Christmas Card 2013

Most people may think this a bit late, but since my family is celebrating Christmas today, I think it’s fine.

I’ve been a wee bit behind in blog posts. Fortunately, as I only have one regular reader of this blog, and about 6 who drop in for the moronic screenplays, so as long as I get the annual Spants episode out by the first week of November, I call a year a success.

Frankly, since August I have had better things to do with my time.

Since moving to this frozen wasteland, I have had precisely one day in which I did not see both of my children, and that was when they took a trip to Billings to get the Dot’s skull evaluated. Coming off a job in which I didn’t see my complete family for 3 or more days at a time (despite living in the same house as them), that’s saying something.

Speaking of the increasingly expensive skull, the jury is still out. We hope to get some answers by February. A dramatic shift in form was followed by an explosion of development (including an apparent grasp of Universal Precautions illustrated below), and we hope that this indicates that a surgery will fix the developmental delays the Dot has long suffered. Fortunately, our insurance here curb stomps the crappy coverage from my last job.

Speaking of juries, our Christmas time has been plagued by a counter-suit and discovery motion from the city of Ludowici involving the death of Cam, our beloved ’96 Toyota, at the hands of their police chief. Twenty-two pages of stuff they think they need to know about us, including how often we have “conjugal fellowship.” Anyone who really thinks they need to know that can go conjugate themselves, as far as I’m concerned.

On to more pleasant subjects, the Lump has developed a personality this year, and the ability to say “creepy clown” when she gets to “C” in the ABC book (seriously, the picture reminds me of the clown from IT). It does come out more like “eeky lou,” but I think it’s cute. She’s also walking and learning to climb, which frankly, may be less pleasant to deal with than lawyers, but such is the growing process. She also seems to share her Daddy’s fascination with all things alien.

And in a related note, Monday will tell us whether or not we have to buy a whole new set of baby clothes, or if the Pepto Bismol explosion will be enough.

Along with the newest addition to our family came the first subtraction. We bid farewell to our idiot beagles Fritz and Kraut on the way to our new home in Montana. It hurt, but they both found homes within 2 weeks, courtesy of the Munising, MI animal shelter. I hope we see them on our vacation there next year.

To borrow from a popular comedian, the one word I would use to sum up my family’s life is: interesting.

Spants III: Spanthopper

Happy Halloween to all!

Once again, it is time for the latest installment in my epically cliched, hackneyed, yet thoroughly enjoyable B scifi series.  Soon to be a major motion picture if I can ever get the number for the people who produced Sharknado.

And links for the previous episodes, Spants and Spants II:  Sproach.

Spants III:  Spanthopper

Corn field

Small crop duster flies over field. It banks to make another pass. Zoom to cockpit where Farmer C flicks a switch. Camera pans out to tail as insecticide starts to pour from tail. Camera zooms out as Farmer C makes next pass. Below, grass rustles.

Farmer C: “What the—“

Spants III: Spanthopper

Small pond

Farmer A and Sheriff sit on shore watching bobbers. Sheriff appears morose. Small plane from opening sequence flies overhead.

Farmer A: “There goes Farmer C.”

Sheriff: “Yep.”

Farmer A: “Not much biting today, I guess.”

Sheriff: “Nope.”

Farmer A: “Don’t matter I suppose, I didn’t just bring you down here to fish.”

Sheriff: “I figured.”

Farmer A: “You’ve been hiding in that bottle ever since Teacher died in a horrific, yet convenient car accident last year.”

Sheriff: “It was my fault! I busted Redneck B fourteen times for DUI! I should have made sure his license got pulled permanently!”

Farmer A: “He was driving on a suspended license anyway. Do you really think pulling it would have done any good? You have to stop blaming yourself.”

Smoke appears in distance. Farmer A and Sheriff jump to their feet.

Farmer A: “Was that Farmer C’s plane?”

Sheriff: “Call the hospital!”

Hospital

Doctor: “I’m afraid there was nothing we could do. He likely died instantly. The only thing I can say is he probably didn’t suffer.”

Farmer C’s widow: “Sorry if I don’t find that particularly comforting. Especially with the crop failing and the bank about to foreclose.”

Slutty Research Assistant’s sister from Spants bursts into room.

Sheriff: “What are you doing here?”

Doctor: “Off-hand, I’d guess her career didn’t go as she had hoped.”

Sister: “Later. Widow, is there anything I can do to help?”

Widow: “It’s enough just having you here, dearie.”

Outside hospital

Sister: “I heard about the wreck. Widow and I were close. I came to see if I could help.”

Sheriff: “That’s it?”

Sister: “No. The reason I left is that I was scared. My psychologist said I needed to come back to face my fears.”

Sheriff: “Well, in your absence we killed most of them. And I go hunting for them every couple months. I haven’t found any this year.”

Sister: “We have to check that field.”

Field at night

Sister and Sheriff sneak through grass.

Sheriff: “You broke my heart you know.”

Sister: “I’m sorry. It’s just that every time I drove past the college, all I could think about was my sister.”

Sheriff: “Shh! Did you hear that?

Grass rustles.

Sister: “No.”

Grass rustles more.

Sister: “I didn’t hear than either.”

Sheriff draws revolver.

Sheriff: “I don’t like this.”

Men in black fatigues burst from the corn. A helicopter appears overhead with a spotlight blinding the two.

Soldier 1: “On the ground! On the ground!”

