Pareidolia Global

Life in a cage

2012-01-26T22:35:00.000-08:00

Zoos are depressing. I don't like to see animals mewed up in cages. I understand why it's necessary, though, when a bald eagle has lost most of a wing, for example. It's the more humane choice.

Doesn't mean I have to like it, especially when I see myself in a cage.

For more than 18 months I've been trapped in a body that doesn't work right, relying on a handful of pills to keep my blood pressure from blowing out my aorta or popping arteries in my brain. I can handle most of the day-to-day crap, such as diuretics that have me running to the bathroom like clockwork and leave me thirsty as hell. If I don't take them, my feet and lower legs swell up.

I'm having trouble with the lost mobility, though. I fucking hate it.

From Day One after my aorta self-destructed, I haven't been able to stand for more than a few minutes at a time or walk more than a few hundred feet without having to sit. Something as simple as taking out the trash leaves me winded; going to one of the "big box" stores is such an ordeal that I won't go unless I can get in and get out quickly. Even then, once I make it back to my car I sit there wheezing and panting for several minutes--on a good day. On a bad day, it's the same, but I can barely move my legs to drive the car.

Forget about going to Fort Pickens or the others. That's the worst part. I haven't been back to Pickens since last February.

I've been trying to tell various doctors that there's a blood-flow problem with my legs, starting at waist level. They all tell me to exercise. "Take a walk around the block."

Around the block? I can make it to my friend's house down the street--on a good day. After 18 months, that's still as far as I can go before my legs give out. It's not getting any better.

I spent a few days last week visiting my nephew in central Georgia; we went to a little park called Dauset Trails, which has a modest zoo and meandering trails and boardwalks. I spent most of my time either sitting on benches and resting or walking--or tottering--to the next bench. I glanced at the otters, stared back at a pair of glowing green eyes in the dark black bear hideout, felt sorry for the eagle that could no longer fly, and concentrated on making it to the next bench along the trail. I ended up parking myself on the last one while the others went off to look at deer and antelope.

By the time we made it back to the car, I was ready to lie down and not move for a few days.

A couple of days later, we went to a big indoor flea market; my nephew had told me about a vendor who sells die-cast cars (Hot Wheels, Matchbox, etc.). I wanted to see whether the guy had any Johnny Lightning Citations. Just like at the Trails, I spent a lot of my time walking for a minute or so before heading for the nearest bench. I couldn't stand long enough to look through all the cars, but he didn't have a Citation. Also like the day at the Trails, I found a chair in the food court while the others went off shopping.

This shit is past old.

X-11: 3 Years!

2012-01-08T09:16:00.000-08:00

I can still see the delivery guy trying to free himself from the monster Ford Expedition after he locked himself in.

I haven't really done much to the car in the last year. The most involved repairs were the clutch cable and...the clutch cable.

The rest of it was little stuff like trying to rebuild the door lock switches (farking 30-year-old plastic!), swapping in a new wiper motor, and swapping in new headlamp shells (takes your 6054 lamps and lets you use modern 9003 bulbs).

Here's how the poor car sounded the morning she was delivered:

Just about every vacuum line under the hood was missing or plugged and the carb was pretty badly out of adjustment. It took the guy a few minutes...and once he got her off the trailer:

Still pisses me off, though, that I told the transport company NOT TO TRY STARTING the damn car. It had been sitting up for awhile. I didn't want to risk damage to the engine bearings from someone running it without priming the oil pump.

It only took me 15 days to get the engine running much better (all new vacuum lines and a bunch of other little stuff):

It was still rough, but once I got it to this point smoothing things out only got easier.

Think I'll go driving.

You Mean That's IT?!

2011-12-14T21:21:00.000-08:00

After making the decision three months ago, I finally closed out my bank account yesterday. I've been banking through my new credit union account since late October, ignoring the Regions account, not really putting things off so much as just sleeping all day and not thinking about it.

As it happened, I was lying there trying to go back to sleep and started thinking, "There's probably enough in the Regions account for me to buy a good cable modem...it's time to drop the Dialup...."

In all, it took 5 minutes once I got there. Neither the bank rep nor the teller even asked why I was closing out, didn't express polite remorse for losing my business. Just the standard pleasant "have a nice day" persona, no different from any other transaction. "A deposit? Thank you, sir!" "You're leaving us after nearly 8 years? Thank you, sir!"

I'm disappointed--I had arguments, talking points, and a slightly indignant attitude set and ready in the wings!

I was going to tell them about how when I needed a loan to get the X-11 three years ago, they couldn't help me even though they'd done exactly the same loan three years before for the Tracker. I didn't miss a payment, even when it meant I'd go without gas money or food for two weeks. I had to cash in a CD to buy the X.

I was going to tell them about how there was no way I'd be able to meet their new checking account standards, so I'd be stuck paying them $10 a month for what had been a free checking account when I opened it in 2004.

I was going to remark that when they could have been helpful, they went for the corporate interest ahead of the customer.

Still, I'd have been delivering those talking points to the wrong ears--they of all people would be in a position to understand and even sympathize, since they're at the bottom of the bank industry, the people in the trenches as opposed to the corporate scumbags who might notice a dip in their bonuses this quarter, given that in the last few months the number of new credit union accounts exceeded the previous years' total.

Glad I could help with that.

Pic of the Day: Revell's Crappy S-IC

2011-12-11T04:23:00.000-08:00

It's been a week since I got bored and glued up the first stage of Revell's 1:96 Saturn V moon rocket.

I haven't done anything with it since--but this is it, the ugly truth of 4 hours' work. I'll be upping full-res copies of this and the other pics to my Flickr account soon--I just wanted to throw this up as a "before" shot.

I really like how--with even a little backlight--you can see the markings on the inside-out rolled-sheet sections; I hope that a little primer and proper paint will fix that.

UPDATE: The pics are up.

Kit Review: Revell 1:96 Apollo-Saturn V Part 2--build diary, First Stage

2011-12-02T20:32:00.000-08:00

A little more than a year ago, I published a review of this kit based on initial impressions. I didn't do much more than some minor pre-assembly--the first- and second-stage engines, LES tower, and other small stuff.

Tonight, in a fit of boredom, I finally opened the dusty box and pulled out the pieces of the rocket's first stage (the S-IC).

The S-IC consists of three solid "rings" (the structural skirts that formed the two ends and the middle of the stage) and two styrene sheets for the main assembly, a flat plate for the bottom, the four conical engine fairings and their fins, and four half-round pieces that hold the rolled-up styrene sheets.

Given the color mismatch between the sheets and the ring sections they join, I decided to roll them inside-out, shoot a thin coat of primer on the outside, and paint the entire rocket a single shade of white.

I am not impressed with the fit of the sheets, though. I made the mistake of rolling and gluing up the lower piece without test-fitting; the holes punched into both sheets made the rolled pieces too small to fit properly. I opened up the holes on the second sheet just enough to get it to fit.

Both sheets are rolled into cylinders and "pinned" together by half-round "pipes" that run nearly the full length of the stage. When I got the upper half of the stage rolled and tried a test-fit (learned my lesson!), I found that neither of the pipes' upper ends join the lower ends properly (a gap of about 19" across on this scale!). There are also sizable gaps along the length of both rolled-up sheets where the "pipes" hold them in place and around the edges where they're cemented to the "ring" sections. Even with careful assembly, it looks horrible.

The engine fairings are just glued on across the corrugations (stringers) of the bottom ring (the rear skirt) with no effort at molding them to the structure. The real fairings were notched over the stringers where they mounted to the skirt's skin. Time to break out the gap-filling Super Glue.

The fairings and the baseplate have molded-in blocky details that aren't seen on the real ship. I'm just going to leave them alone, since there's enough other work to be done just spackling over the gaps around those rolled sheets.

On its display stand, it stands slightly more than 18" tall. It took about 4 hours to get the first stage assembled to this point--no engines or other small details--and now there's the promise of several hours' worth of filling, sanding and prep before shooting paint.

For the $115 cost of this thing, it would have been nice if Revell had made an effort at producing a better kit.

Given the looks of this first major section of the kit, I might have saved myself a lot of effort by buying the detailing kits I mentioned in Part 1 and scratchbuilding the rest of the thing, buying Apogee's 1:70 scale flying monster for about $300, or even going for the Estes 1:100 flying model for $60.

Revell's offering isn't completely hopeless, though. Author 4D posted details of his own build-up in the Airfix Tribute Forum. The level of detail on his Lunar Module alone makes it worth clicking the link.

Theme Songs for Politicians!

2011-11-26T02:49:00.000-08:00

I'd never given any thought to the into music a band plays for a late-night show guest's "walk-on" until this past week, when the story broke that Jimmy Fallon's house band--The Roots--played a few bars of Fishbone's "Lyin' Ass Bitch" for Michele "Crazy Eyes" Bachmann as she oozed onto the stage.

I know, I'm supposed to be appalled at such disrespectful behavior toward such an important...

No, screw that. She's a lyin'-ass bitch (it has been proven!), and there should be no apologies from the band or Fallon (though he's already done so). SHE should apologize for her chronic dishonesty.

I've been thinking of other theme songs, though, for the rest of the wingnut brigade seeking the presidency.

Jon Huntsman? "Mr. Cellophane" from "Chicago."

Herman Cain? "Magic Man" by Heart (he's got magic hands!). Or "Gimme All Your Lovin'" by ZZ Top. Or "Ice Cream Man" by Van Halen. "Shaft."

Mitt Romney? "Dust in the Wind" by Kansas. Not many songs about perfectly-lubed weathervanes, but plenty like "Any Way the Wind Blows" by Doris Day.

Rick Perry? What do you play for a stupid hick? "The Beverly Hillbillies" theme? The "Gomer Pyle" theme? Nah, he's not a LOVABLE stupid hick. He's more like the predatory banker Drysdale than like one of the Clampetts. Gonna have to think on it.

Rick "Frothy" Santorum? What do you play for a disgusting piece of crap? Anything by GG Allin would do.

Ron Paul? Maybe Edgar Winter's "Free Ride" for his freeloading libertarianism? A funeral dirge for those "Let him die!!!" teabaggers who adore this wasted stick of jerky?

Newt Gingrich? "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch." Grinch is in his NAME, it's a natural! Besides, this idiot wants to get rid of child labor laws. Or--given his divorce record--"50 Ways to Leave Your Lover."

No one should apologize to these thin-skinned morons after snarking on them. That's all they exist for.

Beating, Spraying Cops Out of Line

2011-11-22T01:50:00.000-08:00

I've watched the Occupy protests growing from a handful of people on a September weekend to hundreds of thousands or millions of people across the world.

I think it's the best thing ever--and long past the time when such protests should have happened.

The big snag is that in the face of mainly peaceful protests, cops and governments have done the wrong thing, spraying, shooting and beating in an attempt to suppress the protests.

They didn't bat an eye at teabaggers showing up to Town Hall meetings with guns, or toting violent messages ("We came unarmed--this time!"), speaking of "taking their country back." They didn't blink when teabaggers assaulted black members of Congress. They didn't go after Sharon Angle when she threatened "Second Amendment remedies" if she lost her bid for election.

But let a college kid or an elderly woman or a retired cop sit on a public sidewalk (paid for and maintained by their own taxes), though, and the unconstitutional beatings and sprayings and arrests begin!

Unconstitutional? Absolutely. What the cops are doing amounts to punishment without due process--an assumption of criminality and an on-the-spot conviction. So much for "innocent until proven guilty." There's also the First Amendment's assurance not just of free speech, freedom of religion, and a free press, but also the right of peaceable assembly and the right to petition our government for a redress of grievance. Thanks to the 14th Amendment's "due process" clause, this applies to all levels of government, from the Feds to every city. Then there's the Fourth Amendment's protection against excessive force.

Back in my National Guard days, we got some of that same beat-on-people, spray-the-shit-out-of-people training. We learned how to club and poke with batons, how to subdue our fellow humans if some politician thought they were getting out of line. I never got called out to use it--and I would have refused to do so on people just sitting peaceably. It's simply not right. I took an oath to protect the Constitution--and, by extension, the People--from all enemies, foreign and domestic. How is an 80-something woman a threat to the country?

As long as they continue their violent assaults on peaceful protesters, they're nothing more than mercenaries for the scumbag elites. Those cops should be using their batons and pepper spray and rubber bullets on the bankers and politicians and predatory foreclosure executives and others--the real enemies of the state--who have screwed this country's citizens for so long.

Ray Pensador has an excellent writeup on the culture of brutality, "Take Your Hands Off Me" over at Kos.

There's an excellent write-up about pepper spray at Speakeasy Science--and some excellent comments there, as well; Leo says:

There seems to be a mentality of “I have pepper spray, so y0u’d better do what I say,” even if the order from the cop is unlawful. Does might make right? I thought we’d progressed beyond that caveman mentality. There’s a reason people employ peaceful protests and sit-ins. They’re not SUPPOSED to be convenient. If they were convenient, people could ignore them. Instead, they’re inconvenient… but also NON-violent. When the police use violence against nonviolent protesters (fire hoses against civil rights marchers, for example), all it does is make even clearer who is right and who is wrong.

And even more on the evolution of police attitudes toward demonstrators can be found here.

Pic of the Day: War on Xmas has BEGUN!

2011-11-22T01:01:00.000-08:00

Billo said so, must be true. He warned his drones to cast their gimlet glares abroad, seeking anyone with the nerve to say the dreaded "Happy Holidays!" (oh crap! I wrote it!) instead of the proper 'Merkan "MERRY CHRIST!!mas!!" that has become the wingnut battlecry.

I didn't join the war last year, other than to be amused by one guy who wants to punch people in the throat if they violate the wingnut ban on HAPPY HOLIDAYS. (bugger! I wrote it again!)

Those of us bravely fighting the War on Xmas have already climbed the mountain and raised our flag, as seen above. We win.

Resistance is futile! HAPPY HOLIDAYS. (oops!)

Back on her Feet!

2011-11-11T23:24:00.000-08:00

I've been dealing with X-11 withdrawals ever since the brand-farking-new clutch cable I put in 6 weeks ago went SNAP two weeks ago.

The last ride involved me trying to get the transaxle out of first gear while the tow truck driver pulled on the clutch lever, trying to release the clutch just enough for me to get it into neutral. From there, I coasted her into her usual spot, and there she stayed for the past 2 weeks.

The replacement cable got here 9 days ago--but my body decided to screw with me again. Instead of taking me off my feet like in the first half of September and October, this time my right elbow and forearm locked up. By Thursday evening, I'd gotten enough range of motion back to pull out the remains of the old cable and install the shiny new one. I finished the job by feel--the sun was down--and got all the tools and crap out of the way. I only had to rest three or four times. She didn't quite start right up, but I'm cranky myself after sitting up for too long.

She's back on the road, but I'm paranoid about the cable. The new one fits better than the last, it's not binding, but every time I push on the pedal I expect the thing to break.

The Caiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin Train!

2011-11-09T19:18:00.000-08:00

Well, not just Cain, but any of the ~~Nine~~ Eight Morons who think they're fit to be President.

Maybe I should go with video of a rocket or jet engine flaming out, but watching a railroad tanker try to turn itself inside out reminds me of Mitt "Perfectly-Lubed Weather Vane" Romney, Tim "Where's the farkin' No-Doz?!" Pawlenty, that Trump prick, Rick "N-head Ranch" Perry, Michele "She really is this stupid" Bachmann, the Snowbilly, and especially Herman "You want a job, right?" Cain twisting themselves up in a desperate effort to out-batshit, out-bullshit, and out-outrage each other.

Pawlenty's implosion was his candidacy.

Bachmann's implosion? Her mouth. That's some incredible batshit she spews.

Mittens'? His precise ability to swing into any political wind and be on both sides of any issue. It's not nuanced or thoughtful--just desperate.

Trump's? He's a bankrupt attention whore with freakish hair.

Snowbilly? She's just a gold-digger.

Perry? He's George W. Bush's intellectual inferior. That's saying something.

Cain? He thinks he's Mr. Smoov and above any real-world consequences for his actions. He's the 1% Candidate.

Santorum? His douchebag personality.

Huntsman's the closest thing to rational in the lineup--and that's going to kill his candidacy.

These stooges need to be banned from any public space, let alone public office.

He Has a Right to Speak!

2011-11-03T00:28:00.000-07:00

...said the cop to the banker.

In a post at Daily Kos, marvinborg relays his experience in passing out fliers in front of Chase and Bank of America branches in San Francisco.

The banksters tried to intimidate him, right up to calling the cops on him when their own private rent-a-goons didn't scare him off.

