Toddlerisms II: Texts From My Wife

The favorite parts of my workdays are when the Shieldmaiden randomly sends excerpts from her day.  This tradition started during my time in Atlanta, and has continued on since.


While in Atlanta:  

Someone was very emphatic that she wanted her Dada after I wiped her nose this morning.


Your oldest just tried to wipe my nose with a napkin she found.


She said, "Oh no," when I asked if she could wipe her face.


Me:  Can you say [Lump]?"

[Dot]:  Baby.

Me:  [Lump].

[Dot]:  Baby.


Everybody is asking about you.




After the move:

Thank you for leaving a roll of toilet paper in [Lump]'s reach.  She had fun.


[Dot] is buckling her animals in car seats.


According to [Dot], the clouds are dirty.


Me:  When we see Ms. Nancy & she says "Hi" to you, can you say "Hi," back?

[Dot]:  Hi ba.



After complaining about my crazy day:

Are your coworkers running around pantless & throwing food?  Because that's what mine are doing.


After saying, "I'm a leaf on the wind.  Watch me soar."

I'm a bigger leaf...

Spants IV: Spermite

Top Secret Government Lab Inside Northern Rockies

General from S III:  Spanthopper enters.

Scientist:  “Sir!”

General:  “How is the research coming?”

Scientist:  “Your idea was brilliant.  With the addition of the termite DNA, they can now burrow through two feet of reinforced concrete!”

General:  “What have you made their enclosures of then?”

Scientist:  “Sixty centimeters of reinforced concrete.”

General:  “Something about this seems a bit off, but carry on.”

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Oh yes, oh yes, it's that time of year again!  For those of you just joining us, ever since the wild response to Spants by the half-dozen people that read it, your humble author has made it a Halloween tradition to follow up the original campy humor with even more hackneyed, cliched and generally atrocious sequels.

For the previous installments:

http://fromacj7.blogspot.com/2011/11/spants.html

http://fromacj7.blogspot.com/2012/10/sproach.html

http://fromacj7.blogspot.com/2013/10/spants-iii-spanthopper.html

This year's installment is brought to you by a decent beer and a crappy scotch.

Seriously, it's bottled Ginger piss.

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Spants IV:  Spermite


Logging Camp

Hippies:  "Save the trees!  Save the trees!"

Foreman:  "Look, Constable, I'm not trying to cause you trouble here, but the tree spiking is starting to endanger my men."

Constable:  "Tree spiking?  Geez, even Greenpeace doesn't do that crap anymore."

Hippies:  "No More Warming!  No More Warming!"

Constable:  "Have you tried pointing out to them that there's been no Global Warming for 19 years now?"

Foreman:  "Do you really think it would work?"


Top Secret Government Lab

Klaxon blares.  Soldier runs down hallway, turns and fires before being dragged off camera by Large Mysterious Unseen Entity.

Soldier:  "AAAAAAHHHH!!!"

Completely unrealistic amount of blood sprays from off-camera.

Computerized voice:  "There are now 5 minutes until failsafe detonation."

Scientist:  "We only have 5 minutes before this place blows!  Oh, if we'd only checked our unit conversion chart!  I feel like NASA!"

General:  "Don't worry!  I have a helicopter!"

Scientist:  "As Chief Scientist, I demand you save me, even at the cost of abandoning my entire team of underlings!"

General:  "I have waves of expendable soldiers to put between it and us.  We just have to get to the chopper!"


Logging Camp the following day

Constable:  "Look, I know those protesters have done all sorts of crazy things to your equipment before, but it doesn't make much sense that they would chop trees down to prevent you from chopping trees down.  Plus, I'm not sure how it would be possible for them to pull this off."

Foreman:  "Look, they're a bunch of hippies:  I never expect them to make sense.  All I know is that last night there were trees here, and this morning, nothing but piles of sawdust."

Constable:  "Look, I'll come here tonight to help you patrol.  But you get to try to get the mayor to sign off on the overtime."


Logging camp (nighttime)

Constable:  "I hope you appreciate this.  I'm supposed to be having dinner with Court Recorder."

Foreman:  "To discuss the future of your completely Platonic friendship?"

Constable:  "I assume so, yes."

Foreman:  "You are just about dense, aren't you?"

Constable:  "Why the hell did I agree to this?  There is nobody out here.  I'm going home, now."

Foreman:  "You can't.  You are contractually obligated for an entire shift.  Plus, I think I heard something over there."

Spermite crashes out of tree line.  Foreman and Constable turn and fire to no avail.

Foreman:  "To the Jeep!  To the Jeep!"

Suddenly, a helicopter appears with General, Scientist and a squad of soldiers.  In the gory-yet-completely-predictable battle that follows, the helicopter is destroyed and Foreman is killed along with the soldiers and pilots.


Interior of Jeep as it races down trail

Constable:  "So let me get this straight, you crossed a spider, an ant, and a termite, then made it grow to 20 feet long, and now it's loose in the forest around my township?"

Scientist:  "That's about the size of it, yes."

Constable:  "Guess it's time to go to my cabin."

General:  “It’s a 20-foot-tall insect that drilled through two-foot thick walls and killed a platoon of soldiers escaping.  And you think your cabin walls can save us?”

Constable:  “Not the cabin walls, what’s on the cabin walls.”


Constable’s cabin

Constable (holding up a Milkor MGL):  “Is this big enough?”

Scientist:  “How can you have these at home?”

Constable:  “It’s not just my home.  It’s also the official offices of the Podunk Township Constabulary and Justice of the Peace.  I filed a 1033.  Don’t you read the news?  If a law enforcement department says it’s for the war on terror, DHS’ll give away anything!”

General:  “These are bigger guns than my men have!”

Constable:  “Well, maybe your men should have used the words ‘Sovereign Gun-Trafficking Tea Party Militia Extremists’ in their budget request like I did.”

General:  “Do you actually have those around here?”

Constable:  “Well, the barber hasn't taken down his 'Ron Paul 2012' window sign.”

Scientist:  “This is such a waste of government resources.”

Constable:  “Oh, bite me.  How much did the 20-foot bug trying to eat us cost?”

General:  “Doesn’t matter.  That 40mm grenade launcher may be cool and all, but it’s not going to be enough.  Ever since Small-Town Sheriff killed one of our Boss bugs with a LAW rocket, we’ve armored them to withstand a TOW missile.”