Soldier 2: “Drop the weapon! Drop the weapon!”

Sister and Sheriff comply.

Soldier 3: “You’re coming with us.”

Mobile Command Center

Sheriff: “Is it just me, or is this center bigger on the inside?”

General: “The technology was a gift from some British friends. Torch-something institute.”

Sheriff: “What did they get in return?”

General: “A little formula that weakens the DNA of insects, allowing them to be bred for weaponization.”

Sister: “So you knew all along?”

General: “Knew? Who do you think was funding the project?”

Sheriff: “Well, what are you going to do now?”

General: “Our first priority is to ensure that none of these escape.”

Sister: “You’re going to nuke the town! You can’t!”

General: “Of course we’re not going to drop a nuke on American soil. Can you imagine the PR nightmare that would be?”

Sheriff: “Oh thank God.”

General: “We’re using napalm.”

Sheriff: “What!?!?”

General: “Well, we’re napalming the surrounding area. We’re dropping a daisy-cutter on

the actual field.”

Sister: “There are people there!”

General: “And we’ll give them as much time to leave as we can. But time is of the essence.”

Sheriff: “How long do I have to get them out?”

General: “Well, according to our cartoonishly large countdown clock on the wall, about an hour.

Ridge ¼-mile away from field

SpecOps soldier 1 (holding laser designator): “It just doesn’t seem right.”

SpecOps soldier 2: “I know, targeting American citizens. On American soil, no less.”

SpecOps soldier 1: “Yeah, at least the president has the decency to snuff US citizens in foreign countries.”

General (on radio): “We have confirmed reports that the persons inhabiting the target area have formally renounced their citizenship in protest.”

SpecOps soldier 2: “Shiny, let’s kill hippies.”

Field

Hippie 1: “Hell, no! We won’t go!”

Hippie 2: “You can’t kill us all!”

Hippie 3: “Give peace a chance!”

Hippie 4: “Drop acid, not bombs.”

Hippie 5: “Hey, hey, LBJ! How many kids did you kill today?”

Hippie 1: “Huh?”

Hippie 2: “Oh, never mind him. He’s just old-school hippie. He shows up to every protest he can.”

Hippie 3: “Um, Hippie 6, Vietnam’s been over for a while.”

Hippie 5: “So I can finally take a shower?”

Hippie 1: “That, and you could use a new slogan.”

Hippie 5: “Shoot drugs, not bugs?”

Hippie 1: “I like.”

Corn stalks rustle behind picket line.

Hippie 3: “What was that?”

Spanthoppers burst from field, devouring hippies like airborne piranhas before moving on toward the town.

A few who fed on Hippie 5 stumble glassy-eyed in other directions.

Center of town

Sister: “We gotta get everyone out of here!”

Sheriff: “Alright, people, we need to get every truck, jeep, APC, and anything else with wheels or tracks out of the absurdly well-stocked armory.”

Cargo plane flies overhead.

Sheriff: “Come on forks, let’s saddle up!”

Cockpit of cargo plane.

Pilot: “We’re near the drop zone! Arm it!”

Technician: “Armed!”

Pilot: “Prepare to drop on 5, 4,”

Camera to wing as spanthoppers get sucked in to engine.

Center of town

In distance, cargo plane goes down

Sheriff: “It didn’t go off.”

Widow: “Let me into that Sherman.”

Sheriff: “What are you going to do?”

Widow: “I'm gonna set off that bomb!”

Sheriff: “How would you even know how to do that?”

Widow: “I worked on the BLU-82 line during ‘Nam.”

Sister: “That seems awfully convenient.”

Widow: “Plus, I'll draw them off. Give you more time to get everyone out of here.”

Sheriff: “But you’ll be killed!”

Widow: “Well, with my husband gone and the farm repossessed, I ain’t got much to live for anymore, do I?”

Widow gets into tank. Camera pulls back as she drives off. As she nears edge of town, the swarm of Spanthoppers changes course to follow her.

Sister: “Why'd you let her go?”

Sheriff: “Let's just not let her die for nothing. Let's move folks!”

Field

Tank bursts into view, plowing through corn. Spanthoppers cover entire body.

Widow: “Ahhhhh!!!”

Tank arrives at plane. Widow jumps out. Spanthoppers descend on her, tearing at her as she stumbles up the cargo ramp. She falls to the deck just short of the bomb, but crawls the last few inches, stretching dramatically to the handy manual detonation switch in the form of a big red flashing button.

Widow: “Die, you ba---“

Hill overlooking town

Crowd of people look towards town. Mushroom cloud appears in field.

Sister: “Do you think she got them all?”

Sheriff: “I doubt it.”

Napalm ignites, obliterating town in an amazing demonstration of bad CGI.

Sheriff: “That, on the other hand, may have done the trick.”

Sister: “No. They’ll never be gone. Never.”

Sister bursts into tears. Sheriff hugs her.

Sheriff: “It’s okay. There’s nothing here for us anymore. We’ll move far away.”

Sister: “We?”

Sheriff: “We.”

Sister: “And if they find us?”

Sheriff goes to large truck and pulls back cover, revealing most of the well-stocked armory.

Sheriff: “We’ll be ready.”

Stay tuned for the next episode, Spants IV: Spermite.

Polar Croc

A lone Eskimo crosses a frozen landscape on a dog sled. To the left, a crevasse opens, blowing snow into the air. The Eskimo pulls the reins and goes over to investigate. As he crouches down to peer inside the crevasse, the dogs whimper and turn restless. Seeing nothing, he turns to the dogs.

