooks Robinson with his glove, but he may well have been the best all-around third baseman in the history of the game (Brooks couldn’t hit worth a damn, but, with Brooks on third and Mark Belanger at short, pretty much nothing that was under 10 feet in the air made it into left field against Earl Weaver’s Orioles).

I forget who the Phillies were playing that day, but I will always remember the end of the game.

Mike Schmidt ended the game with a solo shot to deep center.

It was over, and we took the train home.

Mike Schmidt is long retired, my daughter is a mother, and I’m a grandfather now.

I’m getting old.

And bitter.

But not old and bitter enough to vote Republican.

Up the road a piece, there’s a really great bookshop that specializes in fantasy, science fiction, and mysteries.

Yeah, and there’s a little bit of comics and manga too.

In the back, there’s an open area where the owner allows persons to play games. It’s not completely altruistic, because the gamers end up buying their game pieces at the bookshop, but, hey! that’s their schtick.

Some years ago, Second Son organized a Dungeons and Dragons game that lasted there for about three years. He advertised for the players, he found a Dungeon Master, and he kept it going.

When it got really late and we were unable to pick up Second Son after a game, the owner would even drive him home. This is a backhanded way of saying that the owner is one of the persons I would trust completely to do the right thing under any circumstance.

For a long time, he thought of me just as Second Son’s Dad. Then, one day, I walked in, listened to the music he was playing, and said, “Isn’t that Hawkwind?”

I think I surprised him at recognizing the tune (well, with Hawkwind, “tune” may not be exactly the right word).

Hawkwind, Warriors at the Edge of Time:

The big news this week has been, natch, General Petraeus huing the Bushie line for more troops, more time, more troops, more time, in an attempt to snatch mere humiliation from the jaws of defeat.

Why is it that, when someone says Petraeus, I hear “Westmoreland“?

It’s been 18 months since I was in a classroom. It was a gas.

My biggest fear did not come true–I did not lose my voice. Maybe by the next session, I’ll sound like myself.

I will never get over the magical feeling that happens when people listen to me because I’m standing up and they’re sitting down. . . .