The sweet, sweet moment:

"He has the right to speak and the right to hand out flyers. Unless he blocks you or causes a disturbance, he has the right to be here - please don't call the police again if he is not bothering you. If you don't like free speech you should move to another country"

Awesome. In your FACE, banker boy.

Moving My Money.

2011-11-02T22:15:00.000-07:00

I opened a new checking account at a local credit union last week; I'd been considering such a move for months, ever since I learned of the Move your Money Project.

My soon-to-be-old bank pissed me off. Following the lead of Mega Scumbag bankers Bank of America and others, Regions started charging me to use my own money in my checking account.

Where BofA was charging $5 per month for the use of a debit card, I was getting hit for $4. If I used the card at the bank's ATM or wrote checks, no charge. I make even one debit purchase in a month, $4.

There's also a new $10 per month fee just to have the account if you don't maintain the new minimum account balance.

Their notice:

We recently sent you information about some updates to your checking services. As a reminder, these changes are effective in September and will be reflected on your October checking statement.
As a reminder, what you'll see:

• The monthly account fee for LifeGreen Checking will be $10.
• This fee will be waived when you meet the account's balance or direct deposit requirement.
• Continued access to Online Banking with Bill Pay, Mobile Banking with alerts, and Regions Cashback Rewards.
• You will be charged a $4 monthly CheckCard fee for any statement cycle in which you use your card to make purchases or non-ATM transactions. Make as many of these transactions as you like during the statement cycle with no additional fee.
• No monthly CheckCard fee to use your Regions Visa® CheckCard to make transactions at any ATM.

The new minimum balance is something like $1500.

I make less than $800 per month, living check to check. Obviously, there's no way for me to meet their minimum--so I get sacked for $10.00 per month.

Fine.

Regions got their $14.00--or maybe $28.00, by the time I've shut the account down. I have to wait out the credit union's 8-day waiting period, so maybe I'll be able to boot Regions by Monday.

On the day I was setting up the CU account, I had to go into the nearby Regions branch to cash my Disability check. The teller was very friendly...and I thought of him--and the bank--as the person in a relationship who's the only one who doesn't know he's about to get dumped. I've been telling people about the Move your Money Project for weeks, now. They're sponsoring a big bank-dropping action--Bank Transfer Day--this Saturday, November 5th. Even my new credit union is participating.

"Idiots" tag to Regions and their bigger banker pals.

Move your money, folks. Screw the screwers.

"Regions: It's time to expect more"...of my money to go to your competition!

[UPDATE: Within a few days of this post, Regions discontinued the debit fee. Bank of America dropped theirs a weeks or so earlier. Too little, too late :) ]

Song Of The Day: Bastille Day (Rush live, 1976)

2011-11-01T21:07:00.000-07:00

With all the Occupy action growing daily in the US and around the world, and with the whiny arrogance from certain shitbird one-percenters, I'm reminded of a time in history when the humble masses stood up and took down some people who needed taking down.

Is it time yet?

Snap.

2011-10-28T19:08:00.000-07:00

Life brings us plenty of "oh, shit!" moments, moments where things are moving along nicely, you're all fat dumb and happy, then something happens that makes your heart sink into your stomach and your stomach head down toward your ankles.

When you're not a healthy specimen, those "oh, shit!" moments can take a toll. I could hack the "out of gas" scenario from May of 2010 when it happened, but just two months after that my aorta did an "Oh, SHIT!!" of its own. There's no way I could hike up that hill now.

In nearly three years of driving the X-11, I've been stranded several times, mostly in the first 4 months, all of those caused by a crappy carburetor design that poured more gas into the engine than it could burn. I ran out of gas two years after that.

Then there's this past Wednesday. I was headed down to KFC and made it all the way to 9th Avenue and Bayou Boulevard. KFC's on the southeast corner.

I was first in line, waiting for the left-turn arrow. I pushed the clutch in, ready to shift, and BANG there went the brand-new cable I put in a month ago.

Oh. Shit.

All I could do when the light changed was stay in neutral and coast slowly downhill through the intersection, flashers on, half a million rush-hour people tied up behind me in the lane...almost there...c'mon, baby, just...a little..further...

Awww, goddammit. This is where Bayou Boulevard starts sloping upward. Pleasepleasepleaseplease...

Shit!

I just made it to the edge of KFC's driveway, which slopes up even more...I jumped out and started pushing, straining as hard as I could.

A Citation weighs around 2,400 pounds.

I made progress in inches at first, huffing and puffing and groaning...a little more...and then I just couldn't go anymore.

It took everything I had left to just hold the car there.

Oh, and my goddamn shorts were starting to fall off.

So I stood there, and the car stood there, and my shorts slipped another notch.

Rush hour traffic whipped past up Bayou.

A guy in a black suit came running from the northeast corner behind me and got behind the car. He started pushing...the car started moving...and my goddamn shorts did, too. A freaking landslide of red fabric, the cool touch of autumn air, and something added to the show for people in the westbound lanes of Bayou Boulevard.

I let go of the damn car and hiked my britches up.

We got the car over that little slope; from there the entire parking lot slopes downward. My savior asked if I was okay, and if I knew what was wrong. I told him about the clutch cable.

He nodded, then whipped out his wallet and passed me $20: "Here, man--this'll at least get you started fixing it."

I was too tired to argue, so I just thanked him. What a cool guy!

I let the car roll down and parked in front of KFC's dumpsters (no wiseass remarks!), sat until my breathing and pulse slowed down, then pried myself back out of the car to see what had happened to my clutch cable.

The damn thing was gone. The cable housing was still in place, but the cable itself had seemingly evaporated.

I hobbled into KFC, arranged for a tow truck, bought the dinner I'd come for with half of the $20 that guy gave me. I tipped the tow driver with the rest.

It turns out that I screwed up when I was installing the cable last month; the replacement item doesn't fit properly at the firewall. With this end of the housing not lined up correctly, the cable was binding at that point. The retainer at the inner end broke off. When the clutch arm snapped back, it just whipped the entire cable out of its housing and dumped it on the street.

The "Idiots" tag is for me, this time--that, and a montage of Gibbs slaps from "NCIS":

The 53% Who Suck At Math.

2011-10-16T12:24:00.000-07:00

One of the more amusing--and pathetic--responses to the 99%/Occupy Wall Street protests that have blown up into a worldwide movement in the last few weeks has been the righties' "53% Movement." I ran across this write-up of these mathematical illiterates at Speakeasy in the last couple of days.

See, in their world, only 53 percent of Americans pay Federal income taxes. Everyone else is a deadbeat, a leech, or whatever--and those valiant 53 Percenters are supporting all the rest!

They conveniently ignore the fact that for people making less than a certain amount, there's no tax. For the 10% or so who can't find jobs, there's no tax. If you have enough deductions, there's no tax.

I used to be in a 10% tax bracket. In my last job, I was making just above minimum wage and making about $15,000 a year. Now I'm on Disability and making somewhere just above $9,000. Oh, I'm living it up.

The amusing thing is, every one of the excerpted posts in the Speakeasy piece is parroting the talking points I'd already heard from various right-wing turd-hurling howler monkeys just a few days earlier, including several of the Nine Stooges who think they're presidential material--"Only 53 percent of Americans pay taxes!!"

I especially liked this woman's "logic":

3 years ago I started my own business with nothing. Finally after 3 years I’m starting to see a profit. I work a second job over 40 hours a week, and I go to college full time! I do all this while raising and providing for my two toddler sons. I don’t have a babysitter, and can’t afford daycare, so instead of complaining and being lazy, I found a second job where I could work from home… I fight and struggle every day! Yes, it’s hard, but it’s not supposed to be easy! … I’m a good role model for my kids so they will never be one of the 99%.

Um...yeah. See, unless your kids grow up to be multi-billionaires who own 40% of the country, your kids will be down here in the 99% club with us non-taxpaying deadbeats.

More importantly--and this should be something obvious to her--99% is bigger than 53%. The imaginary piece she thinks she's part of is actually part of the bigger one, and both of us are getting screwed by the remaining 1%.

Wait, wait, it gets better!

I am the 53% and do not appreciate the lazy, liberal children of Hard Working Americans including me in their socialist 99% movement.

There's that math problem again, coupled with the standard wingnut "socialists!!!!11!1" scare-word and the assumption that the Fifty-Threes are their own majority.

I wonder what the odds are that many of these people are also Teabaggers. We already know they're Republicans. The math issues make that obvious.

There are so many more, and all of them are strangely proud of living in near-poverty, working their asses off, barely scraping by, and carrying the other 46% or of us around on their broad, tireless shoulders.

What an arrogant bunch of crap! What about the tons of other taxes we all pay?

I just registered my two cars and renewed my driver's license. Paid taxes on all three.

I went to Waffle House this morning for breakfast. Paid tax at the register.

Yesterday? Bought a drink at a convenience store. Paid tax on that.

Last week? Put gas in one of the cars. You bet your ass there were taxes in there.

In the next few months, the property taxes on my house come due. We pay tax on the electric bill, the water bill, various insurance bills.

The only difference for me in this is that I probably don't make enough money on Disability to pay much in Federal taxes. No one in my household does--there are three of us, ALL on one form of Disability or another--oh, what a healthy lot we are! Me with a damaged aorta, my mother with her damaged spine, and my sister with Cerebral Palsy.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but the Fifty Threes are just the fucking stupid part of the 99%. They're making excuses for the corporate dirtbags who've wrecked the economy and bought our political system. They listen to the right-wing scumbags who all have a vested interest in keeping things the way they are and parrot every talking point. They vote for the job-killing Republicans against their own self-interest, driven by stupidity and fear, listening only to the dog-whistles--"SOCIALISM!!! AAAAAAAAAGH!" "ABORTION!!!!" "QUEEEEEEEERS!"

Here's a friendly note to you Fifty Threes: The Ninety-Nine are bigger than you, and we intend to take this country away from the elitist 1% and set things right.

You can join us in making things actually better for all of us, or you can sit on the sidelines and whine about how those poor billionaires are being mistreated. But don't think to get in our way. We will walk around you and leave you behind.

I Made the 1% Rich.

2011-10-15T16:54:00.000-07:00

According to that pizza-making idiot who wants to be president next year, it's my fault I'm not an entitled elitist rich raging asshole like him.

But actually, it's because of minimum-wage workers like me that he's an entitled elitist rich raging asshole. He didn't get there on his own, no matter what he wants you to believe.

No. His millions came because of waitresses and kitchen staff in his Godfather's restaurants, people who worked for whatever the company could get away with paying. His money came from regular people like me busting their asses for 40 hours a week, or maybe working more than one job.

I knew people like that in my last job, as a delivery driver for one of the national auto parts chains. I hired on in early 2007, working full time and getting a little more than $7 an hour. Because it was February, once my 90 day probation was done, I still couldn't get into the health plan, since enrollment only happened in January.

But their plan was utter crap; the one I could afford wouldn't cover much of anything. The one I needed was too expensive. I did without.

No raises for ANYbody. Most of the other drivers and counter staff who'd been there as long or longer than me hadn't gotten a raise in years. Every time someone brought it up with management, they'd get runaround, or told to talk to the district manager, who would just give more runaround and excuses.

But the store managers got their bonuses. The DM got his bonus. His boss got his bonus, and so on. Us non-management types got a share in the "store bonus," which was based on overall sales for that store. If your sales are down, you don't get the extra few bucks.

All the while, the DM was screaming that payroll had to be cut, no new hires, no overtime for anyone. This meant that everyone but the store managers got cut back to 30 hours or less and the stores were running on skeleton crews. Customers would complain--both walk-in and commercial--because there weren't enough people to handle the workload. There were only 4 people in my store in the morning: two drivers, one at the Commercial desk (selling parts to local repair shops), and the store manager running the front, alone, until the afternoon guy came in. This freed the manager to go do paperwork, make the bank deposit, and grab lunch. The Commercial side closed down at 5 pm, the store manager left, and the evening guy came in, leaving two people to run the store to close.

And so both walk-in and commercial customers would go to the competition, because the store managers couldn't do anything about it--can't hire anyone, can't bring extra people in to help--and so the DM would scream about getting sales up.

We two drivers did an awful lot to help--checking in stock, putting it on the shelves, helping customers, re-stocking, putting up displays, answering phones, cleaning, anything and everything. I knew the system well enough to do parts lookups and run a register, run the test equipment (batteries, starters, alternators, ignition modules) and brake lathe, maintained the delivery trucks, maintained store equipment (I rigged up a drain for one of the air conditioners when its pipes got clogged up, re-stocked half the hard parts when the part numbers changed or new stuff came in), and other stuff that a "delivery driver" didn't need to do. This is assuming I wasn't out on a run, where I interacted with the customers, listened to their complaints about how long it was taking to get their parts, told them about the company's cutbacks, and asked them to call Corporate and give them an earful.

Basically--and this isn't an exaggeration--I did everything. Most of us in that one store could handle someone else's job and chip in, because we HAD to. Most of us were making about the same, without raises, with our hours cut, and we heard the same bullshit from Corporate--"More sales! Less payroll!"

We got a new DM in January 2010, the third one since I got hired. This asshole went on vacation in February, but not before showing everyone a sales brochure for his $50,000 boat. Nice.

He started shuffling people around. I got moved to the hub store, which warehoused more parts than the others. I was back on a 40-hour week, which was good, and all I had to do was make 8 circuits a day from the hub to two other stores and back. During one stop, I learned that the Company had posted record profits for 2009, $300 million. The Company guys simply gushed about it on the employee ~~indoctrination~~ information website. We were expected to gush, as well, because we're all one big happy family!

Record profits--but at the cost of cutting payroll hours, running stores with minimal staff, running off customers who weren't getting good service, freezing any raises...basically fucking us over for their big profits.

It was people like me who made that $300 million for the Company, people like me who made those sales and helped those customers, people like me who busted our asses so the Company assholes could enjoy their bonuses and record profits while we decided whether to pay the electric bill, the phone bill, or insurance this pay period.

Car broke down? Crap...got to juggle the bills around. Maybe one of the shops'll cut me a deal. At least I get a discount on parts.

Lights got cut off? They want HOW MUCH to turn them back on? Well shit, there goes that paycheck. Guess we're hitting Dollar General for mac & cheese, ramen noodles, and tuna sandwiches for the next two weeks.

But did you SEE the District Manager's new $50,000 boat?! It's got wells for keeping bait, it's got a cooler under this seat, a stereo...everything an entitled asshole could want! Maybe if we're productive enough, he'll let us buy some of the fish he caught on vacation while we were keeping his stores alive for him and earning him his next bonus!

Since the Aorta Fairy visited me last year, things have actually gotten worse for my former coworkers. No raises, payroll cut ever further, and the Company's entitled elites making ever more money.

No, we don't owe the fuckers any thanks for allowing us to work for them and bask in their light. They owe us for making them rich. They owe us better wages, better working conditions, some fucking respect for all the work we do to keep their companies going. Without us, their companies die and the money stops flowing. Without us, their customers go somewhere else.

They owe us the courtesy of keeping American jobs in this country, instead of sending them to places where people will work for much less than we will.

Fuck you, Herman Cain.

Frayed.

2011-10-12T18:28:00.000-07:00

It shouldn't take three hours and a month to do something as simple as changing out a bad clutch cable.

But it did.

It's not a complicated job. The cable's held in place by spring tension--just pull the pedal up against its stop, disengage the cable at the transmission end, unbolt it at the firewall, and thread the pedal end out.

Took me two hours to get that far last month when the X-11's cable went bad. It was frayed from rubbing against its housing because the mounting bracket wasn't lined up properly. I ended up having to use a crowbar and cable cutters to pop the cable end loose and get the thing out of the car. By that point, this body of mine had had enough. I could barely stand up, let alone walk.

A few days later, I was laid up in bed with excruciating foot pain, courtesy of my blood pressure issues. Started in the left foot, spreading over the next few days to involve everything from toes to ankle, and nothing but Lortab would touch it--and even that would only take the edge off. There was no walking or sitting; just touching the floor or even its own weight was enough to set that foot off.

Three days into that, my right foot decided that this would be fun, so it joined in. I spent two weeks in bed, barely eating, drinking Gatorade, sleeping as much as I could and hoping I'd wake up without sore feet.

What? Go to a doctor? No. No way I was moving. I didn't think I could handle it, so I took my Lortab and slept. It's not a macho bullshit thing, either--moving just hurt more than not moving.

By the time it had run its course, I was too tired to work on the car and ended up sleeping 18 hours a day, 2 hours at a time, and feeling more and more tired--and feeling guilty for leaving the car unfinished. Yeah, it's just a car, but I'm funny about this one, given its condition when I got it. I pretty much brought it back from the brink, back to life, after half a decade of sitting in someone else's driveway. When I can't drive it, I feel guilty; when I'm in the driver's seat, I'm in the coolest car in town.