Eskimo 1: “Easy boys, there’s nothing in here. See?” Points his arm into the crevasse.

Suddenly, his arm is pulled into the crevasse. After a brief struggle, the Eskimo pulls back, missing his arm. He falls onto the ice.

Eskimo 1: “AAAAAHHHH!!!”

Zoom out as the Eskimo is pulled by his legs into the crevasse.

Lobby of Park building

Park Ranger: “Look, I can’t let you go out there. Your uncle’s probably just hit a snag.”

Eskimo chick: “But the storm front’s moving in!”

Ranger: “I know there’s a front on the way. That’s why I can’t let you go.”

Eskimo chick: “If we don’t find him by the time it hits, he’ll never have a prayer.”

Ranger: “Your uncle is the best half-crazy recluse I’ve ever met. And I’ve met a lot of them. Come to think of it, most of them shortly before they disappeared in that neck of the woods, never to be seen again. Seems like that should make me ask more questions, but I’m a government employee.”

Eskimo chick: “If he dies, I’ll never forgive you.”

Ranger: “Just go sit over there with that pipeline protestor, his slutty girlfriend, the stuffy businessman, the ruggedly handsome scientist and the South American guy who won’t take off his overcoat.”

Eskimo chick: “Okay, but if a nun and rabbi walk in, I’m leaving.”

Lobby

Eskimo chick: “So what makes you keep looking?”

Cryptozoologist: “I know it sounds crazy, but I’m convinced there are animals out there nobody’s seen.”

Ranger: “Look, the only thing that’s out there is a lot of ice and snow.”

Hippie: “And not as much of it as there used to be!”

Eskimo chick: “You do know that the Arctic ice pack is up 10 million square kilometers this year, right?”

Hippie: “That’s just what big oil pays a bunch of scientists to say!”

Stuffy businessman: “I am big oil! We don't pay our scientists jack. It all goes to our engineers. And I don't have to stand for this. I'm leaving.”

Ranger: “You can't leave! It's 40 below out there!”

Stuffy businessman: “Watch me.”

Stuffy businessman walks out door.

Lobby

Stuffy Businessman's body is smeared across windows.

Slutty girlfriend: “Why is this happening no? To us?”

Hippie: “It’s global warming! It’s thawing out the polar ice cap. Who knows what unholy creatures are frozen in this wasteland!”

Eskimo chick: “You do know there has been no increase in global temperature since 1998, right?”

Hippie: “It’s only going to get worse as the caps continue to melt!”

Eskimo chick: “10 million square kilometers.”

Hippie: “I can't hear you. Lalalalala.”

Suspicious: “Maybe they drilled into a cave while they were setting up the pipeline.”

Crypto: “Or it could just be that Alaska is over 600,000 square miles. That’s a lot of land no one’s ever seen. Stands to reason there’s an animal or two no one’s ever seen out here, too.”

Eskimo chick (in chilling deadpan): “Especially if it kills everyone who comes across it.”

Crypto: “Exactly.”

Ranger (walking out of office): “I think you should see something. I don't think it's just happening now, after all.”

Office

Group gathers around desk with antiquated log books spread out all over it.

Ranger: “See, people have been disappearing around here ever since they opened this station. This station has more failed search and rescue missions than any other. I don't know why no one's ever put this together.”

Crypto: “Umm, the same government efficiency that put 15 chalets in an area unfit for human habitation? And probably paid $5000 a square foot?”

Eskimo chick: “So how does a cold-blooded creature like that function in cold?”

Hippie: “It’s getting warmer! I keep telling you! I’m super cereal!”

Eskimo chick: “1998! Fifteen years!”

Hippie: “Lies and heresies.”

Crypto: “Would you two quit? Look, there’s a lot of fish that live in absurd temperatures in the ocean. They’re cold-blooded, too.”

Main lobby of lodge

Everyone: “AAAAAHHHHH!!!!!”

Croc: “Rawwwrrr!!!!

Eskimo chick: “What do we do?”

Hippie: “I know!” breaks case open and grabs fire extinguisher “I’ll cool him down! With his cold-blooded system, he’ll go into hibernation!”

Crypto: “You don’t see a problem with this plan? Trying to freeze an Arctic creature?”

Hippie: “I know what I’m doing! I made a C in Bio 1120!”

Croc bites Hippie in half, eating the bottom and throwing the top across the room in a gratuitously bloody gesture.

Ranger: “Oh my God, it killed Hippie!”

Crypto: “That bastard!”

Ranger: “Look, I’ll distract it.” Throws hippie’s slutty girlfriend towards it.

Slutty: “Ahhhh!!!!” Gets viciously dismembered.

Ranger: “It worked! Now everyone run for the bathroom!”

Group dashes to restroom door. Polar croc snaps at Suspicious guy’s coat, snagging it. Group pulls Suspicious out of coat, over his protests.

Inside the bathroom

Eskimo chick: “That thing had a knife sticking out of its jaw. I recognized the handle.”

Crypto: “Oh, no…”

Eskimo chick: “Uncle Eskimo…”

Crypto: “I’m so sorry. I just want you to know I’m here to take advantage of your emotional state.”

Eskimo chick: “I appreciate that.”

Suspicious: “I wish I was dead. The cartel will kill me once they find out I lost the jacket.”