Constable:  “See, now, why would you go and do that?”

Scientist:  “Well, the plan was to surgically implant a small remote control failsafe explosive in the spermite’s brain before we tested it.”

Constable:  “Let me guess, it's not there.”

Scientist:  “Well, we kinda forgot that making it resistant to a TOW missile might make it difficult to find a drill bit that could bore a hole in it.”

Constable to General:  “Where do you find these people?”

General:  "Well, the pizza boxes worked so well for the TSA..."

Constable:  "I think I might know where we could get a bigger drill bit..."


Machine shop at logging site

Outside, Hippie camp is getting destroyed by Spermite.

Constable:  "Okay, so scratch the high-velocity drill bit idea."

Scientist:  "I didn't think it would work."

Constable:  "Oy!  Say something helpful or shut up."

Screams echo from Hippie camp.

Constable:  "That is really making it hard to think."

General:  "Don't worry.  I'm pretty sure the screaming's almost all over."

Scientist:  "The fact is, we have to come up with some way of getting an explosive inside the creature."

Bloody hippie corpse crashes through window and slides to a stop between Constable and General.  They look down, then up at each other.


Cliff top

Spermite approaches propped-up dead hippie.

Spermite:  "ROOOOOOAAARR!!!!!"

Spermite bites Hippie's body in half, the lower portion falling to the ground.

General:  "Dammit, Scientist!  I told you we should have crammed it down his throat instead!"

Constable runs forward and hurriedly digs through the guts until he finds the bomb, slinging Bruce-Campbell-amounts of gore in the process.

Constable waving bomb overhead:  "Here, Big Fella!  Here you go!"

Spermite:  “ROOOOOOAAARR!!!!!”

Constable runs toward spermite, then in one fluid motion baseball-slides under the creature, tosses the bomb into the air, turns into a roll as the spermite swallows the explosives, and dives off the cliff into the river below chased by the completely predictable fireball rolling across the ground as the spermite explodes.


Survivors gathered around crater

Court Recorder:  "I think you got it."

Constable:  "I'm just glad you decided to take a walk by the river bank tonight."

Scientist:  "Well, now what do we do?"

Constable putting arm around Court Recorder:  "Do what you want.  I'm going home."

Constable and Recorder walk off toward town.

General:  "You can't just leave!"

Constable over shoulder:  "Oh, piss off--I have dinner plans.

Recorder and Constable walk off as the sun rises.  General turns to walk dejectedly away.  Scientist turns, then bends down to swab goop from a bush before following.

Coming soon:  Spants V:  Spants at Sea.

New initials

Ethan Jesiah Pedde, KG7GPB, B.S., M.T.*, EMT-B.  Notice the first thing you get when you pass is the offer to sell you stuff.

*Once I get the paperwork filed, I will once again be MLS (ASCP) CM.  For those of you counting, yes, that will make my academic and professional initials longer than my actual name.

Freeeeeedddooommmmmm!!!!!

Perhaps it's the Scot part of my Scot-Irish/Canadian/Native American/German/Prussian/God-only-knows-what-else heritage.

Perhaps it's from watching Braveheart too many times.  Probably not, since I only watched it once, and found the beginning and the end depressing enough to bum me out for a week.

Perhaps it's living in a place called Glasgow, where the high school mascot is the Scottie and the police cars are painted tartan.

Perhaps it's a friend getting accepted to Edinburgh.

Perhaps it's because Amy Pond--arguably the hottest companion to the Doctor to date--is Scottish.

Perhaps it's from her saying "Good for them," when she finds out Scotland loaded up onto a different spaceship than England, which is probably her best line from the first season.

Or perhaps it's the rebellious streak inherent in all Americans.

At any rate, I am sitting here, in Glasgow, MT, throwing down whiskey from Glasgow, Scotland, in an attempt to drown my sorrows that it appears Scottish Independence is not going to happen.  Currently, it's 58%-42%, and I just don't see that changing.

So why do I support the break-up of a 300-year old country?  Because I agree with several outspoken no-ers that Scottish Independence could have lead to a "Balkanization of Europe."  Unlike those opposition campaigners, though, I think it would have been a good thing.

Currently, there are about a dozen major secessionist movements in Europe.  I support them all inasmuch as they remain peaceable.  An amicable Scottish departure from the UK would prove that people can withdraw without bloodshed.  And the fact is, Balkanization works.

A case study:  Yugoslavia.  After the First World War, the victors came together to redraw the map of Europe.  They decided to put about half a dozen different ethnic groups in the same country.  How well did this work out?  Well, for the next seventy-ish years, the ethnic groups tried to kill the ever-loving [redacted] out of each other.  They all wanted a country in which they had autonomy.  And since no one would recognize them as separate, they had to try to take power of their one country.

As one person noted, "The majority of life for many people is the quest to be the perpetrator instead of the victim."  The Yugoslavians lived this.  If the Croats won an election, it was a bad time to be a Serb; if the Serbs won, woe betide Bosnians; if the Bosnians won...well, you get the point.

Eventually, the groups all got their own countries.  And ever since, there's not been a whole lot of wholesale slaughter over there.  Sure, there's now six countries to remember for geography tests, but on the whole, I call thousands of people not dying a net win.

I'm pretty sure the Tutsis would have loved to get their own country around, say, 1994.  Sure Don Cheadle gave an awesome performance, but that was a bit too late to save almost a million people from getting their heads macheted off.

But what if one country decides to pick off one of the new smaller countries?

Next case study:  Kurdistan.  Wonderfully bland name for a country...that doesn't truly exist.  Instead, the Kurds are split among Iraq, Iran, Syria, and Turkey.  The Kurds have long desired to secede from all four and make their own country.

Between 1986 and 1989, Saddam Hussein waged a war of genocide against Iraqi Kurds.  One of my former coworkers was sent in when the US decided to protect the Kurds.  And then they left.  And more Kurds got killed.  The fact is, if you punch out an abusive boyfriend, he just takes it out on his girlfriend when you aren't looking.  And as long as the guy does it in his own home, the world does not give three [redacted]s, two [redacted]s or a [redacted].  Unless there's cameras rolling, in which case, the world cares until the cameras leave.  Just ask the Tiananmen demonstrators.

