Wednesday, August 27, 2014

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.

Saturday, August 16, 2014

Toddlerisms

A random collection of actual conversations in the past week.

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

At picnic:

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

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

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!!!"

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

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..."

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

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..."

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

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

Lump:  "WooHoo book!  WooHoo book!"

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

And a quick guide to sandwich toppings:

"Yellow butter" - Margarine

"White butter" - Miracle Whip

"Black butter" - Nutella

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

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?

Friday, July 18, 2014

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.

Friday, June 20, 2014

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.

Thursday, June 19, 2014

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.

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

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.