Ranger: “You’re a smuggler?!?!”

Crypto: “Really? You’re just now figuring that out?”

Eskimo chick: “Yeah, why did you think everyone was avoiding him?”

Ranger: “I don’t get it! Precisely how was sneaking 100 pounds of marijuana from Mexico into the US by way of Russia and a hike across the Behring Straight the easiest way to do things?”

Suspicious: “I don’t know! I’m a loser dumb enough to let a guy cram 5 kilos of heroin up my--!”

Ranger: “Quiet!”

Crypto: “Seriously? I’m pretty sure it knows we’re in here.”

Ranger: “Then why has it stopped hitting at the door?”

Lobby

Bathroom door slowly opens and Ranger steps outside. As he stares, Polar Croc turns, eyes wide. Croc takes step towards the door, then falls. Ranger slowly walks up to snout, then gingerly nudges it with foot. Crypto steps outside.

Crypto: “What the crap?”

Ranger: “I don’t get it.”

Crypto shines flash light into Croc’s eyes.

Crypto: “His pupils…they’re fixed… and dilated.”

Ranger: “Almost like he’s…”

Eskimo chick: “…stoned?” Holds up Suspicious’s shredded coat.

Crypto: “Watch what you eat, I guess.”

Ranger: “How long do you think it’s going to be out?”

Crypto: “Well, he’s about 30 feet long, so with an unknown body mass, no way of knowing the dosage and a complete lack of understanding how his metabolism functions, yet somehow I still feel quite confident in saying 30 minutes.”

Ranger: “Well, I suggest we not be around when he wakes up.”

Eskimo: “And where do you suggest we go? We’re still in the middle of a whiteout.”

Crypto walks to fire ax in glass case. He returns with the ax and with gory efficiency, decapitates the creature as other characters look on in shock.

Crypto (wiping blood from face): “Or we could just kill it while it's incapacitated.”

Ranger: “I thought you wanted to protect rare animals.”

Crypto: “I want to study them. I can study a dead animal if I'm alive. It doesn't work so well the other way around.”

Ranger: “You just eradicated an endangered species! In a US Parks building! How am I supposed to explain that in my incident report?”

Crypto: “Just put that I protected the area polar bears.”

Park Chalet

Eskimo chick: “At least these chalets are decent. And we have it all to ourselves.”

Crypto: “Where did Ranger go, anyway?”

Eskimo chick: “I heard Suspicious say something about still having a few baggies left.”

Long romantic pause as they sit in front on fire place.

Eskimo chick: “I'm glad you decided to stay.”

Crypto: “Well, there's 12 feet of snow everywhere, so I'm not sure I had any options. But if it helps me get lucky...”

Eskimo chick: “Thank you for avenging my uncle. I know it must have gone against every fiber of you to kill the last of a kind.”

Crypto: “I know a good geneticist. I figure we can always clone it. That way we can study it under controlled circumstances.”

Eskimo chick: “I don't see how anything could possibly go wrong with that.”

On our Fifth

Like a typical husband, I woke up this morning completely forgetting it is our five year anniversary.

Like a good husband, I prepared for this occasion by purchasing several anniversary cards in advance.

Like a classic husband, I apparently lost them.

I suppose I could plead that we're in the middle of a major move, but I would rather plead "Y chromosome."  There's a lot of truth to the stereotypes.

Normally, we would be planning a trip to The Garden Inn.  It just about never seems to work out to fall on our actual date, but it's been a more-or-less traditional site.  As has a return to the site of our first meal as a married couple, The Foglight Foodhouse.

I'm linking to those to try and throw them some business if anyone happens to stumble across my blog, since this year will be the first in a while that we won't be giving them our custom.  God alone knows when we'll be either place again.

Instead, our anniversary weekend will be spent packing for the fourth or so greatest adventure we've been on.  Right behind Dot, Lump, and marriage in general.  Right before Atlanta, Lazy beagle, Inbred beagle, move 2, move 1...well, let's just say there's been a few moments.

Still, the Beloved observed recently that no matter what we've done over the past 7-ish years, the only truly bad decisions are the ones that have involved us not being together.  So, bring on the adventure, and here's to another 5 years and a whole lot more after.

Now, time to pack up the kids...

Detour

On my final trip to Atlanta, for the second time since I started making these trips, I missed a turn on the way down.

Why can't there just be four points like a normal intersection?

In one of the more interesting quirks of Georgia, the highway turned into a country road, then into a gravel road, then into a gravel trail, all in the course of about two tenths of a mile.

And yet, it's still in my Garmin!  Thank God.

I found myself quite glad I was driving Nikki the 4Runner, instead of The Flying Dodgeman.

It was more flooded last time.

So if you're ever in the mood for a scenic drive, punch 34.537822,-84.534175 into your GPS and hit go.

Just be sure to bring a 4x4.

Ah...Detroit

In their introductory video, Hantz Farms refers to themselves as “Detroit’s Saving Grace.”

Normally, I would say save the self-titling until after you’ve actually…you know…saved Detroit.  In this case, however, I think that they are the best bet.  Well, second best.  The actual best would be a hostile take over by Omni Consumer Products, which would, of course, result in the complete removal of all crime and corruption.

  

However, since RoboCop is, sadly, a few decades away, tilling under 10% of the city and replacing it with productive and attractive farmland is the next best thing.

Not everyone feels this way, of course.