I finally dragged my tired ass out of bed this past Saturday, grabbed my tools, and put the new cable in. Thirty minutes, no snags. The difference in how the clutch feels is night and day--much lighter, but now I'm learning to drive it over again. That's the fun part.

It shouldn't have taken a month to get here, though. I'm getting fed up with not being able to walk or ride a bike. If a simple job like that clutch cable can wreck me, just think of how it'll be if I have to replace the clutch.

Teabaggers are Scum.

2011-09-13T09:30:00.002-07:00

At last night's Teabagapalooza in Tampa, the Teapublicans had a "debate." Don't know who won, given that they're all losers, but Ron Paul and his cheerleaders in the audience showed their true scumbag colors:

Can't afford health insurance? Dying because of it? The doddering geriatric coot Paul and his insane, sociopathic "pro-life" teabaggers say you should die--"screw you, I've got mine"--and they applaud themselves for saying so. Imagine their orgasmic joy if they'd been able to watch this man's house burn for lack of $75! Even better if he was trapped inside, right? Screw him, he didn't pay!

Assholes. Assholes and hypocrites.

Pic of the Day: Heroes.

2011-09-12T04:25:00.000-07:00

Courage can be defined as being afraid and still doing what you have to do.

Heroes are just regular people who do important things at the right time.

I've had this picture in my "History" folder for a decade, now. When I look at it, I don't feel patriotic. I feel humbled that there are people who risk their lives to do the right thing.

Pic of the Day: Faith-Based Initiative

2011-09-12T03:22:00.001-07:00

Religious conservatives committed the evil of 9/11.

Another set of conservatives have ceaselessly exploited the events of that day to keep Americans in fear, so that those conservatives may consolidate their grasp on power.

They don't give a crap about the dead firefighters, the dead cops, or the people in those buildings and planes as anything other than a way of getting more control over our lives. They don't care about the men and women dying from illnesses caused by breathing the smoke, dust, and ash at Ground Zero. They don't want to represent the interests of regular people. They're only really listening to selected moneyed traitors of the upper 2%. The "Evil" and "Scumbag" tags are for them.

Isn't it time the rest of us took it away from them? Isn't it time to stop letting them trample our Constitution, our flag, and our country?

We need to make 9/11 a tribute to the people who died by turning our backs on the scumbags who have wiped their feet on everything this country's supposed to stand for.

Blog Review: Stonekettle Station

2011-09-04T13:48:00.000-07:00

One of my daily "must-read" blogs is Stonekettle Station, run by Jim Wright. He lives in Alaska, surrounded by Teabaggers and other right-wing idiots, true believers who think Palin's the answer to this country's important questions instead of an also-ran punchline. People who think Bachmann is a serious contender who will sweep Obama from the White House and restore racial purity to the nation's leadership. People who know less than nothing about economics, but demand that the government balance its checkbook. People who think Reagan hung the moon, and if we really really really TRY this time, trickle-down will WORK this time, dammit!

He brings righteous anger, contempt, sarcasm, and a desire to see things made right together in his writing. Makes me jealous, really--I'd like to be as thoughtful and articulate, myself.

I learned something important, today, reading comments on his post on how Bachmann's getting financial instructions from her god via the post-hurricane flooding in the northeast:

Jim Wright said...

Well, for the record, I know many hundreds of Christians who are wonderful people and if anybody deserves to go to a heaven and live forever, they do. And on that note, I know a large number of Muslims who are of similar nature.

But it's people like Bachman, Perry, and the smug holier than thou fundamentalists who continue to presume to speak for their miserable angry small minded rat bastard of a God and keep attempting to turn the country into some miserable small minded rat bastard of a theocracy that are getting on my nerves. I will continue to ridicule these people and their silly stupid bullshit as long and as loudly as it takes.
September 2, 2011 11:58 AM
Antthenut said...

I always wondered if God uses weather to punish the wicked, why is there always so much collateral damage? You would think that an all-powerful being would be able to aim his wrath more selectively. Maybe he'll be unleashing his hate-seeking missile on a gaggle of surprised teabaggers soon!
September 2, 2011 12:54 PM
Anonymous said...

pssst, Antthenut, I believe a group of teabaggars is known as a scrotum

i read it on the internet
September 2, 2011 2:42 PM

This really ought to become a meme!

Pic of the Day: Wild Bill Donohue!

2011-08-30T22:23:00.001-07:00

Ever wonder how to describe your favorite right-wing demagogue's personality?

Ah, the wonders of the GIMP, Photoshop, and similar software!

This was my first (and only, so far) attempt at face-swapping, done for Wild Bill's bio page over at the Kook Clearinghouse. Wild Bill is what I call a Professional Hysteric: it's his job to lose his shit any time something happens that he can pretend to be horribly offended by. Then he dashes off a note via his hysterical megaphone, the Catholic League, so other people can get offended as well.

What? GAY MARRIAGE?!?!? AAAAAAAAAUGH!! They'll destroy the family!! (he's divorced, himself)

Oh noes! A movie I haven't seen yet doesn't kill enough Muslims! AAAAAUUUUUUUUGGGGGHHH!!!! "2012" offended him a week before it premiered!

Once I had the idea for this pic, it just had to be done. It's a perfect description of a man who defends pedophile priests: an incredibly childish grown man who waves his religious six-gun around, demanding to be treated as an authority figure.

The technique is ridiculously easy...and after looking at HumanDescent.com I'm feeling like I've been lazy the past couple of years.

Blog Review: humandescent

2011-08-29T10:39:00.000-07:00

I stumbled across this critter a few years ago and found the Photoshop job jaw-droppingly cool.

Credit goes to Martin of HumanDescent.com and Deviant Art, where you'll find more of his cool, twisted, hysterical critters.

I couldn't find a name for this one, but I've seen a crappy-looking modified version of it called a "moonbat."

POTD: Guitar Porn--the MotorAve BelAire

2011-08-27T22:03:00.000-07:00

I don't usually rave about guitars; there are plenty of axes I'd like to try out, plenty I'd pass on for whatever reason. My approach to music--playing or listening--has always been more about the musician. Joe Satriani (for example) could make a cigar box and rubber bands sound amazing. Eddie Van Halen used to be like that--but he lost his way after "1984" and became a footnote. I couldn't really say what guitars either of them have played without having to look it up: I'd rather just listen.

So no, I've never seen a guitar that really excited me until a few nights ago, watching Them Crooked Vultures on "Austin City Limits." Singer Josh Homme used several guitars for that gig, but it was his red MotorAve BelAire that dropped my jaw--especially the clean aluminum pickguard that follows the body's lines. There are smaller aluminum pieces--the output jack plate, truss rod cover, and tailpiece--that match the guard and really set the guitar off. No way I'd be able to afford the several thousand bucks for it, so I'll have to admire this one from afar.

It's given me some ideas, though. I've been interested in setting up a small back-yard forge where I can cast aluminum and maybe copper, brass or bronze. How cool would it be to go to a pawn shop, buy a decrepit, unloved guitar, then strip it down and rebuild it with a thin cast-aluminum pickguard and other one-off parts?

[Update] I poked around the Backyard Metal Casting site overnight. It's amazing how low-tech but effective Oliver's tools and techniques are. I've gotta try some of that.

Gear Review: Peavey T-15

2011-08-19T18:11:00.000-07:00

'Way back in 1989, I made a spur-of-the-moment decision to start playing guitar. It was just a few days before the National Guard unit I was assigned to took a tour most of the way across Florida to a little town called Live Oak.

Once our camp-out-in-the-fair-grounds was over and the military stuff was put away, we got our pay...and I went hunting through Live Oak's pawn shops and music stores.

The first thing I saw was a pawn shop no-name red guitar for under $100, but when I plugged it into an amp, nothing came out. I wasn't looking for a project, didn't know what else might be wrong with it or even what to look for, so I passed.

I ended up at a proper guitar store, explained that I was a newbie, and the salesman took me directly to a shiny black one with a short-scale neck. It wasn't an exciting neon speed-metal axe; just a quiet, unpretentious instrument. I shelled out the $149 for it and bought some music books. The next day I went back and bought a little practice amp. Still have both of them 22 years later.

The T-15 is styled along the lines of Fender's legendary Stratocaster with two large single-coil "blade" pickups. The short neck is closer to a Gibson's scale than a Strat's (23.5", 20 frets; Gibson typically uses 24.75"; Fender uses 25.5" on the Strat). This puts less tension on the strings, making for a looser and easier instrument for a beginner or someone with small hands.

From what I could find online, this Mississippi-built guitar's probably got an ash body. It feels solid without being heavy, but it's heftier than the poplar-bodied Tux. Mine was almost immaculate, but it's accumulated a few dings and scratches over the years. It's smoothly rounded, with rib and elbow reliefs blended into the curves.

The neck is maple with a clear-coated fretboard. I've rarely ever had to mess with the truss rod, never done more than tweak the intonation from time to time. The lower body cutaway gives very good access to the upper frets without much interference from the neck joint.

Most of its chrome hardware is still bright after minimal care, but the bridge has some pits and scratches.

The bridge and neck joint are the most unusual aspects of the guitar's setup: instead of individual saddles for each string, there's a single metal bridge saddle that can be positioned via a pair of set screws. You can raise or lower the strings slightly by turning a different pair of Allen screws under the bridge block, but for larger changes you have to crank out the 4 neck screws, then adjust the neck's "tilt" with yet another Allen screw.

The control knobs are solid aluminum, a nice touch for an entry-level guitar, and my only complaint has been that their set-screws don't hold them on very well. Fortunately, both control pots have solid shafts instead of the splined split shafts you'd find under cheapie plastic knobs or modern low-end instruments.

The only hardware/electronics failure I've had was in 1994, when the pickup selector switch disintegrated. I couldn't find a proper replacement (Peavey wanted $50 or so!) and ended up using a tiny 3-position toggle. It did the job for another 17 years.

Swapping that dinky toggle switch into the guitar forced me to rewire the guitar slightly so that I could still get the same Bridge/Both/Neck pickup choices as before. I tried a few other mods over the next 17 years, but I've never really liked how the thing sounded after the last change. Compared to my other two electrics, the T-15 sounded brittle, harsh, and unmanageable if there was any distortion. Its clean tone was a bit thin.

I finally decided to do it all over again--new switch, same wiring as the original (fortunately, I drew up a schematic every time I changed something)--and now I really like the sound. With those single-coil pickups, this guitar's never going to have much bottom end, but it's got a pleasant bluesy twang to it. Output is hot and bright. Get the right amp and distortion behind it and this little axe will sing. It's never sounded better than when I was playing through a borrowed Fender Bassman amp head and 15" cabinet. I just wonder how it would sound with a pair of humbucker pickups, instead....

Overall, an excellent $100 to $200 guitar, and not just for a beginner. It's well-balanced, solid, comfortable to play and easy to maintain. You won't get Metallica tone, here--not without humbuckers or maybe some different capacitors in the tone circuit--but it's good as-is for surf, country, rockabilly or similar "twangy" tones.

Scott The Frog: still there.

2011-08-13T22:30:00.001-07:00

Well, not in the air conditioner. I can hear him somewhere out in the yard right now (his sort of frog is a nocturnal predator; by daybreak he'll be looking for a spot to bunk down). But now Scott's taken to getting right outside the window to either side of his former penthouse to complain about getting evicted. The fillers are just pleated vinyl, so there's no blocking outside noise.

He gives me time to fall asleep. Then it's like he rings the doorbell and runs. By the time I slide one of those fillers aside, he's gone, probably watching me groping around trying to get him.

Attack of the Killer Tree Frog!!

2011-08-11T22:42:00.000-07:00

For the past three weeks, I've had a tree frog living in my air conditioner. I remember there was a plague of frogs in someone's religious story or other. Can one frog be a plague?

I never laid eyes on it until early yesterday morning--but I've heard the little bugger several times a week. Never at the same time of day, either--but almost always when I'm trying to sleep. I dubbed him "Scott," because it's a great name for an annoying little prick that keeps me from sleeping peacefully.

I never realized how freaking LOUD those things are before this one set up camp. The A/C unit's just a small metal box; there are slots in both sides and on the top on the outside part of the case. The only divider between the inside and outside halves is a couple of inches of Styrofoam. Not soundproof at all.

So there I am, sound asleep, dreaming, peaceful, and GRAK...GRAK! GRAK! GRAK! GRAK! GRAK! GRAK! GRAK!

Always 8 times, and always with a significant pause after the first, and always loud as hell. There were a few times when I was in my car, backing out of the side yard, and I'd hear Scott loud and clear. I put some gray cells on the problem, trying to think up a way of getting him out of there and keeping him out.

Usually I could just slap my side of the A/C unit and Scott would shut up.

Until yesterday morning. It's 5 a.m., I'm just dozing off and GRAK...GRAK! oh for GRAK! fark's sake GRAK! smack! GRAK! smack! GRAK! smack! GRAK! GRAK! GRAK! GRAK! GRAK! GRAK! GRAK! GRAK! GRAK! GRAK! GRAK! GRAK! GRAK! GRAK! GRAK! GRAK! GRAK!

Scott's not having any of it. Didn't stop with 8, either--he kept on going even after I pulled one of the window fillers aside and whacked the side of the A/C box. He stopped once I turned the lights back on.

I grabbed a screwdriver and got the freaking A/C undone and pulled it into my room. Cold water and algae and dead bugs came pouring out of my side of the thing once it tipped just right in my direction. Once I had the thing wrestled around sideways, I could see the little shit sitting on top of part of the equipment inside--and just sitting, staring me down like a little green red-eyed badass daring me to come in there and start something.

I dribbled lemon juice on him, hoping it'd irritate him enough to leave. He turned and went deeper amongst the A/C parts. I didn't hear him again until this afternoon, somewhere outside.

I hurried out and wired pieces of carpenter's mesh over the outside vents. It's ugly, but I can't take the case apart without pulling the entire thing out of the window. Assuming Scott's actually evicted, I'll just leave it alone until Fall, then open the thing up and make the screen permanent on the inside.

I'm not sure if I found the right species, but I managed to find something close to Scott's racket. Turn it up 'till it's too loud!

Gear Review: The Tux

2011-08-02T17:27:00.001-07:00

I found this little beast in a pawn shop for $60.00 back in late May.

I wasn't really in the market for a 4th guitar (5th, if we count the bass...6th if we count the old & damaged Classical acoustic...but I won't count the crappy Wal-Mart acoustic that won't stay tuned), but I was bored and looking for something new to play with while I recovered from having the Killer Kidney removed.

Turns out I made a hell of a good choice, getting this thing. Yeah, it's a cheap guitar, part of the FirstAct line of entry-level instruments, something to buy the kid who wants to try being a rock star without putting a bunch of money into it. If the kid quits, you're not out several hundred or thousand bucks.

This one--the Overload BB391--originally shipped as an all-in-one set: guitar, gig bag (basically a nylon 'soft case'), cord, some picks, and a small amp, all for about $125.00.

What I got was just the guitar and the gig bag. I played a bit with it at the store and liked it. Once I got it home and plugged it into my Crate GFX-120 amp, I loved it. I immediately nicknamed it "The Tux" for its clean black & white finish.

This is the first humbucker axe I've played or owned, so I wasn't prepared for how much hotter its output is than either of my other electrics.

The BB391 kind of looks like an early-60s slab-bodied double-cutaway Gibson Melody Maker; it's got a lightweight poplar body and maple neck with rosewood fretboard and 22 frets (which could use some filing along the ends). Access to the upper frets is about average for a bolt-on neck.

Overall finish is neat and clean, with properly-finished edges (I've seen some Samick guitars for three times as much, but with crappy-looking, splintered cut edges around the pickup openings and other fit & finish issues). Since the body's a simple slab with rounded-over edges, there's no arm or rib relief, but I don't even notice the difference.

The only playability issues I had with the axe is that the upper strap peg's position makes the guitar want to hang horizontally. I ended up adding another peg on the lower side of the heel. This limits access to the upper frets a little, but tilting the neck up a little takes care of that.

The other problem was string height; each saddle is individually adjusted with a pair of small Allen-head setscrews. No problem in adjustment (I dropped each at least 0.10"), but the screws should be either dressed with a file to cut the sharp edges or cut down so they can sit flush with the saddle tops. Aside from that, they don't interfere with palm-muting.

There's a lone humbucker in the bridge position and single volume and tone pots. The control knobs are a bit loose, but don't get in the way. The white-on-black numbers are easily read against the guitar's white plastic pickguard. Hardware's all nickel.