Then, in 1990, Saddam went too far.  He stepped over a line, known as an international border.  Thirty-nine countries showed up (another two contributed guns and money...although probably not lawyers) to descend on him like the veritable Hammer of God.  Sure, the US sent 700,000 of the nearly a million troops, but that still leaves about 300,000 troops that others were willing to pony up to show that the world will not tolerate invasions.

Perhaps if the Kurds had had their own border, they wouldn't have been gassed.  Well, they probably would have, but the lesson learned from the 40 countries putting a stop to that would have saved some Kuwaiti lives.

I realize, of course, that some geographical locations have religious significance and will always be fought over.  I also realize that there are certain ideologies that will not be satisfied until the whole world subscribes to them.  But while Balkanization could never bring world peace, at least some places might cool down.

Beyond preventing bloodshed, a peaceful secession might also be good economically.  Besides the fact that you can now build a factory in Croatia without it getting blown to hell and gone, there may be other positive economic outcomes.

France.  The Amiens Goodyear plant closed because the managers could not make money with the French worker's work ethic and demands.  This, obviously, hurt the French economy.  But let's look at who the French economy includes.  There are currently two major separatist parties in France, the Basques and the Corsicans.  Obviously, the damage to the French economy by Goodyear and a whole bunch of other international corporations over the last few years has hurt them.

Thought experiment:  What if there was Basqueland and Corsica?  They could put in bids for Goodyear's business.  Goodyear wouldn't have to move as far, and there would be an influx in the economy of the winning nation.  Perhaps the competition might drive the French to rethink their policies in an attempt to get Goodyear, et al to stay.  Sure, California may not have put two and two together over worker's rights and business relocation, but I have no doubt the French are smarter than Californians.  Of course, I'm pretty sure I've cultured a fungus or two that were smarter than California's leadership.

There is also the fact that fragmented economies survive better.  Part of the problem late last decade was that the EU meant that Germany and other productive countries were on the hook for Greece and other unproductive countries' bills.  Had Greece been allowed to fail, the European recession would not have been as extreme.

Here's what I would like to see happen:  Scotland secedes, the UKIP would get a huge boost, possibly pulling the UK out of the EU.  With the first major political seat calling it quits, Germany would finally have its excuse to leave.  It's not like they haven't been looking for one for the last five years.  Once the first major economic seat left, there really wouldn't be any reason for any more countries to keep hauling around over-extended countries bad debt.  Meanwhile, other secessionist movements get a boost from Scotland's independence and Europe turns into a hundred interdependent yet independent economies.  No one has the clout to bring the rest down, and all have a shot at improving themselves.

And finally, on a personal note, while Cutty Sark may claim to be "the original easy-drinking Scotch," it's really pretty harsh.  I mean, Bushmills is smoother, and it's Irish.

Viral Nomenclature

"This is Dr. Scanlan.  He's a virologist, but he does a decent impersonation of a microbiologist."

With that, I was introduced to my professor for Clinical Parasitology and Virology, Clinical Mycology, and Clinical Bacteriology.

Now, the ASCP board exam is recognized internationally.  This means we had to learn every fungus, virus, parasite, and bacterium the world over.  Because how hard can that possibly be?

The fun part came during virology.  As our professor was a virologist, we may have exceeded the national average for depth of coverage.  Including vectors, transmission, treatment, morbidity and mortality,  we had to know the following aspects of each virus (how many can there possibly be, right?): envelope, structure, segmentation, sense, strands, and genetic material.

You try remembering that Rhabdovirus is a enveloped, helical, non-segmented, negative-sense, single-stranded, RNA virus while Bunyavirus is an enveloped, helical, segmented, negative-sense, single-stranded RNA virus.

After several days of beating my head against the wall, the night before the test, I came to the following realization:  all these are binary choices.  Being the nerd I am, I simply put them into a table:

	1	0
Envelope	Enveloped	Non-enveloped
Structure	Icosahedral	Helical
Segmentation	Segmented	Non-segmented
Sense	Positive-sense	Negative-sense
Strands	Double-stranded	Single-stranded
Material	DNA	RNA

From there, I punched it into a spreadsheet:

Virus	Aspect						Total
	Envelope	Structure	Segmentation	Sense	Strands	Material
Rhabdovirus	1	0	0	0	0	0	32
Rhinovirus	0	1	0	1	0	0	20
Bunyavirus	1	0	1	0	0	0	40
St. Louis Encephalitis Virus	1	1	0	1	0	0	52

Now, all I had to remember is the table and a single number for each virus.

Presumably, one might be able to add other non-binary attributes to this system, using an alphabetical prefix or suffix, i.e. affected systems (Respiratory =A, GI=B, Integumentary=C.) or mode of transmission (Droplet=A, Vector=B, etc.).  This would yield a result of CB43 for a theoretical enveloped, helical, segmented, negative-sense, double-stranded DNA virus causing boils and spread by a tick.

And if you think that I'm the only one who could possibly find this system useful, I would point out that the President of the APSU 2007-8 Medical Technology Class noticed me using my table the morning of the test and had the whole system and all the numbers memorized in under two hours.

So there it is, the Pedde Binary Virus Nomenclature system.  Free of charge for all APSU Med Tech students, however, I will cry foul if anyone publishes a paper on it without giving me a chance to co-author.

Immigration and Trains

When it comes to illegal immigration, one of the most absurd incarnations is La Bestia.  You pay $100 to ride on the top of a cargo train and hope not to get robbed, raped, or beat to death.  It's also known as "The Death Train."

Well, that sucks.

So let's take a quick look at the wonderful risk analysis that everyone uses, whether they acknowledge it or not.

The basic risk analysis graph usually shown is a basic X/Y, however, there is a Z that many people don't realize they are also using.  The usual drawing has the X axis as the severity of consequences and the Y axis is the likelihood that the event will occur.  There is also a Z axis of how much in resources will preparations cost.

Case in point, during the Cold War, it was judged a high enough probability and severity and low enough resource expenditure that fall-out shelters were deemed a good use of money.  Of course, the probability turned out to not be what was expected, but at the time...

Now another way to look at things by category is the classic balance, which we will use for our current analysis.  Since the consequences of the crimes mentioned in the article (robbery, rape, and murder) are the same no matter where you are, we will concentrate on the likelihoods.  As always, if you don't like my paintbrush drawings, then screw you.

The left side is the probability of it happening at home.  The right side is the probability that it will happen on the train.