Earlier, some members of the city council suggested that turning urban residential areas into farmland would send the message to outsiders “that they failed as a city.”

I've decided to write an open letter:

Dear Councilmen,

We already know you failed.

Hugs and Kisses,

The rest of America

Eventually, the sale was approved, but some people still aren't happy.  Councilwoman JoAnn Watson says that the sale is "illegal" and "against state law".  Her complaint stems from a statute that says a developer must pay fair market value.

I've decided to write another open letter:

Dear Councilwoman Watson,

Fair market value is what a normal person would pay for something.  Since no normal people are buying the land, that means the value is...hmm...let me think...right...nothing.  So $520,000 is a pretty good deal.

Hugs and Kisses,

Someone educated somewhere other than your abysmal school system

Now, personally, I would be leery of purchasing produce from Detroit, at least for a few years.  I hope that Hantz and any other companies that are considering an agricultural undertaking do extensive testing for toxins in the produce raised.  Some of the places being bulldozed are meth labs (and crack labs before that), so God alone knows what chemicals have leached into the soil there.

Overall, however, I think this a brilliant way to go.  A quote that surfaced around the American War for Independence goes something like this, "I am a soldier, so my son can be a farmer, so his son can be

a poet."

In this case, it's more like:  "I am a soldier so that my son can be a farmer, so that his sons can be merchants, so that their sons can be manufacturers, so that their sons can be poets, at which point they'll realize that poetry doesn't actually put food on the table, and they'll have to become farmers again."

Go west, young man

There's a reason they call it "Big Sky Country"

Courtesy of "Running with Noodles" at Wordpress, this image is of a road outside of Glasgow, MT.

The beloved has posted better than I can the determining factors behind our decision.  It was not an easy decision.  It involves moving away from pretty much everyone and everything either of us has known.  But if it means I get to see Dot and Lump grow up, it's a pretty sweet deal.

The massive pay hike doesn't hurt, either.

04JUL2013

“True and impartial liberty is therefore the right of every man to pursue the natural, reasonable and religious dictates of his own mind; to think what he will, and act as he thinks, provided he acts not to the prejudice of another; to spend his own money himself and lay out the produce of his labor his own way; and to labor for his own pleasure and profit, and not for others who are idle, and would live and riot by pillaging and oppressing him and those that are like him.” –Thomas Gordon, 1722

Overstepping

In recent weeks, there has been an interesting exchange.

The NSA has been caught spying on US citizens.  Their mission statement:

The National Security Agency/Central Security Service (NSA/CSS) leads the U.S. Government in cryptology that encompasses both Signals Intelligence (SIGINT) and Information Assurance (IA) products and services, and enables Computer Network Operations (CNO) in order to gain a decision advantage for the Nation and our allies under all circumstances.

and original charter:

The COMINT mission of the National Security Agency (NSA) shall be to provide an effective, unified organization and control of the communications intelligence activities of the United States conducted against foreign governments, to provide for integrated operational policies and procedures pertaining thereto. As used in this directive, the terms "communications intelligence" or "COMINT" shall be construed to mean all procedures and methods used in the interception of communications other than foreign press and propaganda broadcasts and the obtaining of information from such communications by other than intended recipients, but shall exclude censorship and the production and dissemination of finished intelligence.

both fail to mention "collection of data on US citizens on US soil."

So this guy decides to out the NSA for doing things outside of its given purview.  Good for him.  This is why we have whistle blower laws.

And if we could have just stopped there, I'd have been happy.  Well, not with the NSA, but with Snowden.

Instead, he then went and did this.

Guess what, Mr. Snowden, spying on the Chinese is the NSA's job.  What part of "conducted against foreign governments" did you not understand?

So, to recap for the NSA:

Spying on foreign governments:  Good

Spying on your own countrymen:  Bad

And for Mr. Snowden:

Ratting out illegal spying:  Patriotism

Ratting out legal spying:  Treason.

Of course, the root of the issue is this (also from the original charter):

The special nature of COMINT actives requires that they be treated in all respects as being outside the framework of other or general intelligence activities. Order, directives, policies, or recommendations of any authority of the Executive Branch relating to the collection, production, security, handling, dissemination, or utilization of intelligence, and/or classified material, shall not be applicable to COMINT actives, unless specifically so stated and issued by competent departmental of agency authority represented on the Board. Other National Security Council Intelligence Directive to the Director of Central Intelligence and related implementing directives issued by the Director of Central Intelligence shall be construed as non-applicable to COMINT activities, unless the National Security Council has made its directive specifically applicable to COMINT.

Yes, with one stroke of a pen, Harry S Truman managed to create a government agency with almost zero formal oversight.  One more thing to put on his list of bad ideas.

City planning

There's a joke in the world of laboratories that you know a microbiologist because he washes his hands before and after.

Which is why this sort of headline makes no sense to me in light of this sort of headline.

Notice that the second headline is from February of this year.  Four months ago, epidemiologists estimated a 46% increase in deaths this year than last from food borne illnesses.  And yet, Los Angeles thinks that doing the same thing will have different results.

It will.

San Fransisco Population: 812,000.

Los Angeles Population: 3,820,000.

I'm no mathematician, but it seems pretty reasonable that if there are 5 extra unnecessary deaths in a city of .8 million, there will be a correspondingly increased number of extra unnecessary deaths in a city of 3.8 million.

Especially since LA's waste management has never been regarded as exemplary, and isn't getting any better.