Hooked up to my Zoom 505 guitar effects box and the Crate amp, this little beast does a passable impersonation of James Hetfield's crunchy Metallica tone ("...And Justice for All) or Dimebag Darrell's insane harmonics ("Cowboys From Hell").

Zoom: default A1 patch
Amp: Bass & Treble all the way up, mids all the way down.

Keeping the same Zoom and Crate settings and turning the guitar's volume down gets you a good '80s hair-metal sound, like in Twisted Sister's "I Wanna Rock."

Changing the Zoom and Amp settings around, you quickly learn that it's loud and bright even with its volume almost at "0"--it doesn't like to mellow out.

Cutting the Zoom out altogether and setting the amp's "dirty" channel around a little got me a Texas-fried tone suitable for Billy Gibbons, but the Tux stays loud and bright no matter what.

If you're guitar-hunting, keep an eye open for this one. It's a surprisingly good axe for the price.

Riff of the Day: ...And Justice for All (Metallica)

2011-07-29T22:36:00.000-07:00

Since I made this the Song of the Day, I might as well put up one of the riffs that always used to give me picking trouble. Nineteen years ago (when I was a Metallica virgin), I couldn't hack it with Hetfield's chunky down-stroke picking on the pre-chorus ("The ultimate in vanity / exploiting their supremacy..."):

___F#__________________G_F#__E___(F#)G_______(F#)G
___q___e_e_e_e_e____|__e\e___e____e==q________q
|-------------------|-------------------------------|
|-------------------|-------------------------------|
|o------------------|------------------------------o|
|o-4----------------|--5\4---2---(4)/5-------(4)/5-o|
|--4----------------|--5\4---2---(4)/5-------(4)/5--|
|--2---2-2-2-2-2-2--|-------------------------------|
_______*_*_*_*_*_*

Had to put underscores in to keep Blogger from screwing up the formatting.

To play it cleanly, you need to be able to play the palm-muted (*) notes at speed, all down-strokes at 160 beats per minute.

My copy of the guitar/TAB "...And Justice for All" book has the riff written this way:

___F#__________________G_F#__E___(F#)G_______(F#)G
___q___e_e_e_e_e____|__e\e___e____e==q________q
|-------------------|-------------------------------|
|-------------------|-------------------------------|
|o------------------|------------------------------o|
|o-4----------------|--5\4---2---(4)/5-------(4)/5-o|
|--4---4-4-4-4-4-4--|--5\4---2---(4)/5-------(4)/5--|
|--2---2-2-2-2-2-2--|--3\2---0---(2)/3-------(2)/3--|
_______*_*_*_*_*_*

...and it works both ways; I've just always left the root notes off.

Definitely a "wooohoo!!!" moment--after 22 years of not being able to play fast, it seems like something just clicked into place, like maybe wrist position or some other bit of picking technique that I suddenly got right after all this time.

Still a long way to go before I'm up to the ending of "One" or any of "Damage, Inc.," but now there's some incentive to work a little harder on it.

Song of the Day: ...And Justice for All (Metallica)

2011-07-29T21:44:00.000-07:00

From the first time I heard this 10-minute title track from "...And Justice For All," I wanted to learn to play it.

Over the 19 years or so since, I've managed to be slow and sloppy, hardly able to keep up with Hetfield's chunky palm-muted rhythm playing.

In the past couple of months (post-kidney surgery) there's been little else to do but grab a guitar and fart around on it--but let's not call it "practicing." That word brings back memories of being forced to play from as far back as 6th Grade trumpet class, when my mother would make me sit and go through the school book on Saturdays.

No, just call it farting around. It doesn't sound as official, which means I tricked myself into working a little more on getting my right hand a little looser and faster. The upshot of all this not-practice is that for the first time in longer than I can remember, my right hand wasn't holding me back.

I wore my left hand out.

This isn't one of Metallica's fast & furious all-out thrash songs (especially compared to "Damage, Inc."), but it's more technically demanding than "Enter Sandman" or "Orion."

I remember listening to this album (dubbed to cassette from my nephew's CD) while I was struggling through Analytical Geometry and Calculus I in college. I'd strain my brain for a bit, then rest and strain my fingers, rinse and repeat.

I still use Metallica on a regular basis.

Nick of Time for the Kidney...

2011-07-29T16:19:00.001-07:00

All the way back in January, Florida's Thief Executive was making noises about hacking away at the Medicaid Medically Needy program (the same one I and many other Floridians are dependent on for coverage) and privatizing Medicaid so that his buddies can make some money.

I signed up for it in January, got my Medicaid card in April, headed for the kidney surgery as soon as possible after that.

I got a notice that apparently I'm no longer "medically needy" enough, popped aorta notwithstanding. Coverage ends July 31. If I don't do anything, I automatically get signed up for a county managed care program on Sept. 1.

I got lucky, getting the worst of my medical issues out of the way (that aortic dissection could still kill me, or at least leave me paraplegic, if I don't stay on top of it). But I wonder how many people out there won't be so lucky when Governor Scumbag's hack-and-slash approach gets to them.

Considering what the bastards have done across the country, it's a wonder there are so many people who vote for Republicans.

As far as the kidney incision goes, it's gone from a gaping, scary looking hole in my belly last month to damn near closed. I've gone from daily Wound Care visits seeing them every 2 weeks; from a thick "maxi pad" bandage to the vac to a little bandage. It's starting to itch a bit along the top end and my belly's still striped from all the tape adhesive...and about all I really want these days is for this to be done so I can take a kayak ride before winter.

Riff of the Day: The Enemy Within (Rush)

2011-07-22T06:22:00.000-07:00

In the 20 years since I started playing guitar, there have been quite a few bits and pieces of Rush songs I've never been able to play, usually because I can't play fast. A great example of this would be that damned intro riff from "The Spirit of Radio." I can play it maybe half as fast--but I have never been able to break whatever speed barrier it is that keeps me from playing much of anything speedy.

Then there are riffs that I've tried to work out over the years and failed, usually because I was going about it all wrong, such as the 12-string pattern Lifeson plays under the " To stand within the Pleasure Dome decreed by Kubla Khan / To taste anew the fruits of life, the last immortal man" part of Xanadu, which turned out to be a lot simpler than I was making it out to be.

The intro to "The Enemy Within" (from Grace Under Pressure) is another one that eluded me for years. The last time I tried to work it out was maybe a decade ago. Couldn't get it, probably because I was making it too complicated. It became one of those elusive "I'm gonna have to figure that one out someday" things that pile up and never see brain cells again.

A couple of nights ago, I got bored and gave it another try...and this time it took maybe 15 minutes total.

I'm kind of pissed at myself because it turned out to be so simple:

.Bm...............Bm/E.............???..............A/D
-q--e-e-q--q--e---q--e-e-q--q--e---q--e-e-q--q--e---q-e-e-q--e-q
|---------------|-----------0----|--------2-------|-------------|
|-------0--3----|--------3-------|----------------|-------3--2-0|
|o----4---------|------4---------|------2---------|-----2------o|
|o--4---------4-|----4---------4-|----2------2----|---2--------o|
|---------------|----------------|--------------2-|-------------|
|R--------------|-R--------------|-R--------------|-R-----------|

Perf. note: Bass plays the root notes as whole notes--B, F#, E, A; the guitar fills in the "space" of the rest of the measure. Think "minimalism."

For the first two measures, form the basic 2nd-fret Bm chord, but don't barre it. After you finger the 3rd fret 2nd string in 1st measure, use that same shape to play the 2nd measure. You don't even need to move your fingers.

For measures 3-4, bar the top 4 strings at the 2nd fret. That's all--just skip the 2nd string in the 3rd bar. For the 4th bar, all you have to do is hold that chord and drop your middle finger on the 3rd fret.

w000000t!!

2011-07-15T14:12:00.000-07:00

The wound-vac came off this morning; the site's down to .6 cm long x .5 cm wide x .6 cm deep, significantly down from just under 2 weeks ago.

Now I'm down to a little scrap of Promogran, a gauze pad, and a 2" bandage.

The vac's a neat little device, but I don't miss being tethered to it by several feet of tubing. That was about the only problem I had with it, really. I'm sure as hell not going to complain.

No, instead I'm thinking of where I'll take my kayak first, once the incision's healed over.

I'm a terrible uncle.

2011-07-14T14:09:00.000-07:00

My nephew graduated his Web Design and Graphics Design courses after 3 years of busting his can on it.

I'd been trying to think of a good graduation and birthday present for him, but kept coming up blank until late May, when I bought myself a new Wacom graphics tablet. While I was tinkering with the thing, I realized that it'd be perfect for him, given the impressive Photoshop skills he's shown (he added himself to a black & white photo of horror legends Lugosi and Karloff).

I had my setup all laid out. He would be coming to town July 1st or 2nd. I let him settle in a bit, then mentioned that I was headed to Best Buy to get that graphics tablet I'd been wanting and invited him along.

Off to the store, grab the tablet, look around a little, make the purchase, head back home.

We sat at the kitchen table and talked for an hour or so; the tablet sat wrapped in its bag next to me while I waited for the proper moment to spring my surprise.

The he mentioned being "so jealous" that I'd gotten one; he'd been wanting a tablet for a couple of years but couldn't afford it between school and bills. He told me to go install the thing.

"It wouldn't be right for me to do it," I told him, "since it's yours." I pushed it toward him.

He damn near freaked out! "No, I can't take that, I know how much it cost! That's too much! You don't have one!"

I had to show him my tablet, shiny and new, on my desk, before he'd believe that I had one.

Took him several more days to settle down and accept that it was his. I told him he had to earn it.

Happy Anniversary?

2011-07-14T13:25:00.000-07:00

July 13th marked a year since my evil kidney made its bid to kill me off once and for all.

The 12th marked 2 months since I ended its nefarious plans once and for all.

It's been a hell of a year. I've still got the recliner, but haven't slept in the thing since sometime in August or September, whenever it was that I was able to sleep lying down again. It's just taking up space.

Not much else has changed; I'm still taking a half-dozen pills a couple of times a day to keep my blood pressure under control, the tear in my aorta is still a danger, and I still can't walk or stand past a certain point. I haven't had a migraine since December, though, which is a definite plus. I used to get crippling headaches at least once a month until I started taking the BP meds.

The doubled/blurred vision I was having until a year ago is gone; my left eye used to go blurry past 20 feet and I could feel some pressure in it.

The wound-vac is still attached like a remora to my belly, the incision ever shrinking, and my remaining kidney producing like gangbusters.

Vac Day 9--Impressive. Most Impressive.

2011-07-07T19:18:00.000-07:00

I've been through 4 dressing changes on the wound-vac since I started using it June 28th.

Incredible. That's how I'd describe the effect.

In 9 days, the big incision site has closed up to the point where its about as wide as a pencil (compared to about an inch) and about the same length (a little under 2 inches).

There was a smaller one a little larger than a pencil diameter just below this one which used to be connected to the larger one by a "tunnel" where the skin mended while I still had staples there. This one's nearly closed, now.

The redness around the staple spots has gone down noticeably.

Word has it I'll be rid of the thing in another week.

Pic of the Day: Beck's Goodbye

2011-06-30T18:10:00.000-07:00

The Yoda of Batshit has left the studios at "Fox News" for the slimy mudhole he calls home.

I was hoping to think of more than that...but I got nothin'.

Pic of the Day: Florida's Scumbag Governor

2011-06-28T18:07:00.001-07:00

I figured out what's up with this skeezy criminal prick.

Thanks for nothing, to you idiots who voted for him.

Governor ~~Voldemort~~ Scott is so unpopular even amongst the Republicans in Florida's legislature that less than two months after he took office, they were tinkering with legislation to give Florida voters the ability to recall this teabagging corporate snake and other public officials:

HB 787: Recall

GENERAL BILL by Kriseman; (CO-INTRODUCERS) Bullard; Garcia, L.; Pafford; Randolph; Saunders; Steinberg; Thompson, G.; Williams, A.

Recall; Provides that Governor, Lieutenant Governor, member of Cabinet, or legislator may be recalled from office; requires that proponents of recall register as political committee; prescribes methods & timeframes for initiating & conducting recall; provides ballot language; provides that removal of Governor from office includes removal of Lieutenant Governor; authorizes adoption of rules.

EFFECTIVE DATE: contingent

Unfortunately, it was withdrawn from consideration in early May, 2011.

The Vac's Installed.

2011-06-28T13:11:00.000-07:00

I got approved for the Wound Vac as a charity case; the thing arrived via UPS yesterday. Big, bulky box, mostly filled with smaller cartons of foam dressings and catch-canisters. The unit itself is about the size of a stack of 6 DVD cases.

The first dressing got installed this morning. All it is is a piece of foam cut to fit in the incision (which is about 1" x 1" by 1-1/2" deep now) with a sheet of plastic "drape" over it, something like Saran Wrap with adhesive on one side. Once that's arranged, you cut a hole in the middle of the wrap, arrange the vacuum fitting over that, and hook the tubing up to the machine.

My belly's been mostly numb around the incision site from day 1, so there's no pain involved, but when the vac is first turned on there's a moment where the suction is noticeable. Outside of that, there's no noise or anything. About the only time I notice the thing is when I need to move around--now I'm tethered to it by several feet of tubing.

So now I've gone from Frankenbelly...

...to Vacu-Belly!

That looks a lot worse than it really is. The red marks are from the staples, which came out a month ago.

The Wound Care folks say this thing will have me healed up in about 2 weeks. It'll be about time--I've been aching to take a kayak trip up Bayou Texar, or even to take a simple shower.

Song of the Day: Cut to the Chase (Steve Morse Band)

2011-06-28T12:40:00.000-07:00

This has been a favorite song from its release in 1991's "Southern Steel"; Steve Morse is one of those guitar players that other guitar players listen to, with an impressive resume (the Dixie Dregs, Kansas, Deep Purple) and some incredible chops.

In this track, Morse is joined by former Night Ranger guitarist Jeff Watson in a blistering southern-fried jazz-rock-country duet. The cartoon's got nothing to do with the song.

The part of the song that blew me away comes in at about 1:40, starting with bass player Dave La Rue tapping a triplet figure.

Then the guitar comes in.

For the past 20 years, I thought that the complex tapping was all Jeff Watson, who's known for his 8-fingered tapping technique. I've spent hours trying to figure out the pattern, wondering how the hell one man's 8 fingers was doing this. I've seen some transcriptions of his solos with Night Ranger, and there's nothing close to this among them.

Then, two nights ago, I stumbled upon this live clip of the Steve Morse Band playing the song...and Jeff Watson's no longer on the Guitar God pedestal. Morse and La Rue are playing The Riff themselves, and based on the Night Ranger transcriptions I looked at, Watson's contribution is the shorter riff that shows up at around 1:51 in the clip above.

Scratch one Guitar God--and install a Bass God in his place:

It looks like Morse is playing a straightforward triplet tapping pattern, but I'd like to see more of La Rue's hands so I can finally figure this thing out.

What a great song.

Song of the Day: Jump in the Fire (Metallica)

2011-06-22T08:02:00.000-07:00

This is the only other good religion story I've got aside from "Burn in Hell" and Pvt. Preacher.

I really wish I had the patience to hang out with fundies, righties, teabaggers, and conspiracy kooks--I'd have so many more stories.

This one comes from a visit by a cousin who came to see my parents about 20 years ago. We were sitting at the kitchen table, talking family gossip and such. I don't know what spurred it, but she told us about a revival/bonfire she'd been to.

People were asked to bring any sinful contraband they could latch their mitts on--bad books, bad music, anything that might cause an uncontrolled or impure thought, anything that might detract from proper religious purity.

Basically, anything interesting, thoughtful, controversial, or fun.

She described one person who brought some Metallica records. When the evil vinyl was thrust into Christ's Purifyin' Flames...they jumped right back out!

They were SO EVIL that they couldn't stand the heat!!

Fortunately for all of us, those Satanic would-be escapees were rounded up and thrown bodily back into the Cleansin' Flames!

I'm amused by the stupidity of these people--but I'm disgusted, as well, by their need to destroy anything that might compete with their imaginary buddy in the sky.

It wasn't so long ago when such people were putting people into those flames over a difference of religious opinion. There are plenty of them today who wish they could bring those good old days back. They must look across the Atlantic at what the Taliban and other Muslim fundies have done and sigh wistfully, wishing they could ban music, books, games, anything of which they disapproved.

Fuck 'em. Here's the song: Metallica's "Jump in the Fire." The "Evil" tag's for those who would censor it.