If you stay home, the cartels will rob you.  If your daughter stays home, there is a very high probability that she will be kidnapped (at a very young age) for some drug lord to add to his harem.  Murder's pretty high, although we'll discount the number of draftees who are killed fighting for the cartels.

So, short of increasing the amount of robberies, rapes, and murders until it's safer to live in South America, perhaps we need to address the Z axis.  Currently, it looks a bit like this:

Where the left side is the resource expenditure to legally immigrate ($5000 and a couple years) and the right side is the $100 to hop La Bestia for a couple days.

Maybe we should change that.

A handful of Cartel members are standing at the station, waiting for La Bestia and shaking wannabe passengers down.  Suddenly, instead of a cargo train, a pair of modified MRAPs hooked back to back appear.  The front one has a minesweeping device.  Both have an extremely hacked-off machine gunner on top who has been riding without air conditioning for the last 50 miles.  Anyone toting a gun and gang colors is immediately shot.  The vehicles disgorge a dozen US infantrymen who are only slightly less cranky than the gunners, because while the A/C works, it's still pretty cramped.  They set up a perimeter and frisk people down before the train appears.

The train pulls up and opens it's doors.  The passengers one by one get fingerprinted, entering them into the system that they will be using for the next several days.  Once the car is full, the doors close. 

This is horribly inefficient, so after the train pulls off, a smaller train appears that offloads 4 regular MRAP's, 1 Bradley Engineering Squad vehicle, and a few pallets of materials.  They begin work on a small-but-hardened command post that will be used to pre-screen future passengers.  Once the immigration outpost is built, the ESV gets loaded back up on the next train.  The MRAP's stay because the cartels are gonna be pissed about losing their mule train, and because we have so many of the damn things we're giving them away to anyone who signs a 1033.  The troops will be rotated each time the train pulls in.

The train starts off and the passengers go through the next car, a medical screening car where they get quick tests for IV/Hep/TB/R&R/Polio/lice/scabies/everything-else-communicable by all those Navy Corpsman who seem to end up getting all the cool humanitarian details.  Those who pass get immunizations.  Those who flunk are treated/decontaminated/quarantined.

Those who pass (and any who flunk but complete treatment by the end of the ride) go to the next station, a handy legal office that helps them get their paperwork started (which would, of course, be streamlined).

Next up, they go to the education cars.  First, an English screening station.  Those who flunk go to a comfy car where they start English lessons.  If they pass, they get screened for trade training/education.  If they know a trade (verified by a quick test), they go off to a comfy car for the rest of the trip.  If they don't, off they go to the Career Fair car to watch a few ads from various companies to see what interests them.

Once they get to the border, people who know a trade meet representatives from firms that need them.  Those who chose a career field get met by representatives from firms who are willing to train them.  Those who can't speak English well enough to enter training go to dorms where they get a crash course in it.  Those who are still quarantined go off to quarantined dorms to finish treatment before going to the English center or career center.

My inspiration here is a NatGeo article on Matvei Mudrov the Siberian hospital train.  I mean, they put a hospital on a train, can we not put a screening station?

We're frikkin' America!

Our non-governmental charitable giving is $335 billion a year!  If it costs $10 million a day to run these trains, we'd still only be scratching the surface of what Americans are willing to give.  How much would this really cost to run?  Heck, Warren Buffett, you already have the trains!  Especially if you lose the fight to keep the Keystone from coming through my town.

The US Military sends medical people around the world to vaccinate goats!  It's to build goodwill with those countries, apparently.  Wouldn't vaccinating people be a better use of resources?  Wouldn't giving people an alternative to having to give their daughters birth control so they won't get pregnant when (not if) they get raped build more goodwill?

Plenty of people talk about immigration reform, but until something is done to change the resource expenditure disparity between legal and illegal immigration, it will continue to be more cost-effective to risk the violence of illegal immigration.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

So the credibility of America has been in the tank for a while.  Syria, ISIS/ISIL/IS/Whatever-they're-called-this-week, Russia, Iran, China, and everyone else who's not our friends have been displaying a tremendous lack of belief in the various red lines, ultimatums, threats, etc that have been issued over the last several years.  There's plenty of theories and blame to go around, but I think it comes down to one thing:

Rides.

This is our Presidents' version of an automotive photo-op:

The "Leader of the Free World"...who's not even allowed to park.

And this is the Queen of England's:

And lest she be confused with the little old lady from Pasadena, she does know how to engage the 4WD:

Now the Queen's old ride went up for sale earlier this year.  I don't know how much it went for, but the upper estimate before the auction was less than $60,000.  That's about a fifth of what the Beast costs.  Shoot, it probably costs over 60 grand in fuel just to ship that colossal chunk of car one way.  You know, given that it has its own plane.

Now, I'm not saying that the president of the United States should cruise around in a foreign-built ride.  That would just be wrong.  Even if the first Land Rover was built on a Willy's frame:

Thievin' Limey Wankers

In previous days, presidents of all stripes cruised in the latest military vehicles:

Left...

...and Right.

Unfortunately, I feel the office has fallen very far since then, and so a president trying to ride in a HMMWV would probably appear to be trying too hard.  So, instead, I move that the Beast be traded in for a Brute:

Hell, yeah.

Quite possibly the greatest incarnation of a Jeep since they did away with the CJ-10, the American Expedition Vehicles' Brute is the perfect Presidential ride.  Of course, the Scrambler does have it's own Presidential heritage.

100% American made, AEV picks them up fresh off the line in Detroit and brings them out here to Montana* for serious modification.  Sure, once you factor in the base Wrangler used, it'll still set you back about $80,000, and that's without up-armoring the thing.  But I still think you could probably come in under half of the cost of a Beast.  And show me a Beast that can do this:

I will see your mudding, Queen, and raise you some Utah crawling.

Of course, the 4-door pick-up version would probably be unsuitable, but that's okay, because the previous iteration of the Brute had the full cab.

Just look at all that leg room!

While we're at it, we should upgrade Marine One.  I mean, this is what our president looks like getting ready to fly off in his helicopter:

And this is what Prince Harry looks like getting ready to fly off in his helicopter:

And that guy's only the fourth in line for the throne.

Again, I recognize that you need a bit of room for a president's advisors, and again I recognize that riding an Apache would look like you're trying too hard, but would a Little Bird be too cramped?