So, to recap, San Fransisco's planners trade 5 people's lives for a 0.6% decrease in litter, and now we all get to hope that Los Angeles is making a better deal.

V for Shenanigans

In college, the TTU RUF went to see the opening night of V for Vendetta. 

**Spoiler alert**

At the end of the movie, the protagonist has built up so much support that the thousands  turn out in support.

Flash mob!!!

Facing off against them is the UK ground forces.

Yes, the future British army issues off-the-rack paintball masks.  Budget cuts, what can you do?

Despite the dystopian start of the movie, the soldiers are unable to pull the trigger on the brave, unarmed civilians.  Everyone walks out of the theater feeling happy.

Except me.  I felt insulted.  Because I am an armchair historian, and the showdown depicted isn't a theoretical future conflict.  Oh, no, it has happened over and over again throughout history.  And guess what?  The soldiers always pull the trigger.

Yesterday marked the 24^th anniversary of the Tiananmen Square massacre. Starting in April, thousands and thousands of pro-democracy protesters occupied the square for a month and a half.  Estimates are that by the end, one million people were in the square.

The photo above was circulated around the world.  The entire Western world was rooting for them.  But then, something happened.

The cameras went away.

Once the Chinese government had suppressed international media access, the soldiers arrived.  300,000 of them.

Now, I make no secret that I hate hippies.  "Student protester" automatically makes me think, "Get a job."  But there's a difference between the gutsy protesters of Tiananmen Square and the Occupiers of Wall Street.  Zuccotti Park was covered in trash at the end.

Tiananmen Square was covered in bodies.

Over a thousand demonstrators were gunned down over the course of two days.  More would be hunted down in the days to follow.

No one knows what happened to the man who stared down the tank.

This blog post will not be available in China.  Not that anyone actually reads this, least of all in China, but the inclusion of the picture above will make it filtered out by the Chinese government's search filters.  The cameras left in 1989, and they're still not allowed.  

The US State Department issued the following statement:

"We renew our call for the Chinese government to end harassment of those who participated in the protests and fully account for those killed, detained or missing."

The Chinese replied:

Foreign ministry spokesman Hong Lei said the US should "stop interfering in China's internal affairs"

There’s no doubt that a demand by a US government agency to explain Tianamen is just as offensive as an equivalent Chinese agency taking the US to task for the Trail of Tears.  Or the Philippines.  Or Hoover's bonus army.  The US State Department has no business decrying another country's internal decisions and just needs to shut up.

But, the people of the world do need to remember.

Confession time:  I just now got around to watching Scream.  For a horror buff, that's pathetic.  However, it got me to thinking about the possibility of my daughters babysitting some day.

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

Me:  "Okay, The Dot, big day.  Your first baby-sitting gig.  You ready?"

The Dot:  "Yes, Daddy."

Me:  "You sure?  You have everything?"

The Dot:  "Yes, Daddy."

Me:  "Cell phone?"

The Dot:  "Check."

Me:  "First aid kit?"

The Dot:  "Check."

Me:  "AED?"

The Dot:  "Check."

Me:  "Fire extinguisher?

The Dot:  "Check."

Me:  "Shotgun?"

The Dot:  "Check."

Me:  "Slugs and buck?"

The Dot:  "Check."

Me:  "Silver crucifix?"

The Dot:  "Check."

Me:  "Ash stakes?"

The Dot:  "Ash stakes, mirror, Molatovs, chainsaw, and Kevlar.  Check, check, check, check, and check."

Me:  "Trauma plates in that vest?"

The Dot:  "Daaaddddyyyyy."

Me:  "Okay, now remember what we went over."

The Dot (rolling eyes and sighing):  "No drinking, no boyfriend, zombie in the brain, vampire in the heart."

Me:  "And?"

The Dot:  "And if the slasher goes down, press the attack."

Me:  "And no matter what shows up?"

The Dot:  "Perforate, decapitate, and incinerate."

Me (kissing her forehead): "Good girl.  Have fun!" 

Taken: Movie Review...Sort of

This might be considered behind the times, but it's not so much a movie review as it is a personal observation.  And since Taken is currently playing on TV, now's as good a time as any.

During my time at Tennessee Tech, the campus ministry I was a member of went to the movies.  When A Stranger Calls was playing, as was a kidnapping movie.  I do not recall the name of that film, because we did not go see it.  Over the vociferous objections of the entire group, we watched the former film.  Why?  Because our campus minister said he can't watch kidnapping movies.

He said as soon as I had children, I would understand.

Of the many things that he said, the majority of them were profound, wise, and/or knowledgeable.  But when he missed the mark, he missed it by a mile.

And in a side note, we did at least get to see Camilla Belle with a wet shirt, so all was not lost.  And while her character may have been jail bait, she was, in fact, 20 at the time, so there was no need to feel creepy about it.

Admit it, any college guy would go to jail for this.

Taken is in my top ten movie list, and has only gotten more firmly planted since the births of my two girls.  In a related note, I think my Die Hard collection would stop at III if I wasn't a father.

To some extent, Taken is a recounting of the same story any given responsible father will face a kerjillion times starting around...oh...three months after the birth of a daughter.

Act I:  Father tells Daughter not to do something stupid.

Act II:  Daughter does it anyway.

Act III:  Father bails Daughter out.

This real-life formula is combined with another potent story archetype that every boy who does not get beaten into a effeminate weakling with the cudgel known as "civilization" holds dear to his heart:

Act I:  Once upon a time...blah, blah, blah.