Fuel Tank 1-Year Follow-up (with Product Placement)

2011-06-20T07:59:00.000-07:00

For the past two years, the days surrounding June 3rd have been aggravating.

In 2009, I discovered a fuel leak in the X-11's gas tank and made what I thought was a solid repair using a sheet-metal screw, a Sobe soft drink bottle cap (before they switched to plastic), some J-B Weld, and the 2-part epoxy putty from a "fuel tank repair kit" available at any car-parts store.

Don't waste your money on that kit. The epoxy lifted and peeled off over the next year, and 6 days short of the anniversary of the first fix my car was incontinent again.

For the fix, I used only regular J-B Weld slathered and a pop-rivet to seal it off.

A year later, the patch is solid. That's some good stuff.

Song of the Day: Burn in Hell (Twisted Sister)

2011-06-19T15:04:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite torture devices for the fundie mind.

When you're done with Basic Training, your next stop is AIT--Advanced Individual Training--where you learn the skills of your specialty. In my case, it was a Signal Corps (communications) job, 31N or Patch Panel Operator.

I was one of only two 31N students in the barracks building; most of the guys in my 8-man dorm were 31M radio operators, but we only ever had 7 guys.

One of them was sane for the first two weeks...but then the Dear John letter arrived that turned him into Private Preacher. His girlfriend left him for someone else. Pvt. Preacher melted down and found religion and in the grand tradition of religion-finders he wanted the rest of us--the entire Army base--to find it, too.

I wasn't digging, which made me into Pvt. Preacher's project. He couldn't understand how I could fail to be enthralled by the great sales pitches, impressed by the promise of Life Eternal, and all that. I patiently explained each time that I didn't believe in that stuff, and had the dog tags to prove it (granted, the Army in its wisdom only authorized me to be NO REL PREF, instead of ATHEIST, which is kind of close but not really accurate...like many other government situations).

So Pvt. Preacher rebuked me each time, only to come back for another go.

Then I discovered Preacher's kryptonite.

I'd picked up a tape of Twisted Sister's Stay Hungry album (1984), the one with "We're Not Gonna Take It" and "I Wanna Rock," which were still getting pretty heavy airplay in early 1987.

Not a bad album--but that one golden track, the one that made the Preacher scurry around, was "Burn in Hell."

He tried several times to get me into deep philosophical discussions over this one song. DEEP?! Twisted Sister, deep?! Bahahahahahahaaaaaaaa! Thoughtful, maybe, but not deep.

"Aren't you afraid you're gonna go to hell, listening to that?"

He couldn't understand the song's message even after I pulled out the lyrics and read them to him. Sad:

You can't believe all the things I've done wrong in my life
Without even trying I've lived on the edge of a knife
Well, I've played with fire, but I don't want to get myself burned
To thine own self be true, so I think that it's time for a turn

Before I burn in hell
Oh, burn in hell

Take a good look in your heart, tell me what do you see?
It's black and it's dark, now is that how you want it to be?
It's up to you, what you do will decide your own fate
Make your choice now for tomorrow may be far too late

That looks like a cautionary tale to me, not a "Hey, come join me, let's eat some Christian baby BBQ and piss in the holy water fountain!"

After a few weeks, Pvt. Preacher gave up on his mission to convert me, rebuked me a final time, and moved on to annoy other people. I still get a chuckle out of the song.

Kind of a pity, though, that Marilyn Manson wasn't scaring fundies yet.

Wound Vac.

2011-06-16T18:56:00.000-07:00

I'd never heard of such a thing before, but the Wound Care folks are trying to get me set up with one.

It's not much more than a little vacuum pump that draws fluid out of an open wound. It's supposed to increase blood flow to the injury and help it close up. There's some question (see the link) whether it's even effective for non-diabetic treatment, but I was told that it could speed my belly's healing by a few weeks.

Medicaid doesn't cover the rental--and I can understand why: this little handy-dandy wonder of modern medical technology is a grand or two a WEEK. I'm working on the "financial hardship" paperwork for one of these, but in the meantime I went looking for cheaper alternatives and found a story about an MIT student who worked up a hand-operated device that costs...three bucks.

Three. Bucks.

Danielle Zurovcik was going to test her invention in Rwanda, but took 50 of them to Haiti at the request of Partners in Health in the wake of the 2010 earthquake.

Three. Bucks. (There's followup of the Haiti trip at this link.)

The basic design came from an accordion-style toilet plunger. There's a good picture of it at this link. That's pretty damn cool. "Heroes" tag goes to Zurovcik and anyone working with her on this gadget.

Icky.

2011-06-11T18:26:00.000-07:00

I knew I'd end up having to change out my own dressing eventually. I already knew how it'd feel--the incision site's been pretty numb from the beginning, so dressing changes haven't been painful at all. Just creepy.

When the various nurses and doctors were doing their things, all I felt was a sort of tugging, but below the skin.

The Wound Care Center is closed on weekends; so is the Urology office. In a pinch I could hit the Emergency Room, I guess, but this isn't an emergency. It's just a folded piece of alginate carefully teased into the opening, a piece of gauze over that, and an absorbent pad taped over the whole thing to keep it together. The alginate absorbs whatever drainage there is from surrounding tissues.

Doing it myself wasn't as bad as I was thinking it'd be--and I knew it wouldn't be, once I got past the fear and squeamishness.

Only 3 to 5 weeks left....

Ignorance is Unforgiveable.

2011-06-11T17:54:00.001-07:00

Y'know, with that big Internet out there, there's no real excuse for the Alaska Idiot's ignorance of...well, everything.

Her recent howler about Paul Revere--claiming that he was riding to warn the British that Merkins was ARMED and they wasn't gunna take our guns--is just the latest shovel-full from the failed beauty queen. She also visited the Statute [sic] of Liberty. I wonder where that is.

The sad thing is, this imbecile was GUIDED in tours of these places and she STILL couldn't process the data except in talking points.

And this idiot is president material, according to stupid Republicans.

All the Alaska Moron has to do is get the "Schoolhouse Rock" box set--or go to YouTube:

Goddammit, there's just no excuse for ignorance.

Four to Six More Weeks.

2011-06-08T13:11:00.000-07:00

I've been referred to the hospital's Wound Care Center; they're taking over from the Urology staff who were packing/repacking my slowly-healing belly.

It's not a crisis; there's no out-of-control infection or any other excitement. Just my big Buddha belly. A deep fat layer slows the healing process.

The Wound Care folks started in on me yesterday, taking pictures and using a long swab to map out the incision site, poking & prodding. I'm getting used to that--but these new nurses are using the same "When you do this yourself..." wind-up as the Urology people.

Nuh-uh.

I can sit through "Trauma: Life in the ER" and similar shows with no problem. I've seen blood flowing out of a guy, taking his life with it. I've seen a disarticulated knee joint, with the top of the man's tibia shining white and clean in the midst of the torn hamburger of the rest of his leg. I've seen bikers with both femurs snapped like matchsticks, their lower legs at odd angles. An old woman with emphysema who lit a cigarette, then tried to smoke with her oxygen mask. I was fascinated by all of it, watching the ER teams put these people back together, watching the montage of their recoveries. One of the most amazing accomplishments of humanity.

I can watch it on TV. I can't see me poking gauze into this hole in my belly. It's got to be done, whether I do it or not; the Wound Care folks say 4 to 6 weeks more, less if I load up on protein.

Talking myself into it isn't going to be that easy...I'm such a chickenshit.

I wish they wouldn't DO that!

2011-06-03T15:49:00.000-07:00

Since I'm too chickenshit to repack my own wound, I've been running back once a day to the Urology center to let friendly non-squeamish nurses do it instead.

The day the last staples came out, it turned out that the 3-inch incision (used by the surgeon as a "hand assist" for the two smaller laparoscopic cuts for popping the bad kidney out) hasn't closed completely; there's an inch or so to go...and there's a small pocket in my belly at that spot.

The first "Hey! Uh...don't." moment came Wednesday when one doctor swabbed the incision to get a sample of the fluid that's been dribbling out for the past 2 weeks. I didn't feel anything, but I was watching as he ran the swab along one spot...then plunged the swab about 3" deep. He freaked out (quietly) and went looking for a doctor with laparoscopy experience; second guy told him it's fine, you see this sort of thing with "big guys" like me. The pocket's in the fat layer, not down in the muscle, and it'll just take a bit longer to heal up. But it's fine as long as I keep the area clean and change the packing and bandage (looks like a maxi pad).

Nobody did any poking yesterday, but this morning, a different doctor came in to look things over. This one stuck his finger in there to feel around (yes, he had a glove on...no glove, no love, right?) and while I didn't feel it, I could see what he was doing.

It's still creeping me out, 9 hours later.

At least it doesn't hurt. I'm looking forward to a weekend of no poking or prodding or doctors going belly-spelunking.

Staples are Out!

2011-06-01T15:45:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow will mark three weeks since I willingly allowed myself to be opened up.

The last of the staples came out this afternoon, but I've got a way to go still with that incision. The nurses who popped the staples ended up having to pack gauze into my belly--about an inch worth of it hasn't closed up and there's still significant drainage.

No pain, but the gauze-packing felt weird as hell.

The doctor expected me to do this myself, after the first time. I don't think so. I'm as chickenshit as they get when it comes to doing stuff like that. I'll fearlessly dive into a complicated carburetor rebuild, rebuild an engine in my back yard, get shoulder-deep in oil and grease all day long. But blood and living tissue leave me queasy...especially if it's mine.

Bad Kidney, Dead Kidney

2011-05-25T16:56:00.000-07:00

The biopsy's back; the Evil Kidney was cancerous. Fortunately, it was stage-1, meaning the cancer was enclosed and hadn't metastasized. Doc says there's a 5% chance I'll need to worry about that.

In the 2 weeks since the evil one was removed, all sorts of things have improved:

--My lower legs had been swollen since January, but the swelling's maybe 95% gone. That hasn't improved the walking issues, which are likely a blood-flow matter.

--My blood pressure's down to the point where I have to scale back my meds.

--I'm feeling a bit more energetic, but I still get worn out pretty quickly. Lots of sleeping and naps.

Speaking of which...

So What's Kidney Removal Like?

2011-05-22T18:13:00.000-07:00

I don't know.

The whole thing seemed surreal to me right up until I woke up. I've never seen my own insides (aside from one CAT scan display), so the notion of something being removed didn't really mean a lot.

Once I checked in on the 12th, there was maybe an hour of paperwork and questions to answer before I was rolled to the Operating Room. It was maybe 9 a.m.

The staffers moved me to a narrow table and put a mask over my face, told me to breathe--

--then there was noise around me and pain and light and it was 2:30 p.m. And that was the surgery. No dreams, no darkness, just 5 hours passing unnoticed. It didn't feel like 5 hours, but it didn't just go by in a flash. It felt like time had gone by; I just hadn't been in it.

The only real pain came from the Foley catheter. That's not something I want ever again. At least that one went in while I was unconscious. I was wide awake for the second one.

Worst moments: by Saturday May 14, they were trying to get me weaned onto solid food. But for breakfast was the "clear liquids" diet: some sort of broth, tea, apple juice. That broth did a number on me and kept me nauseous for the next 3 days. Lunch was fried chicken, macaroni & cheese, a roll, and a slice of chocolate pie.

I could barely stomach the whipped topping on the pie, let alone look at the rest of the platter. I held on to that pie for another 2 meals (back on clear liquids) before giving up. I wanted to cry about that.

Then there's the first walk. Saturday, two horrible people dressed as hospital types made me fight my way out of bed and onto my feet. Took me 20 minutes to get that far--and it hurt every millimeter of the way, because none of my limbs belonged to me yet. Once I was propped up on a pair of wobbly legs...those horrible people made me walk across the room to the wheelchair parked at the door. That room was several miles across and trembled underfoot with every step.

That wheelchair was a throne, though. A conquering king's not supposed to fall or sag into the thing, though. I was rolled down to X-Ray, rolled back to that horrible miles-wide room...and those horrible people made me walk some more. The conquering king act didn't work with the bed, either: I sagged again.

Best moments: They tried solid food again Tuesday morning, the 17th. Two little strips of bacon, two pancakes, an 8-ounce milk. Smelled better than anything I've ever experienced before, and I would have cried over that, too, but I was too hungry. By this point, it had been a week since I'd had any solid food at all (2 days before surgery, I went on a "clear liquids" diet).

The first bite of bacon--a tiny sliver, the merest crumb--was the most exotic, near-orgasmic food experience ever. I savored it for a good 40 minutes, eating slowly and carefully, not wanting to have to go back on fluids again.

Sex has nothing on good bacon. No bread, mayo, or tomato needed.

Sadly, bacon will never be that good again.

Pic of the Day: Roll Call!

2011-05-22T13:36:00.000-07:00

If you thought you were getting "raptured" yesterday and didn't, use the comments to explain why you're still here.

Oh, and bow to Stephen Hawking.

Things that are Worse than Kidney Surgery.

2011-05-19T20:18:00.000-07:00

Five days in recovery gave me plenty of things to think about. My room-mate helped me to find three things worse than the surgery or recovery.

He didn't make much noise or disturb things, so it wasn't him. Nope, it was a weekend's worth of Jim Carrey movies on some channel.

I got to see attempts at zany humor from a pathetically unfunny man, in three different starring trainwrecks: "The Mask" and two "Ace Ventura" flicks. Bleah.

Think I'd rather be zipped open again.

Home, after 5 days in the Slammer!

2011-05-18T17:30:00.000-07:00

Yeah, it was really a hospital, but either way every minute is regimented and laid out for you. Being stuck in a hospital bed isn't any fun.

I'm short a kidney, but nothing feels different aside from the incisions, some bruising. The swelling's gone down a good bit, but it was never very extensive.

The single greatest pleasure? Sleeping in my own bed.

Sounds like a good plan right now, too.

Pic of the Day: Three Barrels

2011-05-18T17:13:00.000-07:00

I know I'm not supposed to be swimming yet, with the incision and all, but I'm feeling pretty good.

Those fellas are gonna need a bigger boat.

Ouch.

2011-05-16T09:47:00.000-07:00

Kidney came out with no unexpected trouble. I've got a 3-inch bestapled cut a few inches right of the navel and two really small cuts above that. Doc said he got some of the surrounding tissue, no signs of metastasis, and we're still waiting on the biopsy.

Recovery hasn't been fun; the Foley catheter they put in during the surgery prep was removed Friday morning (I think). They had to run another one maybe 12 hours later. The epidural I was on to numb things up was weakening my bladder nerves, so I wasn't going. This second Foley came out this morning. Now there's nothing tethering me to the bed but my own tired body.

The epidural went away Saturday, they got me up and semi-mobile the same day, and now I'm staggering along under my own power. Still weak as hell, tired.

Might be out as early as tomorrow, assuming I can start eating (pretty bad nausea--don't drink the broth, folks) and walking better.

Pic of the Day: Lookin' Good at Thirty!

2011-05-11T23:34:00.000-07:00

Built sometime in May of 1981. I picked May 12, a month after the Space Shuttle Columbia's maiden flight. I've considered adding some sort of commemorative shuttle decor, but I don't really want to mess with the car's overall look.

It's funny; I've never had a car that caught so much attention on the street as this one does. Her "little sister"--an '83 Citation 4-door--didn't garner much notice in the decade I was driving her around.

She's made it a damn sight farther than my first car, a 1972 Chevy Step-Van that maybe rolled 50 miles in the 5 years I had it. I learned a lot about car repair--engine, brakes, bodywork, and all that. The van was beyond saving, or beyond my skills; it went away when I got an enormous 9-passenger '76 Impala wagon.

The van never looked as good as the X-11, let alone as good as this:

I still miss that old van...and the Impala. I really miss the '83 Citation.

Pic of the Day: Nice Fence, Empty Lot

2011-05-11T16:20:00.001-07:00

I'm kicking myself for not getting more photos of that shiny fence protecting Fort Pike from tourists. Imagine the fun I could have on YouTube if I'd whipped out the camcorder and shot video along the length of that galvanized wonder! The camcorder would have let me get it in high definition 16x9...and stereo.

Imagine that. The sound of an empty parking lot. In stereo.

So that big green hill there is the glacis, an earthen slope intended to protect the fort's masonry against direct fire from enemy cannons. If you squint just right, you can make out a line of brickwork. That's a part of the actual fort, and about all you get to see, you unwashed tourist.

Fort Pike: closed on weekends.

2011-05-06T13:27:00.001-07:00

Would have been nice to know this while I was prepping for last weekend's road trip.

The fort's State Parks web page:

Admission to Fort Pike SHS is by appointment only. Please call ... to schedule your visit between the hours of 9 a.m. and 5 p.m.