Of course, I guess it would be too much to ask the Secretary of State to ride on the bench.

Sad.



*Okay, so saying "here" in Montana is like saying the factory in Missouri is "close to Tennessee."  It would still be some jobs for my adopted state.

Toddlerisms

A random collection of actual conversations in the past week.

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At picnic:

"No, [Dot]!  Don't chase the yellowjacket!"

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Lump:  "Nasty ladybug."

Me:  "What ladybug?"

Lump (pointing at mosquito):  "Nasty ladybug."

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

As Dot bangs on high chair tray:

Lump:  "Stop banging!"

Dot:  </ignore>

Lump:  "Obey!"

Shieldmaiden:  "[Lump], [Dot] doesn't have to obey you."

Lump:  <thoughtful pause> "Obey Mommy and Daddy!"

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

After washing hands.  Every. Time.

Dot:  "Bubbles.  Go.  Down.  The.  Sink...Wheeee!!!"

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While Squirt drools

Dot:  "Baby droppin' bubbles!"

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

Dot:  "Helicopter!"

Lump:  "Airplane!"

Dot:  "No, helicopter!"

Lump:  "No, airplane!"

Dot:  "No, helicopter!"

Lump:  "No, airplane!"

Me:  "Okay, first off, it was a motorcycle..."

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Anytime the Lump finds the Shieldmaiden's phone:

Lump:  "...and cheeseburgers...and butterflies...and cheeseburgers...and butterflies...and cheeseburgers...and butterflies...and cheeseburgers...and butterflies...and cheeseburgers...and butterflies...and cheeseburgers...and butterflies..."

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While wanting to read Little Loon and Papa...yet again.

Lump:  "WooHoo book!  WooHoo book!"

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And a quick guide to sandwich toppings:

"Yellow butter" - Margarine

"White butter" - Miracle Whip

"Black butter" - Nutella

Evil Children

sol·ip·sism  [sol-ip-siz-uhm]  Show IPA

in philosophy, formerly, moral egoism (as used in the writings of Immanuel Kant), but now, in an epistemological sense, the extreme form of subjective idealism that denies that the human mind has any valid ground for believing in the existence of anything but itself.

psy·chop·a·thy  [sahy-kop-uh-thee]  Show IPA

noun, plural psy·chop·a·thies. Psychiatry.

a mental disorder in which an individual manifests amoral and antisocial behavior, lack of ability to love or establish meaningful personal relationships, extreme egocentricity, failure to learn from experience, etc.

so·ci·o·path  [soh-see-uh-path, soh-shee-]  Show IPA

noun Psychiatry.

a person with a psychopathic personality whose behavior is antisocial, often criminal, and who lacks a sense of moral responsibility or social conscience.

My apologies for the change in noun to a person as opposed to a state on the last one, but Dictionary.com did not have an entry for “sociopathy.”

The Shieldmaiden recently directed my attention to this motivational image from parentingbeyondpunishment.com in which the author asserts:

My Irish side calls, “Shenanigans.”  It’s the most polite of my sides on this one.  It’s the only side that offered an expletive that was G-rated.

I shall refrain from dissecting Parenting Beyond Punishment’s position on punishment.  That has been ripped apart by so many people over the last several millennia and demonstrated to be wrong for the same time frame.  No, I will be concentrating on this manifestly erroneous assertion that underpins their thought process.

Allow me to explain from two perspectives.  The first is a quick description of an emotional (albeit logical) reaction on my part.  The second is the logical/philosophical/psychological.

“You will never be this loved again,” implies that you will be loved less after this time.  If the assertion is true, it naturally follows that PBP thinks love is an inverse function of time.

PBP’s love, where X is time in years and Y is arbitrary love units.

I personally have found the opposite to be true (the impersonal trend will be explained later).  My love for my parents has increased over time, and will probably continue as my children provide examples of what my parents went through without putting me up for adoption (unless they did, failed, and never told me).

My love (same scale)

Now in the interest of honesty, the graph of my love has a dip around the teenage years.  In the interest of generosity toward the opposing viewpoint, in the PBP graph I used a curve that preserves the maximum amount of love for the longest period of time.

The people at PBP really need to hope to whatever their deity or impersonal-divine-force of choice is that their children’s love follows my curve, because on their curve, a child’s love will be approaching zero around the time he is deciding on nursing homes for his parents.

PBP, do you [redacted] not think about how [redacted] these statements are before you publish them?

Having established that they are, in fact, idiots, on to the more scientific analysis of their assertion.

PBP, there is a simple fact of life that you need to come to grips with.

Children.

Are.

Evil.

Notice how this is reflected in my graph.  The curve starts at zero.  Okay, so it starts one pixel off, but I was using Paintbrush, and I was in a hurry.

Zero point is solipsism.  A freshly born child has no idea that there is anything in his existence beyond himself.  He has the inability to grasp that other people exist.  He cannot grasp that anything else exists.  His life consists of himself and himself only.  This is psychopathy on steroids.  This is the true epitome of evil.

This state of complete solipsism does not last long.  It ends right around the time that the infant needs to eat.  Suddenly, he has some object stuffed in his mouth and it makes his tummy feel better.  A couple hours later, goopy stuff is adhered all over his butt.  Then, some strange force wipes it away.

For the next several months, the child simply exists in this semi-solipsic state.  He has come to the conclusion that there is some outside force, but it seems to exist solely to meet his needs.  Eventually, he realizes that this is a fellow human.  At this point he transitions to the next step:  psychopathy.

This is where other people exist, but they only exist to meet his needs, and they [redacted]-well better do it right now, or he’s going to make them pay.  Sometimes, this is as far as the human ever develops.  Some people always assume they have the right to take what they want by force or threat thereof.

Assuming you raise them in a half-way decent manner, however, children will mature to the next phase:  sociopathy.

The sociopathic stage is where the child in our example has learned that other people exist and have wants and needs.  He has also learned that the best was to get something he wants is to manipulate others by use of their needs and wants.  If this description makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside, you are probably a cat person.

A great example of this was when the Dot learned that the two facts, "Dada like hugs" and "Dot like brownie" could be combined into a method of extracting treats from her easily manipulated father.  Of course, it could be argued that I facilitated her sociopathy by letting her sit in my lap and give me a hug despite the fact that her whole attention was quite obviously on the Sara Lee wrapper in my hand.  Which is why I quit doing so.