Act II:  Danger looms.

Act III:  Danger gets a face-full of righteous anger in the shape of something pointy.

Lian Neeson's character, Bryan Mills, is the most single-minded character I've seen.  Once his daughter gets grabbed, he has one goal:  find her.  He's not out to rid the world of sex traffickers, not out to rid the world of corrupt officials, not out to save the all the girls, not even really out for vengeance.

He's single-minded to the extent that you find yourself almost disgusted at times.

***Spoiler alert***

First, when his daughter and friend are being kidnapped, Mills only threatens the kidnapper to get his own daughter released, not her friend.

Next, he tracks his daughter's trail to a prostitution ring that drug girls up and cram them into a trailer on a construction site for whoever happens to feel the need.  Being consumed with a simple goal of finding his daughter, he has no qualms about leaving the drugged-out girls behind, saving only one who he believes has information about his daughters whereabouts.

After a little more digging, Mills ends up in the traffickers' apartment building where he engages in some decidedly un-white-hat-ish combat, backshooting and bushwhacking guys in a totally ruthless manner.

After taking one captive, Mills spends a few minutes torturing him until he coughs up what he knows.  Then Mills kills the guy in cold blood, mostly because that's what he told the guy he would do if they didn't let his daughter go.

Finally, when he finds a trail of corruption leading to an old friend, Mills quite coldly shoots his (ex-)friend's completely innocent wife in the arm to get the last bit of information he needs to find his girl.

Yeah.  He goes there.

He finally kills his way to the man who purchased his daughter.  When the man, holding her in front of him at knife point, offers to negotiate, Mills shoots him between the eyes.

I just killed your entire security team.  Why should I negotiate?

***End spoilers***

Movie body counts, a website I never knew but always hoped existed, puts the body count at 35, but they note that they only count stabs, gunshots, and clear broken necks.  I'd put the number closer to 40-45.

Anybody with a little knowledge of human anatomy and physiology know that getting hit in the throat with enough force to render one unconscious would also kill the person unless they received prompt medical intervention.  A little more medical knowledge would also let a person know that getting bludgeoned hard enough to render one unconscious is also hard enough to likely cause death by intercranial hemorrhage, again, assuming that the victim did not make it to the ER within an hour.  Given that everybody who might call 911 is also dead, this is doubtful.

Plus, any idiot knows that stunned/unconscious people do not swim well, so pitching an uncoordinated guy into a river counts as a kill.

Sure, dirty cops get outed, a human trafficking ring is decimated and a lot of girls are implied to be freed, but at the end of the day, Mills doesn't care about that.  Taken 2* does not see him investigating who knew about what, or going out to finish off the cartel or become a grief counselor for his daughter's fellow captives.  If the guy at the start had let his daughter go and only taken her friend, Mills would have just sat on his side of the pond and not slaughtered his way through Paris.

He's not a hero.  He's a daddy.

He just happens to be a highly trained daddy.

*A "meh" film, by the way.  Entertaining, but without the heart of the original.

Parking Wars

While I truly miss, and always will miss The Flying Dodgeman, since purchasing her replacement, the as-of-yet-unnamed Toyota 4Runner has proven to have a distinct advantage.

I would never have been able to pull this off with The Flying Dodgeman.  While the rear of the 1999 Dodge Intrepid was not nearly as large as that of the 1993 Dodge Intrepid that I learned to drive in, she still had a sizable trunk.

And then, yesterday:

Now, the resolution on this image is pretty atrocious.  The double-parked SUV there on the left is a Porsche Cayenne.  No, I do not know who owns it.  The important part, however, is that there is plenty of room between it and the SUV on the left of it.  There was no reason he needed to park that wide.

So, in case the owner is reading this, I have two observations.

#1.  Ownership of a Porsche does not entitle you to two parking spaces.  Incidentally, neither does ownership of a Bentley, BMV, or Lamborghini.

#2.  Even if it did, the Cayenne is not even a real Porsche anyway.  It is a CRV with a cooler logo.  I do not care what the dealer told you, real Porsches start with "9."

22 in a 55

Or, “Get your [redacted] [redacted] scooter off the [redacted] road, you [redacted] [redacted].”

Anyone who has spent any amount of time with me knows that I hate scooters.  Really, really, hate scooters.

A little history, first.  In 1928, the RNC ran a campaign promising, “A chicken in every pot.  And a car in every backyard, to boot.”  While Black Tuesday the following year made this particular promise a tad bit harder to live up to, politicians the world over continued to tout universal mobility as the mark of prosperity.

Enter the fascists.

When you nationalize the automotive industry in a nation, you can go a long way to providing cheap vehicles.  Of course, it’s only cheap because your neighbor is helping pay for it, but those thoughts are far away when you look at the sticker price.  Here, however, is the difference between German engineering, and Italian engineering:

Hitler’s family car:

Mussolini’s family car:

Somehow, through the wonders of advertising, the Vespa scooter has survived in some form for the last 70 years.

Blame it on the Vespa girl:

On a side note, the ad raises an interesting question.  Does anyone really think a Vespa could climb the Italian Alps?  And does anyone really think you can ice skate outside in shorts like that?

Now, a woman that good-looking can drive a Vespa if she wants.  If you are a man riding one, you are pretty much missing some equipment.