The reply to my email, 2 days after my trip:

We are usually here Monday through Friday from 0800-1600 and would be
able to accommodate your request at short notice; however, I do not have
staff available on the weekends and it would take advance notice of
several days for me to re-arrange schedules.

Weekends are Big Money for tourism...and the State closes the park on weekends? That's just ass-backwards. Alabama's got two forts in their State Parks system. BOTH of them are open 7 days a week--probably because they know that tourists aren't necessarily going to look for a website while they're out on the road. Last weekend was the Jazz Fest kickoff, too--imagine people driving east into New Orleans via Highway 90 or bumming around in the area. They see the fort but can't get in. The State is losing out.

Yeah, I'm still pissed off about driving all the way out there for nothing. I should have gotten more pictures--and some video--of the fence around the park. Very nice fence. The only thing marring its perfection was the rusty chain and lock on the gate. They couldn't shell out for new stuff? Show some PRIDE.

Maybe if they had spent the money on a little gift shop/ticket counter instead of the fence, they'd have enough money to run the damn park on weekends.

Or maybe they'd at least have a sign somewhere prominent with phone numbers so people like me can call up and tell them that a hundred bucks rolled into and out of that parking lot over an hour and a half.

War Criminals want Credit for Osama Kill!

2011-05-06T10:32:00.000-07:00

So Ex-President Fratboy declines an invitation to honor the dead of 9/11 New Yorkers, saying he prefers to stay out of the spotlight in his post-failure years, but back-chatter has it that he's whining over not getting enough "credit" for the death of his old buddy Bin Laden.

Barely 6 months after declaring OBL Wanted Dead or Alive, the dumbass-in-chief declared that he didn't know or care where Bin Laden was. He was more interested in trying to lie us into his war on Iraq, so finding OBL was a needless distraction.

By 2005, this towering imbecile shut down the CIA operation that was hunting OBL. Conveniently, that's about when OBL bought himself that little ranch outside of town and nestled in.

Since OBL got wasted, Fratboy and his co-war-criminals have been falling over each other trying to grab the spotlight and justify their actions, from going to Iraq to torturing people.

The one thing I would have liked to see from Obama the day he took office is a nod to the Secret Service and various Law Enforcement folks, signaling them into action, seeking out and taking Fratboy and his pals into custody. Set up a criminal investigation, get indictments, and put the lot of them in prison.

Keep this in mind: the Allies prosecuted war criminals after World War Two, Germans and Japanese troops who were "just following orders" when they tortured prisoners--including waterboarding. These men were executed for their crimes.

George Bush should have written his memoir behind bars.

Cheney should be in an undisclosed prison location.

Condi Rice could practice her snotty, condescending horseshit on her prison guards.

Scumsfeld should be on a steady prison diet of Aspartame-laden foods and drinks.

Anyone I left out...same thing.

There's still time to give these criminals the credit they deserve, Mr. President.

Finally, some answers about my legs.

2011-05-05T20:14:00.000-07:00

Ever since I got out of the hospital in July of last year, I've had walking troubles. I've been trying to explain the problem to my regular doctor, but he keeps impatiently--and incorrectly--finishing my sentences or telling me not to "complicate" things. Getting my blood pressure under control was Job One.

Fine. That's handled. With the meds I'm on, I can regulate my BP down to the point where my fingers tingle and one arm and the other leg go numb when I'm lying down, depending on which side I'm lying on. Let's fix my freaking LEGS now, huh?

If I stand for more than a few minutes, walk for more than 500 feet or so, or bend over (say, while I'm working on my car) for very long, I have to sit. I don't get a choice: if I don't, I start hyperventilating and wheezing, my pulse races, my BP goes up, and my legs start to let go. They're not getting enough oxygen and not able to get rid of fatigue poisons.

If I sit for very long, everything below the knee starts to swell and cramp up. Sitting in my car for most of 13 hours last Saturday didn't do me any good.

Both problems are all because of poor blood flow. I've been trying to tell this to that doctor and a couple of others for the past 10 months, but they don't seem to listen. They only want to focus on the aortic dissection and kidney problems--but neither of these is nearly as important to me in the here and now.

Today, during a pre-op meeting with an anesthesiologist (kidney's coming out one week from today!), I described my symptoms to her and she confirmed what I've been thinking all along.

Pic of the Day: Message from President Obama

2011-05-02T14:08:00.000-07:00

Grabbed from here.

Suck it, Birthers.

The X-11 Abides.

2011-05-02T00:36:00.000-07:00

After nearly 400 highway miles to Louisiana and back--the first such drive I've done with this car--I'm utterly pleased with the X-11's performance.

She pulled consistently all the way up to 65 mph and delivered 29 miles per gallon, which is impressive for a 30-year-old carbureted car. Having the High Output engine probably helped--bigger valves, higher lift on the cam, better breathing.

The only hiccup was a rattling noise from the transaxle while shifting into 1st and 2nd from a stop after an hour or so of highway driving. After an hour or more of rest, there's no noise, which works for me since I'm not up for a clutch job these days.

Considering the shape the car was in when I took delivery (movie coming soon), her performance is impressive.

Pic of the Day: Bin Laden Dead.

2011-05-02T00:19:00.000-07:00

Osama Bin Laden has been wiped out. In a followup to "Fratboy's Presidency Summed Up," here's the other bookend:

This little prick is dead:

Because this man did his job:

Suck it, Goppers.

Road Trip: The "All The Way There..." Tour

2011-04-30T19:45:00.000-07:00

First off, I want to thank the state of Louisiana and their Office of State Parks for making this trip everything that it was.

Second, I'd like the discerning reader to right click on this link and search the resulting page for the word, "fence." This will become important momentarily.

I decided a few days ago to visit Fort Pike. Did some research and found the site linked above, noted the "Admission to Fort Pike SHS is by appointment only." I wrote down the number, dashed an email off to them asking how much lead time they'd need to set up an appointment, and got my stuff together.

The X-11 kicked ass. This is the longest single trip I've made with the car, and it wasn't without some hiccups--a pricey-sounding rattling racket after an hour at highway speeds, maybe the throwout bearing or clutch. I'm not looking forward to that job.

Pensacola to Mobile, past Pascagoula, pull off at a McDonald's somewhere in Mississippi (free Wi-Fi!), check email. No reply from the Fort Pike people.

Back on I-10, pass Biloxi and a thousand billboards urging the reader to gamble, into Louisana. They built a pretty new bridge to replace the narrow old Highway 90 Rigolets bridge. Road's smoother, too. Pulled into the fort's parking lot around 1 pm.

Nice parking lot. Big. Gravel, with a boat ramp. Maybe 200 feet on a side.

It's also the only part of the park that's not fenced in.

It's a nice fence. Well-made. Glints in the sunlight. It's galvanized, so it'll last for years. The three lines of barbed wire along the top is a nice touch. But that's the problem: they don't mention the fence on the park page. In all the searching online that I've done about Pike in the last few weeks, there's no mention of a fence. If you Gogle "fort pike louisiana fenced in" there's a mention of "fencing" (but not "completely fenced the hell in")...but also this:

Fort Pike is open 9 a.m.-5 p.m. Thursday through Monday (Closed Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s Day). Entrance fee is $2 per person. Free for seniors age 62 and older and children age 12 and younger. Groups are asked to call in advance. For information, contact (888) 662-5703 or (504) 255-9171. Also send e-mail to fortpike@crt.state.la.us.

The Park site says $4, by appointment.

Last time I visited Fort Pike, the fort's doors were closed and locked...but there was no fence. I could at least walk around the outside and get pictures. Now, all you see is the fence and the fort's landward defenses (a big mound of earth that protects the fort from direct fire).

I called the park's appointment number; they were very sorry to have missed my call and would return it as soon as possible; I left a message and waited in the parking lot for an hour.

About 40 bucks worth of potential park revenue pulled into the lot in that hour. As soon as they saw The Fence and its locked gate, they turned around and left. There's no sign anywhere to tell random visitors who to call if they want to see the fort. No ticket booth. If someone's driving along Highway 90 and sees the fort from the nearby bridge, well that's all the view they get.

There were maybe 6 more cars parked near the boat ramp; including kids, at four bucks a head there was easily another $50 in potential park revenue. I've always heard that the weekend is when the money flows at tourist places, and Pike could easily have pulled in a thousand bucks in 8 hours. Maybe more.

But the only message I was getting from the State of Louisiana and their Office of State Parks was "Welcome to Fort Pike. Now Go The Fark Home."

After sitting in the lot, I decided to run down 90 to look at Fort Macomb. That one's fenced in, too, but I knew it would be. I glanced at the site, but didn't bother stopping. I went a few more miles and stopped at the Michoud Assembly Facility, where the shuttles' big tanks were built, and the Saturn V first stages before that. The last Saturn first stage is still on display. And fenced in. Took some pictures.

Headed back to Pike. Still locked up. There were four more cars, that many more missed opportunities.

Got pictures of the fence, the fence, and the fence, and a sign thanking me for my visit. On the way out, I discovered a flaw in the fence: it stops just under the Highway 90 bridge.

You can pretty much walk around the north end of the freaking fence and back up to the fort. Damn shame I can't walk very far right now.

Up on 90, eastbound, headed home with nothing to show other than wear on the car and most of a tank of gas burned.

Given that the State doesn't seem interested in collecting tourist money, I can't really recommend visiting Fort Pike unless you enjoy sitting in a parking lot. I won't be making that trip again in the foreseeable future.

Pic of the Day: Admiral Trump, your ship is leaving

2011-04-29T14:13:00.000-07:00

There are only two good pictures of the Billionaire Dope and this is the other one.

Nice hat, Admiral.

Flick of the Day: Gun Demo at Fort Gaines

2011-04-29T01:39:00.000-07:00

I caught this in August of 2005 at Fort Gaines. We're in the fort's blacksmith shop, about 250 feet away from a group of reenactors firing a small brass cannon replica.

I wish I'd gotten some close pictures and video, but the cannon guys went on break almost as soon as I walked across the parade ground.

They started firing again--of course--once I went outside the fort to get pictures.

Might want to keep the volume down--especially after you hear "Fire in the hole" the second time.

The Nefarious Mister S (part 5)

2011-04-28T22:35:00.000-07:00

So I finally had video of Mister S caught in the act. What now?

First thing was to show our coworkers, of course. I copied the tape to a DVD, slapped that into a portable player, and showed everyone what Mister S did all summer.

Everyone but Mister S.
Pretty quickly, people came and told me that he was denying being anywhere near my car only to be told, "Dude, it's YOU, plain as day! He busted you!"

To this day, he still hasn't seen it. But it didn't stop him from keying the Tracker and sticking nails under the tires. Didn't get that on tape, though. Silly me, I thought he'd back down.

Boss got involved and barked at him and supposedly talked to Corporate and Human Resources...then came back to me with some bullshit about how the Company wasn't going to do anything. So much for the poster that says otherwise, huh?

Apparently, farking with my car is okay. Gotcha.

Fine. I spent the next two months screwing with my old buddy Mister S--sitting in the Tracker on lunch breaks with a camera prominently set up on the dash or a tripod, hiding my camcorder under a ballcap and letting it run for awhile, all with an eye to making a 10-minute flick to put on YouTube. Even when I wasn't filming, I still put a dummy lens on the dash, arranged to look like a camera.

It's a shame that the movie project got wiped out by a hard drive crash last year--and more so that some of the after-"Gotcha" taping I'd done got taped over. I'd have been able to rebuild the project, if not for that.

It gets better: since that last crash, I've gotten a new computer running Windows 7 64-bit...so of course that movie software I was using won't work.

Pic of the Day: Pike's Broken Wall

2011-04-27T15:14:00.000-07:00

Fort Pike is America's oldest Third System fort, completed in 1819. It sits at the east end of the New Orleans East Land Bridge (or St. Catherines Island, as Google Earth calls it), guarding the Rigolets pass between Lakes Pontchartrain and Borgne.

Pike's taken a lot of damage over the years, all from poor maintenance. Like many of its contemporaries, Pike sits on soft ground, so a grillage of cypress logs was laid down to stabilize the foundations. As long as the wood is protected from cycles of wetting and drying, it won't deteriorate. Judging by this 6-foot-wide section of the north wall, the grillage isn't holding up well. The dark line along the fort's waterline is where bricks have fallen off, probably because of boat wakes and tides lapping away at the mortar. There are big through-and-through cracks in many places where parts of the fort are settling at different rates from the rest. The fort's south corner is almost as bad off as this one.

Hurricane Katrina's center passed directly over Fort Pike in 2005, wiping out most of the houses at this end of the island. The fort remained closed until 2008. Now that it's open again, I need to get out there. The X-11 deserves a road trip and I've got three empty DV tapes, two empty camera cards, and several rolls of 35mm film that need filling. Oh, and some blank notebook paper for making sketches.

Pike's sister fort, Macomb, guards the other end of the island at Chef Menteur Pass. It's in much worse condition--trees and plants overgrown, crumbling masonry. Before Katrina there was a marina just yards away from the fort, and even with "no-wake" zones there's going to be a wake washing up against the foundations. It's closed to the public, so of course I won't go (very far) inside when I visit.

The Nefarious Mister S (part 4)

2011-04-26T01:01:00.002-07:00

Took a few days off to build tension.

So where was I?

First, some jackass of a coworker was throwing his trash in my car.

I put together a motion detector and camera and set it to catch him in the act.

When that didn't work, I put in a camcorder and VCR.

On October 12, 2007, my little eye spied this:

I. GOT. HIM. *bahahahahahahaaaaaaaa!*

Pic of the Day: Happy Easter!

2011-04-23T21:59:00.000-07:00

Silly dog! You're supposed to eat the ears first!

The Nefarious Mister S (part 3)

2011-04-21T20:00:00.000-07:00

After a few weeks of designing, testing, and building a camera rig to catch an idiot co-worker in the act of tossing trash in my car...I had nothing.

That's not quite right. I had a bag of cracker wrappers--oh, and Mister S went to Taco Bell one time, so I got that dumped in my car, too.

I went back to thinking of how I could get a camera into the Tracker. A camcorder would do the trick, but mine would only tape for 90 minutes. A VCR could go for 6 hours...and I had an inverter for making AC power, a car battery to run it. All I needed was a monitor: a cheapie black & white TV from the corner drugstore. Since I'm an Apollo Program geek, I started calling this the Block II and the still camera/motion sensor the Block I (Block I command/service modules were used for all the unmanned flights and Apollo 1; the Block II CSMs were the complete moon-rated item).

The Block II Project came together pretty quickly. I spent several lunch breaks tinkering with the layout. The battery went in back, the inverter sat on the back seat under a hat, and the VCR and TV would be in a tool bag on the floor. Turns out it's hard to hide an old VHS-C camcorder. That didn't matter so much, because the camera kept shutting off.

Another wait for another paycheck, and by October 11, I had a replacement camcorder and a revised name: Block IIb. On October 12, 2007, I set the camera up on a tripod, wedged it between the back seat and side wall, set the VCR running, and left it when my lunch break ended.

Mister S took his lunch as soon as I was back on the clock. I made a few runs, checked the VCR (still running), looked for trash.

There was a cracker wrapper right where previous ones had always landed.

Pic of the Day: RIP Elisabeth Sladen

2011-04-21T13:59:00.000-07:00

From the write-up at BBC:

Doctor Who star Elisabeth Sladen, who was also in spin-off series The Sarah Jane Adventures, has died aged 63.

Sladen appeared as Doctor Who assistant Sarah Jane Smith in the BBC television sci-fi series between 1973 and 1976, opposite Jon Pertwee and Tom Baker.

The Liverpool-born actress appeared in four series from 2007 of The Sarah Jane Adventures on children's channel CBBC.

Sladen had been battling cancer for some time and leaves actor husband Brian Miller and daughter Sadie.

My introduction to "Doctor Who" was in the early '80s, when the local PBS station ran the show. They only had Tom Baker, a little of John Pertwee, and less of Peter Davison in the lineup; I might have seen all of Baker's run twice. Sarah Jane Smith was my favorite companion.

There's a very bittersweet homage to her at The Dork Tower.

The Nefarious Mister S (part 2)

2011-04-20T18:45:00.000-07:00

So how do you nail someone who's been throwing trash in your car? Over the next few weeks I thought it out. It would have to be something reasonably cheap (minimum wage) and easy to set up and hide, since a Tracker's not exactly secure. The rear window hasn't zipped up since I unzipped it--the day I bought the car. All that's holding it up is a bungee cord sewn to the "glass" panel and de-barbed fish hooks sewn in several places around the opening. Mister S was dropping his trash through the gap on the left.