This is where even more people stop than at psychopathy.  This is the group that works, not through forced coercion, but through emotional manipulation.  When the Lump flutters her eyes in an attempt to get an extra serving of ice cream, it really isn't cute.  It's pretty much as criminal as some guy running a sham charity trading a false sense of love for hard-earned cash.

Fortunately, given a proper rearing, most children will move on to actual love.  They will develop attachments and appreciate and love their parents more, not less.

And then they'll become teenagers.  But if everyone involved survives that...

The simple fact is, children are not born good.  If you're just trying to preserve your child's status as the noble savage, you are failing as a parent.  Yes, they are, in fact, savage, but, no, they are not to any extent noble.  It's your job to add that part.

[Human] nature, Mr. Allnut, is what we are put in this world to rise above.

And if this seems like a cynical and pessimistic way to view children, allow me to point out that it implies that with proper discipline, persons can get better, whereas PBP’s view is that people inherently get worse with age and offers no hope to the contrary.

So while my summation isn't quite the stuff of Hallmark cards, who’s really the pessimist here?

Hobby Lobby

Typically, I stay out of politics on this blog.  But, I did minor in Philosophy and especially in logic and epistemology.  From a purely logical standpoint, this is a moronic statement.  Also, I [redacted] hate nihilism, and this comes awfully close.

Tester is fighting back with a Constitutional amendment that would clarify that corporations are not people and therefore not protected by the same Constitutional rights as individual Americans. His amendment has seen increased support since the Hobby Lobby decision, which allows corporations to hold religious-based objections to providing insurance coverage for certain medical care. 

"The First Amendment was meant to protect individuals' religious freedoms, not those of corporations," Tester said. "Now, the religious beliefs of corporations will dictate the health care options of people. Where does it end?"

A religious decision is inherently a moral one.  With the exception of some strains of atheism, no religion denies the presence of a conscience.  Frankly, most sane persons prefer others to have a conscience.  The alternative is the neighborhood of sociopathy and psychopathy.

Back in 2001, many people complained when Walmart started selling gas.  They used their other goods to subsidize the gas, allowing them to undercut the competition by selling gas below cost.  Once the surrounding gas stations had closed, they raised the prices back to standard.  It was a dirty trick.  It’s what sociopathic business looks like.

Americans fought back.  Laws were scrambled to halt Walmart’s progress.  They were forced to raise their prices by bans on sub-cost gas pricing.  They were forced to stay away from interstates.  They were restricted to miles away from gas stations.

Now, many of the same Americans who wanted to legislate a conscience into the managers of Walmart when it came to the 2001 gas war are trying to legislate the conscience out of the managers of Hobby Lobby.

This is why we need a “Bad Logic Buzzer” at every political debate.

One of my annual complaints is the Online Learning Modules I have to complete every year.  Why I need to be refreshed every year on proper lifting techniques is beyond me.  By far my least favorite one, though, is ethics.  I think it is an exercise in nihilistic denial of morality.  The question asked is not, “Is this behavior ethical?” but rather, “Is this behavior legal?”  Or to put it another way, “What can we get away with doing?”

Example.  At one of my former employees, it was routine for surgeons to order that packed red blood cells be transfused on patients where it was not only not indicated, but contraindicated.  They risked patients’ lives in the interest of charging them for blood they didn't need.  Meanwhile, I could never find a pen, because the same politicians that think you are allowed to try to kill your patients to make money as long as a doctor's signature is on the form also think that pharmaceutical reps are evil mind manipulators.

Lesson learned:  anytime you are letting a politician decide what is ethical behavior, you are [redacted] [redacted] [redacted].

The creepiest thing I ever read was an essay be Friedrich  Nietzsche.  It was creepy for two reasons.  The first was that people took the guy seriously despite the fact that he self-contradicted in less than one page.  He criticizes the whole field of linguistic philosophy as boring and worthless (I agree to the boring part, by the way), but then goes on to engage in linguistic philosophy for the rest of the essay.  I mean, honestly, am I the only person who spotted that?

Secondly, in his linguistic philosophical ramblings, he declares that the ideas of “good” and “bad” character qualities were determined by the qualities exhibited by people in power.  By extension, the actions of those people constituted “right.”  Since, per Freddy's reading of history, the people most often in power were Aryans, whatever they decided was right was.  And this is how we got Hitler.

I can certainly see where politicians, widely regarded as the most morally compromised class of individuals, would enjoy a world where the powerful get to determine what is and is not good and right.  That lets them not only do whatever they want to do, but to make everyone else do what they want them to do.

But my senator was not content to stop with one inane statement.  Oh, no, he had to make another:

"It's no longer just about our democracy - it's also about keeping corporations out of our private lives, out of our bedrooms, and out of our own religious decisions," Tester said. "It's an even bigger fight now."

No one is telling anyone what they can and cannot do in their bedrooms.  They are simply saying that if you want birth control, you can spring your own $7 a month.  Much like my objection to the number of applications the Shieldmaiden had to fill out for…ah…marital aids (and the fact that Medicare paid for them), if you need something to be happy at home, buy it yourself.   Honestly, Hobby Lobby pays pretty well, as relatives of mine can attest to.  If you can’t skip a McDonald’s meal a month in the interest of not having another mouth to feed, you are doing something wrong with your money.

And on a side note, Medicare paid $360 apiece for the aforementioned “vacuum erection systems.”  I really have no idea if that is an industry standard price, but I somehow doubt that this is the one place in US history where the Federal government has managed to not get overcharged.  Perhaps they are that expensive, though, making it cost-prohibitive for some people, necessitating—apparently—me paying for it.  But if I’m having to spring for your sexual well-being, I’d just as soon dig through my spam folder and find you some fly-by-night online pharmacy that sells little blue pills for $3 apiece.

Back to the issue at hand, though, it is worth remembering that people do crazy things for conscience.  Almost as crazy as for love.  Actually, sometimes even crazier.  I mean, the Roman Catholic Church is the one that has managed to not only be burned at the stake for their faith, but has also burned other people at the stake for it.  Several Catholic bishops swore to shut down the entire Catholic hospital system—some 40% of American hospitals—if the current administration had not backed down on the removal of religious objection to providing certain services.  No one should think for a second that the owners of Hobby Lobby would not shut down all their stores.  Then any employees complaining about having to pay for birth control out of their own pocket will also have the slight issue of finding some other way to pay for housing… and utilities… and food…

All this reminds me of one of my favorite lines from one of my favorite books:

"My dear young lady," said the Professor, suddenly looking up with a very sharp expression at both of them, "there is one plan which no one has yet suggested and which is well worth trying."