And if you are if you are a bloody 250-pound man on a 25cc scooter, going 20 mph up a hill on a 55 mph highway with 5 vehicles stuck behind you, you are a traffic hazard as well as sub-optimally equipped.  And if I am one of those vehicles, I can assure you that you are not only a unequipped traffic hazard, but a much maligned one, as well.

A coworker once told me that in some states, scooters can be used without license, and are therefore the go-to vehicle for people with suspended licenses due to DUI's.  That would explain a lot.  Presumably, the thought process is that an irresponsible driver is far less of a danger to others on a 150-pound vehicle than he is in a 2000-pound one.  Either that, or they figure if he's too drunk to drive, he'll just fall over with only 2 wheels.

However, given that swerving for dogs is known to cause fatalities, I'm pretty sure a guy falling down on a scooter is at least as dangerous.

So, from now on, I will assume that scooter drivers are all drunken hazards to the well-being of all drivers.

Now to decide, does that mean I need to avoid them, or do my best to remove them from the pool of drivers?

That's low

In 2008, while in the middle of my hematology clinical rotation, I heard an interesting announcement on the radio.  Georgia wants to move the border with Tennessee north in order to access the Tennessee River to provide water for the Atlanta area.

Right.  That’s gonna fly.

Personally, I did not exactly enjoy my time in Chattanooga.  The hospital part was cool, but all I could afford was to crash on the floor of a house in a sketchy part of town with a bunch of college students that smoked enough weed that I’m probably lucky I never got pee-tested.  That said, it’s still part of Tennessee.  It’s still family, it’s just the uncle no one ever talks about.

Fast forward to this week.  I saw a front page article in a Georgia business paper that said Georgia’s Attorney General has threatened to sue Tennessee in the Supreme Court if they don’t sit down by April 2014.

Come on.  You’re bringing lawyers into it now?  Weak, Georgia, weak.

Yeah, we’re gonna sue you!

The story from the south side is that this feud has been running for 195+ years.  Which is, of course, why no one on the north side had ever heard of it until five years ago.

The GA AG claims the real reason they've got their panties in a wad is that Tennessee has not been taking them seriously.

Manbearpig is real!

The really disturbing part, though, is that they’re saying Tennessee refuses to negotiate.  Well, what precisely is Georgia giving up?  In the words of a late president, “We cannot negotiate with those who say, ‘What’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is negotiable.’”

Here’s a novel idea:  try buying the land you need.

Tennessee is a pretty capitalist state.  In order to access the Tennessee River, Georgia only needs a 1.5 mile section on border moved.  How about ponying up a few million or so?

And that’s another thing.  The river has Tennessee’s flippin’ name on it.  Where does anyone get off claiming it’s part of Georgia?

They may have missed their chance, though.  In 2011, Tennessee posted its first budget surplus in years.  $19.9 million.  This year, the projected surplus is $540 million.  Still, stretched out over the next 5 to 10 years, coughing up a billion would probably work.

Still, most of the water they want is for Atlanta.  Ballpark population:  7 million.  You charge all of them $10 a month for a year and you've got $840 million.

Just a thought.

But if there's another plan, and they intend to go all "Peach Dawn" on us, I have one world for them:

WOLVERINES!!!

$2275.75

Next week, Geico will be handing my a check for $2275.75.  I will be handing them a piece of greenish paper and some keys.  They will load a 1999 Dodge Intrepid onto a tow vehicle and I will never see it again.

I should be thankful.  There's no way I could have ever gotten that much trying to sell her.

I'm not thankful, at all.  Not yet, anyway.  Because she's not "a 1999 Dodge Intrepid."  She's The Flying Dodgeman.  And she's mine.

When I got her, she had 49,000 miles.  Now, she has 169,000.  In those 120,000 miles:

She drove from Cookeville to Knoxville to Mississippi.  On one tank.

She took my wife and I on our first date.

She drove me to Austin Peay and back.

She got me from Chattanooga to Clarksville to home when I was falling asleep at the wheel.

She saw 110 mph outside of Athens, TN.

She drove my wife and I home from our wedding.

She made absurd numbers of trips from middle Tennessee to northeastern Tennessee as we moved from our first apartment to first house.

She brought both my girls home from the hospital.

For that matter, she brought my two dogs home.

The state of Georgia uses buycrash.com to give out police reports.  When searching for the pertinent report, I ended up having to punch in the other driver's VIN.  The result was a list of three.  Now, because of a driver who in the last 2 years has been in at least 3 multiple motor vehicle collisions:

She will not see 200,000 miles.  She was shifting hard, but I think she would have made it.

She will never see Lake Superior.  This August, she would have.

She will never see another country.  This August, she would have.

She will not be there to drive our next child home in.  I'm not sure when that would have been.

She will not see 120 mph (officially).  I intended to eventually take her to a street legal drag strip someday and try to peg out her speedometer.  I suspect I did it when I wasn't looking on the way to Mississippi.

So here's to a heck of a car.  She was faithful, even when I wasn't.  Sure, she shifted hard.  Sure, you couldn't roll the driver's window up straight.  Sure, her lights could do funny things.  Still, she got me from point A to point B far more times than she didn't.

This girl survived Chattanooga's drivers.  One of my fondest memories was dropping the hammer in an intersection one early foggy morning when an oncoming driver decided to go straight instead of turning left.  She roared to life, and pulled me through just before the moron could hit us.

She just couldn't survive Atlanta.

I hate this town.