I don't remember what triggered the Big Idea, but in mid August of '07 it hit me: a small camera with a motion sensor. I found several online, but nothing affordable...so I'd have to build it myself...but first I had to wait for payday.

RadioShack had exactly what I was after: a cheap digital camera and a motion sensor. As soon as I got home from work, I went over each of them and made notes. Camera's battery powered...one "AAA"...turns itself off after 1 minute of inactivity...can't be set to stop doing that...two buttons (Power/Mode, Shutter)...motion sensor takes 9 volts...alarm can be silenced...no output that could trigger the camera.

Ponder, ponder, think, think...need a circuit that will "listen" for a signal from the motion sensor and trigger the camera shutter AND a circuit that just pushes the camera's Power/Mode button a few times a minute to keep it awake. Okay, dig out some electronics books...find something close to what I need...throw a prototype together...modify the camera and sensor...test, fix, test, fix, test, fix...build the board...by September 10th it was all together, part of the camera and the sensor painted yellow to match the Tracker. Everything was powered by a block of "D"-cell batteries: 9 volts' worth for the sensor and circuit, a single for the camera. I was pretty proud of myself.

The plan was to hang the camera where it could see the Tracker's rear window. The sensor would be mounted so that it could pick up Mister S's hand entering the car. Click! I got a few test pictures, set the rig up, and left it to itself.

Didn't catch a thing. There was new trash in the car, but no new shots in the camera. I tried for more test pictures and realized pretty quickly that the infrared sensor was getting washed out by sunlight. Unless Mister S was kind enough to put his hand within an inch of the sensor (or wait until dark), it would never trigger the camera.

Well, crap. I had to think up something else.

The Nefarious Mister S (part 1)

2011-04-19T17:39:00.000-07:00

This all started back in early June of '07. I was a delivery driver; in the shop there was a big dry-erase board where we wrote our stops and time out. I came back from a run and noticed that someone had rubbed the top off the "O" in my name, so now I was up there as "Judy."

Really?

For cryin' out loud, can't this person come up with something better than this? What, am I working in a freakin' KINDERGARTEN?! What's next--"Circle, circle, dot, dot, now you got your cootie shot!"?

Instead of bitching about it, I did a little detective work. I was still the New Guy, only there for 3 months and change, so I didn't really know anyone all that well. I wrote down everyone's name, then over two or three weeks I eliminated people who were out or unlikely, and ended up with one name.

Mister S.

He seemed like an okay sort at first, just a lonely, grouchy old man. He spent a good bit of time and energy being worked up over one of the other drivers--she couldn't do anything right, he didn't like her, and he was always talking crap behind her back. I was starting to realize that this guy was so uptight, you couldn't pull a needle out of his ass with a Mack truck.

She quit in July, I think. That left Mister S without a playmate, so he latched on to me.

Since I didn't rise to the bait with the name thing, Mister S changed tactics. I found that out in late July, on my way home from work. I reached to the back seat for something and found a pile of something else, which I brought up to look at.

Cracker wrappers. Over the next few months, I would find several wrappers a week behind the back seat of my Tracker.

But whose?

Connecting the dots was easy--it was obviously Mister S--but I wanted to catch him in the act.

Pic of the Day: Ft. Clinch NW Bastion Gorge

2011-04-18T00:09:00.000-07:00

A companion piece to yesterday's picture, taken at Fort Clinch, the twin to Fort Gaines.

Where yesterday's picture had us looking straight down from a bridge across Gaines' gorge pit, this time we're at the top of a flight of stairs leading down into the northern half of Clinch's pit.

The retaining wall is to the left, the gorge wall of the bastion to the right. Straight ahead, spanning the pit, is a caponniere. This defensive work controls access to the pit, the bastion, and the fort's parade ground: there are four tall, narrow openings to allow musketmen to fire up the stairs and a heavy door facing on each half of the pit. Lock those doors and the bastion becomes a miniature fort complete with a powder magazine and room for four cannons on the ground level.

One interesting detail of Fort Clinch's history can be seen in the stretch of red brick atop wall in the background. When the Civil War began, the fort was incomplete. It was briefly held by the South, who abandoned it when they realized they didn't have the men to hold on to it. The Union guys moved back in and got back to building. Since they couldn't buy brick from the South anymore, they had to source them from Northern suppliers. Different clay, different brick color. The upper half of the west, southwest, and south walls and parts of the south, north, and east bastions were all built between then and 1867.

Pic of the Day: Gaines Bastion E Pit

2011-04-17T15:50:00.000-07:00

Here we're looking down into half of the pit behind Ft. Gaines' southwest bastion.

To the right is a gracefully-curved retaining wall; to the right is the back wall--the gorge--of the bastion.

Below is a short tunnel that spans the space between the two, giving a covered passage from the bastion to a tunnel running to the parade ground.

Above, the pit floor becomes a ramp that narrows toward the top and ends at a walkway spanning the length of the fort wall to the next bastion.

As built, the gorge pits and tunnels gave the only access to each of the five bastions. Each has a spiral stairway inside for getting to the gun emplacements on top.

Pic of the Day: Samurai Guy (Winter Armor)

2011-04-15T10:45:00.000-07:00

Turns out I did have a pic of Samurai Guy.

I've never seen him without his armor vest (duct tape) and Asian-style hat--either this one, a "Coolie" hat, or an armored sun hat (more duct tape).

I've seen him as far north as Ensley (several miles north of Pensacola) and as far south as the split at Palafox and Pace.

Pic of the Day: Entering Florida!

2011-04-13T12:41:00.000-07:00

Skid marks on the Alabama side of the Florida line.

Why would someone coming out of Alabama panic over entering Florida? It's not THAT much more liberal here.

Important Day in History

2011-04-12T17:05:00.000-07:00

Quite a bit happened on various April 12ths.

The most important, I think, is that Jonas Salk's polio vaccine was called "safe, effective, and potent" in 1955.

In 1961, Yuri Gagarin became the first human to go into space and the first in orbit.

In 1981, the shuttle Columbia took its first flight.

In 1945, Franklin Roosevelt died, just months before the end of the second World War.

In 1983, Chicago got its first black mayor, Harold Washington.

In 1861, the South continued--and deepened--its treason against the United States by attacking Fort Sumter.

Pic of the Day: Does This Rocket Make My Arse Look Fat?

2011-04-11T14:15:00.000-07:00

Fair is fair, so here's my chunky self back in August, 2007 standing at the noisy end of the last Saturn first-stage booster to be built, # S-IC-15 at the Michoud Assembly Facility near New Orleans. If not for budget cuts, the completed booster would have been loaded onto a barge, floated to Stennis Space Center just across the Louisiana-Mississippi border, mounted in a test tower, and lit off.

The combined roar of five F-1 engines could be heard as distant thunder as far away as Mobile, Alabama.

Once everything was certified "Go" the booster would go on a barge and take a long boat ride to Cape Canaveral to meet up with the rest of the rocket stack.

Pic of the Day: Does This Bike Make My Arse Look Fat?

2011-04-08T21:14:00.002-07:00

It would have been criminal to miss this shot, even though all I needed to do was drive straight ahead, point my little Fuji digital straight ahead, and let it do the work without distracting me.

This part of town has all sorts of interesting people riding the roads; there's a little guy (dwarf?) who rides a kid's bike. The high-rise handlebars give him the look of a biker with "ape hangers." I never had my camera ready.

Then there's Samurai Guy, who cycles up and down North Palafox. He wears an "armor" vest and helmet, both covered in shiny duct tape. Never got the camera up for a snapshot, but I did get him on video riding through a parking lot.

Ansel Adams had it easy: mountains don't move around.

Pic of the Day: Pickens, N. Wall Drawing

2011-04-06T14:44:00.000-07:00

This is one of my first scale drawings of Fort Pickens; it shows the north wall, sally port, and sectional views of the innards of the place. This is part of the fort designed by Gen. Simon Bernard to simplify Joseph Totten's larger, more complex design.

Looking back on it 11 years later, it still looks good, though my eye keeps going to stuff I got wrong. Gonna keep my mouth shut and just enjoy the thing. I can always make a new one.

The Holy Grail of Pickens Drawings

2011-04-04T11:32:00.000-07:00

By now it's clear that I'm a fort geek. I've been to Fort Pickens so many times that several of the Park Rangers know me by name.

I've got maybe a hundred pages of sketches and measurements, several hundred photos, some technical drawings, but after nearly 12 years of climbing and walking and measuring and scribbling, I have never put together a complete single drawing of the place. The smaller details--individual rooms, the curtain walls, each bastion alone--are easy enough on their own, but mistakes that aren't obvious in one can keep the whole thing from coming together. That's what happened with the 1:480 scale "hero" drawing I was working on in 2006--I couldn't get the northwest and southwest walls lined up.

The drawings I've found online and in Edwin Bearss' Historic Structure Report are low-resolution and don't blow up well enough to get good measurements from. The National Archives has everything I could possibly want--but none of the printing companies I contacted ever answered back (they don't want money? Well then!).

Then there's the #2 Plan that recently made Pic of the Day. I found it in a search on the Library of Congress website. They've got it as a 25mb JPEG 2000 image. It's good for archival, I suppose, since it gives a high degree of compression while preserving image detail. The format was supposed to replace standard JPEG, but 11 years on it's still kind of hard to find usable viewers. I went through several programs and the only thing that worked was the Express View plugin for Internet Explorer. You can open the image and save the visible section as a bitmap, but that's about it; no hi-resolution conversion.

It wasn't until I was looking at GIMP plugins that I finally found a program--IrfanView--that would let me open the JP2 file and re-save as a 75mb JPEG. Big damn file, but all the detail of Joseph Totten's original 1828 drawing is there, including his measurements along the Channel Fronts. This is the part of the fort that just wouldn't line up in my drawings.

I spent several hours just scrolling across the Big Picture, comparing the few sections of Totten's work that got built to my own and was pleased that I'd gotten so close to his numbers. All I was missing was that angle I'd never have gotten without surveying equipment...or an original drawing. Turns out it's just what I needed.

The "Heroes" tag is for Irfan and for Joseph Totten, who spent decades of his life in fortification engineering.

Pic of the Day: Summer's Coming.

2011-04-04T11:07:00.000-07:00

I almost bought a window AC box last year, before the big artery blowout. Can't remember why I decided not to, but I regretted it soon enough.

I'm living in the same house as my mother and my sister (I'm supposedly the 'caretaker'...hah!). Both of them smoke and neither of them can leave the thermostat alone, so the place smells like an ashtray and it's always too warm (80?! Seriously?!) or too cold (65?!) because Mom can't make sense of the thermostat settings.

On top of that, my room stays hot year round because of my computer and a mini-fridge (no thanks to Hank--I got the fridge to keep him out of my food & drink stash). It's early spring and already close to 90 in here. Last summer was hell once all the health troubles kicked in. The AC box is my one splurge for the next few months, one thing I can do for myself right now.

In this, at least, life is good.

Song of the Day: Anthony Weiner's Civics Lesson

2011-04-04T10:21:00.000-07:00

I've said it before. The Goposaurs people keep putting into office are dumb as a box of farking hammers. It seems like they can't help popping in front of any available camera to show just how little they know about doing their job, let alone how the government works.

At the end of March, Eric Cantor (R-Imbecile) and his Red Elephant pals showed that they didn't even have a "Schoolhouse Rock" level of understanding of the legislative process.

Said Cantor:

“What this bill says is it reiterates again the deadline, and that the Senate should act before the deadline, and that’s what the American people are expecting. The bill then says if the Senate does not act, then H.R. 1 [the House-passed bill] will be the law of the land.”

That's right. They wrote language into the bill that claims that if the Senate doesn't vote on a version of the House Bill, it will automatically become law.

There's a longer, better rant than mine at Sooner Blue 2's blog.

Yeah, I suppose that this could just be a dog-whistle gimmick for the Teabagger set, who really are this ignorant of how government works. But then I'm reminded of this raft of idiots:

Michele "Crazy Eyes" Bachmann, who gave a speech in New Hampshire commemorating the Shot Heard Round the World. When she was told that The Shot actually happened in Massachusetts, she didn't have enough sense to just correct the speech. She gave it again the next day. What do you expect from someone who claims the Founding Fathers ended slavery?

Jan "Crypt Keeper" Brewer, who lied about decapitated bodies in the Arizona desert, then refused to talk to the media about it. She tried to weasel out of it--"It was an error." No, it was a LIE.

Sharron "Second Amendment Remedies" Angle, who can't tell the difference between Hispanic and Asian.

Christine "wow, she can BREATHE and be this stupid" O'Donnel, who says she wouldn't lie to Hitler to save Anne Frank, but gets caught lying--Live!

James "Land My Plane Anywhere I Want" Inhofe, who endangered workers on a closed runway.

Scott "Screw the Courts" Walker, who first tried to lock protestors out of the Capitol Building (and ignored court orders telling him to stop), and is now ignoring orders to stop screwing around with his anti-union "law."

Rick "Medicare Fraud" Scott.

Louis "Duh..terrrr babies!" Gohmert. Fark's sake.

Rick "Frothy" Santorum (bahahahahahaaaaa!!!)

...and so many more that I just have to wonder whether they're as dumb--if not dumber--than their constituents. (What? You say I left out Caribou Barbie? Nope. Just not giving the Snowbilly any Blog time.)

With that in mind, New York Democrat Anthony Weiner has become my favorite member of Congress. To help his poor lost Republican friends to find their way through the complicated legislative process, Mr. Weiner brought a copy of "House Mouse, Senate Mouse" to work and read from it:

This guy's what a Democrat ought to be.

Pic of the Day: The Two Forts Pickens

2011-04-03T15:13:00.000-07:00

On September 5, 1828, four men gathered at Newport, Rhode Island to review plans for several forts: General Simon Bernard, Colonel Joseph Totten, Major Samuel Babcock, and Captain William Chase, all of the Board of Engineers.

One set of plans--18 sheets worth--described Totten's design for the fort to be built on the west tip of Santa Rosa Island, guarding the entrance to Pensacola Bay from the Gulf of Mexico. Bernard was more familiar with the area. He pointed out that Pensacola's defenses were to include a second fort across the channel on Foster's Bank (Perdido Key, today). Reducing the size of the Santa Rosa Island fort without significantly weakening it would save a good bit of money that could go to building the other fort.

Both Totten and Chase wanted the big, elaborate design, but they deferred to Bernard's rank and his refusal to endorse the project. He was given time to come up with his own design.

Bernard did agree, however, that the channel fronts (at bottom in each picture) were satisfactory. Chase--the Engineer who would preside over the fort's construction--was given the go-ahead to start with those two walls.

Bernard's "streamlined" layout makes the half-bastions at the ends of the channel fronts into full bastions, shortens the north and south walls (north is to the left in both pictures), adds a pair of larger bastions at northeast and southeast, and cleans up the entire design by eliminating a lot of outerworks in the ditch (or moat).

The upper picture shows a lot of construction to the east of the fort, outside the ditch. Bernard scrubbed all of that, as well, giving the fort a leaner, cleaner layout. As it turns out, he's responsible for many of my favorite bits of architecture, such as the interiors of the northwest and southwest bastions and the curved stairs in the northeast and southeast corners of the parade. From Totten's surviving part of the project, we have the graceful 30-foot arches spanning the open casemates along the northwest and southwest walls and the impressive splayed arches in the west bastion.

I kind of wish Totten had prevailed, if only so I could explore his fort.

Most Aggravating Commercial

2011-04-02T19:29:00.000-07:00

I'm a car guy. Love the classics--old Camaros, Mustangs, Chargers, Challengers, GTO's, Chevelles, Beetles, Microbuses, DeLoreans...which one's my favorite depends on whether there's one sitting in front of me.

Well, second-favorite. The X-11 is #1.

Anyway, there's an erectile disfunction pill commercial that bugs the living crap out of me. Our guy's driving his shiny, nicely-cared-for '69 Camaro through the desert. Car starts to overheat and steam, so he pulls into a rustic little gas station.

He goes in, buys what looks to be a 1.5-liter bottle of water from the cooler, takes a swig, and pours the rest into the hot radiator. No anti-freeze, and only the 1.5 liters, about a quart and a half, into a cooling system that takes a couple of gallons.

Didn't fix whatever was causing the overheating, either, apparently.

The voice-over calls our guy--and the viewer--part of the generation that knows how to "get things done." Really? He pops a hot radiator cap off (no rag?), pours cold water into a hot engine, doesn't try to figure out the problem. Didn't "get things done," really.