"What's that?" said Susan.

"We might all try minding our own business," said he.

Senator Tester, Hobby Lobby is staying out of people's bedrooms.  Perhaps you should do the same.

Third Shift, Part III(b)

Since I apparently cut my original post short--probably to care for the Dot--and then fell asleep before returning to it, I'll give a quick attempt at recapping.

I do not remember much of last night.  I was staying with the Dot in order to prevent her from spending the night tranq'd on Ativan.  I am not known for my ability to cope with those I love being in pain that I cannot resolve, so before clocking in, I resorted to tranquilizing myself.

Better living through Chemistry, Baby.

I do remember a whole lot of diaper changing.  Dr. Fearon does not believe in wound drains.  Any surgeon can tell you they are an infection risk, but some find them worth the risk.  In this case, however, the Dot's body is absorbing all the fluids on its own.  We know based on the fact that her diapers weighed about 20 pounds...a piece.

My response time for the Dot's needs the first night proved slower than the PICU nurse's despite being in the room already.  I blame the recliner I was sleeping in.  It was really hard to get out of.  So for the second night, I just crashed in the Dot's bed to limit the need for strangers to care for her.  I am proud to say that it worked.

In a current update, we were discharged from the hospital this morning at 1100.  The Dot is barely swollen, which allows us to admire her head's new shape.  We have been assured there will be swelling in the next two weeks, but for now, her eyes are both open again.

She is also up and running.  With the exception of two extra naps today, she is at her own baseline normal.

We have officially joined the Dr. Fearon fan club.


And in an interesting side note, the Builder and the Teacher were only one year too early to be charter members of the fan club, as Dr. Fearon did his fellowship at The Floating Hospital the year after my second surgery.

Third Shift, Volume II

The Shieldmaiden has made the call that she could not possibly care appropriately for the Dot and the Squirt, and since I lack certain hardware to provide care for the Squirt at this time,* I am once again the Dot's company for the night.

Currently, she is sleeping.  Do what you will to a human brain, certain rhythms do not go away.








By that, of course, I mean at this time of need, not that I expect to gain the equipment necessary at a later time.

Third Shift

Daddy's punching in for the night watch.  It's something of an unofficial tradition that Pedde fathers take first watch for a child coming out of surgery.  The Builder was the first person I saw when coming to after my facial reconstruction surgery fifteen years ago.  I will always remember his first words to me:  "Puke, you'll feel better."  This sage (and very effective) advice was followed by, "Now go pee before they stick a tube up your penis."

I shall be refraining from both of those pieces of advice.  For one, she doesn't seem to react to anesthesia with nausea.  And unlike her father, her surgery did not result in a liter of blood landing in her stomach.  The pee or get catheterized ultimatum also doesn't apply because she already is.

This morning started with a coffee and a half Klonopin.  After hiking over and starting the registration, we realized that Daddy had forgotten to bring the souped up Wubbanub.  A quick check of Daddy's vitals also showed half a Klonopin wasn't cutting it.  So, I ran back to the extended stay to wash down the second half and pick up the reinforced Wubbanub.  Upon entering, I received a text from the Shieldmaiden saying she was heading back to pre-op.  When we arrived, the Dot was given her own happy medicine while Mommy and Daddy talked to the doctors and nurses.  Unfortunately, at this time, Baby Einstein ran out, and the loopy Dot decided that the interruption was unforgivable.  So, the doctor picked her up and whisked her away to the OR.

Rather than wait for four to five hours, the Shieldmaiden and I decided to hop on the DART bus and head to the nearby WaHo for our usual order.  We hit the hotel to rearrange things, then embarked on our first MTA ride together.  Fortunately, it went much better than my first solo attempt last night, in which I spent half an hour in beautiful Garland after hopping the wrong bus, only to end up being picked up by the same bus that dropped me off.

We arrived at the hospital shortly before they started closing.

Dr. Fearon gave us the report on the surgery, the gist of it being that we had definitely made the right decision.  After rearranging her skull to provide adequate space for her poor brain, he apparently struggled to stretch the skin over it.  For my less medically inclined readers, that means her brain was considerably squished.  The neurosurgeon also decided to do the suboccipital decompression for the Chiari.  As far as she was concerned, the radiology was not conclusive enough, and she would make the call upon actually seeing the bone structure.  Apparently, the bone structure said, "Cut me!  Cut me!"

Nice to know there was, in fact, no other option.

By that time, the Dot was in PICU, so to save the Shieldmaiden the lovely images of a toddler returning from general anesthesia, I volunteered to go in first.

I'm glad I had taken another Klonopin.  It's one thing to have a sobbing, disoriented, combative toddler in pain.  It's quite another to not be able to do anything about it.  After making sure the worst was past, I tapped the Shieldmaiden for her turn.

Afterwards, we had yet another meal at the hospital's tasty and reasonably priced cafeteria.  Then, we split up with the Shieldmaiden taking the Squirt to our home away from home and me taking the night watch by the Dot's bedside.

Now, nothing to do but wait for her Ativan to wear off and welcome her back to the land of the living.

Joys of homeownership

As a wee little Medical Technology student at Austin Peay State University (Let’s go Peay!), one of the ways we learned intestinal bugs was by source.

Mayonnaise = Staph

Chicken = Salmonella

“Fresh mountain streams” = Giardia

Salad bars or dubious sanitization = Hepatitis C

Fried rice = C. dif

Hamburger = E. coli

That last couple are the ones of interest to this story.  It explains how a small amount of C. dif can get into your gut.  Usually, it’s crowded out by the normal flora of the intestines, but what happens when you eat at that Chinese restaurant that got a “B” on its last health inspection then at the burger joint that got a “C”?

Well, that nice little E. coli gives you a nice case of the poops.  The next day, you drop by the doctor, who gives you a scrip for some antibiotics.  Those wipe out the E. coli, but also all of your other Gram-negative normal intestinal flora.  As a result, there is nothing to displace the C. dif, and you end up in the hospital with an even worse and harder to treat case of the poops.

What does this have to do with plumbing?  Well, besides plumbing being where the infected poop goes, it is a perfect example of a treatment that causes unforeseen problems that are even worse than the original complaint.

When we entered our new home a few weeks ago, we were thrilled to finally be a place where the water went down the drains in a timely fashion.  Unfortunately, the Shieldmaiden voiced her contentment, at which point the Plumbing Gods perked up their ears and said, “Hey!  How did you get away from us?  We’re not done with you yet!”

It turns out that when a house sits for a few months, the pipes sometimes clog.  Not unheard of, so I borrow a Milwaukee powered snake.

This is where things got interesting.

Whoever thought using ferrous metal to carry water through damp ground was a good long-term solution to waste disposal is probably spending eternity unplugging Satan’s toilets.  I mean, really, I’m pretty sure that the phenomenon of “iron + water + time = rust” has been observed for a few millennia.

I unscrewed the cleanout and inserted the snake.  I ran into obstruction almost immediately and, after attempting to work the snake through it, withdrew the snake.  On the tip was gray clay.  This was my first hint that something was wrong.

After several attempts of alternating snake and Drain King, I ordered a USB sewer camera from Amazon.  While waiting for it to arrive, I rented a larger sewer auger from the local Ace Hardware.  Yes, Ace still exists.  I attempted to use it and simply got more clay.

My sewer camera arrived and I fed it down the cleanout.  My operating assumption was that it was still a clog, and I hoped that by examining it with the camera I could determine its composition and select a specific drain cleaner for it.  The plan was to then inject the drain cleaner directly into the clog using the camera to ensure placement of a vinyl tube.  Alternatively, I would use the camera to ensure placement of a snake head in the clog before turning it on.

Unfortunately, there was water obscuring the view.  Another quick trip to Ace and I returned with a long piece of vinyl tubing (that I figured I’d need anyway) and a drill powered pump.  I taped the tube to the camera and fed them both down.  After suctioning, I found I still lost view at roughly the same point.  When I pulled it back out…clay.

This left me with but one possible cause:  a broken pipe.  Which has but one recourse:  dig it up and replace it.

I had been in touch with our real estate agent off and on over the week, and she contacted the seller (another agent there) who dropped off a circular saw and brand-new DeWalt diamond blade.  I had also purchased a diamond blade.

By the end of it, the Shieldmaiden had also bought a diamond blade.

The first night, I cut a square-foot-and-a-half-ish hole.  Most people might have bought a dust mask and goggles, but I had one better.  After a tragic incident down South, I invested in the biggest fire extinguisher Lowe’s had and a Czech gas mask.  I’d have rather gotten a fire escape respirator, but those are about $300, and I figured that I didn't need to escape down a 500-yard hallway in an industrial plant full of toxic chemicals, so the $30 piece of military surplus gear would probably suffice to get my girls out of a tiny starter house before they end up buried next to me*.

So, I draped the area I would be working in, strapped on the mask, and went to work.  I scored the concrete with the saw, then busted it out with a sledgehammer.   On my first set of swings, I found that the copper water line above my head was not high enough to clear a full swing.  Fortunately, I discovered this with only bending the line, not breaking it.  The rest of my swings were taken on my knees, which considerably reduced the amount of weight I could throw into them.

I had the next day off due to the aborted deposition appointment from The Wreck, so I didn’t even bother digging up much the first night.  I cleaned off (quickly since showers over 90 seconds cause overflow of the washing machine’s output), had some painkillers, and went to bed.  The next morning, I awoke stiffer than I’ve been in a while.  I had my coffee, hobbled downstairs, pulled on the muddy, cold, and thoroughly disgusting jeans from the previous night, and went to work.

Ten hours and six Ace trips later, I emerged semi-victorious.  The hole was now about eight square feet, and the pile of busted concrete, dirt, and poop (all of which is generously soaked in bath water, pee, and dirty dish water) was about two-and-a-half feet deep.  In the course of the day, I was lacerated, abraded, infected, shocked, strained, cramped, and sprayed.   About four feet of new pipe has been laid including a double-clean-out trap.

In the process, I learned that black iron pipe is fragile and will break right off at the edge of your hole, requiring further sawing/hammering/shoveling to remove it and more trips to Ace to buy more pipe to replace it.  I also found out that while a cutoff wheel on an angle grinder is the gentlest was to cut through brittle pipe, one must take care how much water one exposes it to.

Some would have set the grinder aside...I just didn't choke up as far and dealt with the tingle.

This is what $150 in plumbing looks like.

And this is where it went.

Finally, exhausted and ready to quit, I yell up to the Shieldmaiden to turn the water on...and the washer’s outlet promptly overflows.  But slightly slower than before, so there was progress, at least.  At any rate, I throw in the towel and resign myself to another day of no dishes or laundry being done.

At work the following day, I called down to Ace on break to reserve the 50-foot auger again.  When I arrived that afternoon, they informed me that one of them had checked it out to someone and all that was available was the 100-footer.  They were good enough to just rent me the 100 at the rate for the 50.  Once home, it became apparent that I had probably lucked out, because while the nice cool cutting and auger heads didn't fit down my 3" pipes, when I sent the plain arrow tip in, I unspooled over half the drum getting to the obstruction.  Upon retrieval, I found nothing on the tip.  It was coming up on an hour since I had checked out the auger, and I was out of ideas, so despite lacking any real confirmation that I had cleared it, I said a quick prayer and fed the Drain King in anyway.  

I truned it on for about a minute, then turned it off.  Instead of backflowing as it previously had, there was a remarkable lack of disaster.  After calling for the Shieldmaiden to turn everything on upstairs and letting it run a few minutes with no complications, I tentatively declared victory and packed it in.

I refuse to formally declare victory for at least two weeks of uninterrupted success.  That said, I feel pretty sure that given the massive backlog of dishes and laundry, if it survives the weekend, we're all good.

A friend of the Shieldmaiden's remarked at the beginning of the troubles that you buy a home thinking you are buying a place to live, but in reality, you are just buying into an expensive hobby, which is a good summation.  However, in this particular case, I believe a better summation is my remark to a coworker today:

"We quit renting and bought a house because we were tired of figuratively pouring money down a hole, and now we are literally pouring money down a hole."

A deep and disgusting hone.

*Mad props to the US Army for letting them do that.