Hops back into the car, drives for hours and hours more before pulling into his 2-car driveway sometime in the evening or nighttime.

Yeah, I know, it's just a commercial; the "steam" was probably from a fire extinguisher; the manly guy with the car and erectile troubles doesn't have either one, he just got paid scale for showing up, and like that. After the shoot was done, the real owner took the car back to its garage.

But the clumsiness of the story kind of makes fun of those little pecker-pills: here's a guy who doesn't know what he's doing, possibly overheating and destroying the (expensive) engine in a rare (very expensive) car because he can't maintain it properly (wasn't that a mechanic in front of the gas station?). He's apparently also taking those pills. Did he put as much thought into using them as he did in maintaining the car?

I'm just glad I'm not the only Car Guy to be aggravated by this ad.

Good news on the Kidney...

2011-03-31T14:31:00.000-07:00

Actually two pieces; first I got a call yesterday setting up a surgery appointment for April 27th. This was to be the same surgeon and procedure--a 12" cut below the right ribs, some digging around and clamping and cutting and closing, then more than a month of recovery.

This afternoon, a new call from the surgeon asking whether I'd rather go with the laparoscopic method via one of his colleagues. Instead of one big cut, there are two or three smaller ones and a much quicker recovery. Unfortunately, either way I'm looking at a urinary catheter for a day.

It made me think of The Learning Channel and Discovery Channel, back when they were worth a crap. One of them carried a show called "The Operation" in which some pretty graphic surgical stuff was shown, from knee surgery to a cesarian birth to a laparoscopic gall bladder operation.

Maybe I WILL make my goal of being done with all this and back to work by mid-July.

Pic of the Day: Battery Pensacola

2011-03-30T17:38:00.000-07:00

Three vintage views of the cause of all the damage to Fort Pickens: the 12" guns of Battery Pensacola.

First up is one of the guns on its "disappearing carriage"--when the gun's ready to fire, a counterweight swings the barrel up above the wall. When it's fired, the gun's own recoil pushes it back and those big carriage arms swing it down to loading position. All the crew has to do is trip the latch when they're done reloading and the big beast will swing back into firing position.

Technology doesn't sit still, though. What was state of the art in 1898 was removed in 1934. In the second shot, Fort Pickens' northwest arches are visible behind a crew of workmen easing one of the gun tubes down a ramp. In the third shot, Battery Pensacola forms the backdrop for the removal of gun #2.

The carriages stayed in place until World War 2.

What was that about damage to the fort? In 1899 a fire started along the north wall of Pickens, which was in use as a warehouse. Crews fought it for hours in the night, but finally had to give up as the fire reached the main powder magazine in the fort's northwest bastion. 8,000 pounds of powder went up and that corner of Pickens came down.

The Engineers shrugged, moved the rubble, and used the new opening to get equipment to the battery more quickly.

In 1916, Engineers decided to blast the tops off the south and southwest walls and bastion to open up the field of fire for Battery Pensacola. They ended up collapsing most of the south wall's arches, damaged the cistern, collapsed one arch in the bastion, and cracked the southwest wall's arches along its entire length.

Faster than using a hammer and chisel, I suppose, but kind of hard on the old girl. The upshot is that some of the most interesting architecture in the fort is lost forever.

Here's 6 minutes worth of big guns like this:

Damn, but I love the Internet.

Credits: Photos are from the Florida Photographic Collection; unknown photographers, FPC numbers n045048, rc20219 and rc20215.

My Car Will Defeat You

2011-03-29T19:46:00.000-07:00

...if you're a valet at the hospital.

I decided to try the valet parking instead of hiking halfway across the parking garage's second level and crossing the flyover to the Medical Mall. Cutting a couple hundred feet off the walk makes a difference.

I pulled up and asked the guy, "Can you drive a stick?" He said he could, so I left it running, took my ticket, and limped into the building. Lobby, elevator, lobby, hallway (huh, my car's still sitting at the valet drop-off), doctor's office. Maybe half an hour later, I was back at the valet drop, handing my ticket to a different guy.

He looked at the number, got my keys, and tore them off their ticket, on which someone had written, "Customer must get own car."

"Is it a stickshift?" he asked. I nodded. "Well, it's straight through there, about 10 feet to the left of that silver car."

Crosswalk, goddamn stairs, ground floor of parking garage, 100 feet. Silver car, my car nowhere in sight. Middle lane, still no car, 40 feet. Turn around, wondering why the hell anyone hires valet people who can't drive a stick...there she is! 60 feet more. There's that 200 feet I was trying to avoid.

I didn't collapse into the seat, at least.

Kind of defeated the purpose of valet parking.

I'll gladly teach all their valets how to drive for $20 each using the Highly Classified Click & Clack NPR Stickshift Driving School Technique, of which I cannot write further.

Highly Classified.

Gimme twenty bucks.

A Big Effing Deal

2011-03-29T15:01:00.001-07:00

Went to my regular doc this afternoon for a followup.

Not a long visit, but one I'd been looking forward to for several weeks after being scheduled for an abdominal & pelvic CAT scan/angiogram. My last one, back in December, showed that the tear in my aorta had grown. Only a quarter-inch more and I'd need surgery.

Doc didn't even mention the CAT scan, so I had to chase him down (fortunately he didn't go far) to ask about the test.

The tear has healed up some. That's the big effing deal!

Pic of the Day: Pickens, decades ago

2011-03-28T17:08:00.000-07:00

I really got a surprise last night while snooping at the Florida Memory Photographic Collection. I searched on "Fort Pickens" and found only 114 pics, but several of them completely changed some things I believed about the fort.

The first pic dates to 1976, just a few years after the National Park Service took over the fort. It shows a Ranger and some visitors on the parade ground with the fort's north wall behind them. The big arch is the sally port--the main entrance. To its right is a low square doorway instead of the pair of tall rectangular openings that are there today. I was all set to write to the site's owners to tell them this isn't Fort Pickens.

Then I found this next picture, from 1957. Even though it's reversed, there's no mistaking the parade ground if you've been climbing all over the fort for a few years. There's that little doorway...and up on top, over to the left, is another thing that's not there today, a low concrete range-finder station. All that's left of that these days is a set of concrete supports for the stairs, just behind the restroom building.

I like the cars parked in the parade ground. Before the National Park Service got the fort, Pickens was a Florida State Park. No parking there, today. At some point, the NPS folks re-worked that small doorway to match the tall double-doors that were supposed to be there. The other doorways were neatened up, too.

Next, from 1955, shows the parade-side arches of the southwest wall from the top of the northwest wall. In the distance are the twin arches of the cistern. The mystery wall from a recent Pic of the Day is visible as a dark square just to the right of the smaller arch. I was thinking that the Park Service built it to keep people from climbing onto the adjacent walls, but it's clearly older than I'd thought.

The last shot, also from 1955, shows the arches of the northwest wall, all bricked up with doors and windows. A chimney pokes up from the last complete room; just north of here (out of frame, right) is the big hole in the fort left by the 1899 explosion that destroyed the northwest bastion.

Today, you can see signs that those arches were walled-up, but they're all open and neat, these days. The partitions were taken down sometime before 1982, going by one picture at the Photographic Collection site.

Credits:
#1, Karl Holland, Fla. Photo Collection #c684078
#2, Unknown, Fla. Photo Collection #rd0018
#3, Charles Barron, Fla. Photo Collection #c022321
#4, Unknown, Fla. Photo Collection #rc20205

Adventures in Walking (PLT Edition)

2011-03-27T13:18:00.000-07:00

Pensacola Little Theater held a fundraiser last night; my friend's band The Swinging Dick Tracys played in a 1920's-themed room.

I headed downtown early, thinking that with all the Pensacola history I'd been looking at in the past week, I'd walk over to Plaza Ferdinand VII (just across the street from PLT) to have a look at the bust of Andrew Jackson at the south end of the park. Plaza Ferdinand VII is where the Spanish formally handed over the keys and the land to Jackson on July 17, 1821. The bust marks where Jackson was inaugurated as Florida's first governor.

Didn't work out. As I pulled up, I saw a guy trying to break into his own car to get his keys. We tried a few things--screwdrivers taped to the end of a stick, then a pair of bent-nosed pliers taped on it. The pliers worked. Good thing he had an open sunroof. After maybe 20 minutes of that I had to sit down ("sit down" is a nice way of saying "I collapsed into the driver's seat"). This kidney/aorta/leg shit really needs to be done with. I'm tired of being unable to walk or stand, tired of collapsing into a chair and having trouble standing back up. Doctor's appointment this Tuesday.

So I sat in my car until 7:30, then hobbled across the parking area, hobbled some more across Main Street (sorry, man, I can't run, thanks for stopping to let me cross), then leaned against the PLT building waiting for my legs to catch up. They complained some more when I went up the stairs. Once inside, I wandered around until I found the right room. Couldn't go in until 8, so I stood and shifted from leg to leg, leaned against the wall, and wondered what time it was.

Once the doors opened, I found a bench, collapsed onto it, and stayed put the rest of the evening, people-watching and listening to the Dicks.

The Swinging Dick Tracys have been around since 1998 in some form or other. They've got a hell of a song list ranging from 1920's through Motown and the '80s--Swing, Oldies, Rock, Funk, Disco, Latin...about 200 songs. They kicked ass, took names, and did it with style.

There weren't many people dancing; they were content to hang out in little groups or wander from room to room. I hadn't known this was a costume party, but there were quite a few people dressed for themes with varying success, from a very sassy-looking '20s flapper with a Cheshire Cat grin to a few girls who were maybe trying for the Jungle theme in the next room but looked like they were headed to a strip club. It occurred to me that if this were a scene in a movie, everyone there would have been in period-perfect costumes, dressed to the 9's, and probably color-coordinated with the room. This crowd was more interesting than that--a combination of costumes and Sunday Best and "What was SHE thinking?" The gents followed a similar pattern, from gangster Zoots to Sunday suits to one guy in a T-Shirt and cargo pants.

By 11 I'd decided I'd had enough of sitting on the bench, but before I left I made a pit stop in the restroom. I took a stall, conducted my business, and decided to wipe the toilet rim and floor so no one would think _I_ was the one who made the mess (I wasn't). I lean down to wipe the floor...

*POP*

Oh, dammit. I fumbled around for a few moments and found it: my pants button, and me without a safety pin.

I tried zipping up all the way...oh, good, it held. Left my shirt un-tucked to cover the damage.

Hobble out the front...dammit, those stairs again. No way I was going to try the wheelchair ramp (wrong direction and 20 feet farther). Hobbled along the sidewalk...no cars this time...into the lot...I could see my car, but it seemed farther away with each step...finally at the door, huffing and puffing like a marathon sprinter, shaking hand holding the door key...I collapsed into the seat...

*POP*

Zipper. I don't care. Too tired to care. I sat there for a few minutes just happy I didn't have to walk any further. I was halfway home when I realized that the gas gauge was right on top of the "E" and I had a vision of myself trying to walk along Scenic Highway to get gas. Last time I ran out it was a short walk uphill--and I could walk. She didn't do me wrong--she got me to a station.

Funny things, zippers. This one came apart. Left side pulled right out of the glide. I hiked up my pants and leaned against the car while pumping gas. Whoever invented pay-at-the-pump probably had a bad zipper and was missing a button.

A better writer would have a wrap-up right about here.

Pic of the Day: Morgan's Green Stairs

2011-03-26T14:26:00.000-07:00

This is in the south corner of Morgan's parade ground. The old granite steps were stripped at some point.

We're at the big end of the triangle formed by Morgan's 3rd and 4th walls and Battery Duportail. I doubt many people ever come back here, since you have to walk halfway around the fort from the sally port to get to the little "back door" in the south bastion. Most of the people I see visiting these old forts do a cursory walk-around, following the printed guide, maybe snapping a few pictures, then leaving in under an hour.

I can't do that. There's so much to see! I'll typically carry a notebook, tape measure and camera, making sketches and getting detail photos, always on the lookout for stuff like this.

Pic of the Day: Morgan Stairs & Gorge, Bastion A

2011-03-24T20:04:00.000-07:00

This is what Fort Morgan's inside stairs used to look like at all 5 corners of the parade wall before Battery Duportail was built within the fort. Only two locations had access to powder magazines.

Oh, man, those knee-creaking stairs. Sensible stair-builders make them with an 8" rise and 12" run, but some sadistic bastard made these with a 12" rise!

At my best, I was hard-pressed to walk up those things without huffing and puffing for a minute or two after. Ain't gonna happen these days, unless hacking out my kidney helps to fix my legs. Plenty to look at at ground level until then.

The little squares in the wall are for ventilation; there's an amazing amount of air moving through the powder magazines (one to either side of that doorway)--and no mechanical assistance.

A really really NICE designer would have added a freaking elevator through that door. Just sayin'.

A Visit to my old workplace...

2011-03-24T17:08:00.000-07:00

I've been out of work since July 13, 2010, thanks to the aortic dissection, kidney lesion, and leg problems that have made things so interesting these past 8 months.

For the first time since that day, I went by two of the stores where I used to work. Some new faces, or familiar faces in new locations (management's been shuffling people around, again), and they were surprised to see me alive.

It turns out that the former manager of the last place I was working either tossed or "lost" my file, including contact numbers, so none of my former coworkers could find me to find out how things were going, what hospital I was in, or anything. What an ass.

Pic of the Day: Morgan's Covered Stairs

2011-03-23T21:33:00.000-07:00

Those Engineers, always building stuff, even when there's something already there.

Fort Morgan's the one on the left. Battery Duportail is that big block of concrete to the right. Before 1898, Fort Morgan had a big, open parade ground with impressive granite stairs at each of its five corners.

Military guys being the way they are, they wanted some big 12" guns parked right in the middle of the fort. Guns need a bunker, and before long there was this honking big mass of concrete poured right over a few parts of the old fort.

Most of the fort is accessible. For this spot, you have to walk halfway around the outside to the fort's "back door" in the southwest face of the south bastion. This will let you see a little Boy Scout barracks, part of the latrine of the old citadel, and at the opposite end these stairs. You'll have access to most of Wall #3 and all of #4--and a generous length of gray concrete.

At the bottom of the page on that first link, there's a little Google Map window that'll let you get a good view of things; this corner's all the way to the left in the wedge formed by the fort's and battery's south walls. The latrine foundation is a neat square near the fat end of the triangle.

Pic of the Day: Pensacola, 1885

2011-03-22T09:55:00.000-07:00

This map of downtown Pensacola was drawn by Henry Wellge.

You really need the big (7mb) version to appreciate what's still here and what's lost.

You can find the Old Christ Church at Church and Adams Streets, right next to Seville Square. No Rosie O'Grady's, yet.

Off to the north at 5th (now known as Cervantes) and Hayne streets, the Pensacola Police Department will be on the southwest side of the intersection, a Big 10 Tire shop to the northeast and the northbound on-ramp to I-110 to the northwest.

The last pier in the upper right is Muscogee Wharf (no luxury homes here for more than a century!); above that is Bayou Texar.

Near the last pier on the far left are a small boatyard and Joe Patti's Seafood.

The lumber industry was Pensacola's main claim to fame; the next pier down from Muscogee is a lumber pen and sawmill owned by G. W. Wright. Today, this is where the south end of 9th Avenue meets Bayfront Parkway.

One thing I never knew--and only noticed from looking at the old maps at Pensapedia.com--is that the waterfront got filled in quite a bit over the past 200 years. An 1812 Spanish map shows the shore just shy of Main street. Today there's a couple of blocks of fill between A and Alcaniz Streets. In the map above, we can see quite a bit of fill along and between many of the piers. In a later (1896) map by Koch, the fill's more extensive. Watson's 1906 map shows a massive fill running from the east shore of Bayou Chico to the west shore of Bayou Texar with close to 7 blocks' worth of new shoreline added below Main Street.

The 1906 map's confusing. The modern shoreline isn't nearly as extensive as what's shown, especially along the eastern end of the shoreline near the mouth of Bayou Texar. Along this end is a big filled-in section that forms the Pensacola end of the Three-Mile Bridge between Pensacola and Gulf Breeze. From here you've got 17th Avenue going north, Bayfront Parkway following the shoreline to Main Street, and Gregory Street leading to the middle of town and I-110.

I'm thinking that developers hoped to add some valuable waterfront real estate and cash in, but Pensacola's 1906 hurricane and San Francisco's earthquake quenched their plans. Why the earthquake? A 1908 report found that the strongest shaking happened in land-filled areas. I wonder if the earthquake and report made people rethink using landfill that way.

What does a teacher MAKE?! A difference.

2011-03-21T20:24:00.001-07:00

This guy would have scared me into being a good student.