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Sunday, 29 July, 2001
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The weekly Diary of a PC Geek
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Monday, July 23, 2001
First, I should admit that my ideas of camping were colored by my Boy Scout background. In most situations where we went camping for weekends, we used a farmer's pastureland, undeveloped areas, or large county/state nature areas. Typically one-shot-and-out weekends. My first camping trip was literally less than five miles from my parent's home; we had an excellent site where the vehicle could actually drive into the site.
That was perhaps one of three times in over thirty campouts where we were able to do that. Some of the worst were the sites where we had to walk nearly three miles into the area to get to our campsite. Now, as a Boy Scout, you're twelve, thirteen, fourteen, and pretty young, energetic, and strong - so carrying forty or fifty pounds of gear isn't much to sweat.
Unless you have to make a couple trips. My troop had tents that were canvas, old army tents, and they were real, honest, three-man tents - eight feet wide, twelve feet long. Today those would be eight-man tents, or twelve if the marketers got ahold of it. Eight by Twelve is just about enough space for three boys and their gear. So - One trip in with your gear. Back out. A second trip in with your tent (other boys split the load, as well as help carry one of the heavy boxes - cooking gear, camp stoves, flags, fuel, water, tarps and dining flies, the "chop box" with axes, saws, rope, and other necessities, stuff like that). Then a third trip for the food, and typically a fourth to the water trucks the national guard would provide - our troop had four five-gallon water jugs, and since water weighs about 8 1/3 pounds per gallon, you can do the math.
And before you say "couldn't you have... you know, used a wagon or something?" yes, we could have - except for the time we had to cross the shallow rock-filled channel, or the time the campout was on an island and we used a steel-cable-and-board bridge like you see in movies, or the time we had to go up and down three different hills of at least thirty degrees, or the time we were in a woods so thick you didn't dare turn sideways (back then, with my backpack on, I was thicker front-to-back than I was side-to-side - of course, I no longer have a backpack to blame that little problem on). So, frankly, no, we couldn't really wheel stuff around. Feet handle uncertain terrain much better than wheels.
The bottom line was that if you needed it, you carried it. If you were going to need a lot of it, you carried a lot of it. I still look at my old backpack with a frame on it and wonder how I survived for a week with just what was in that pack - admittedly, we didn't pack in our food, and all I really needed to bring was my clothes and other essential Boy Scout gear, but still...
One camporee we went to was a hiking camp. Our troop couldn't round up a leader, but we did have eight guys who had signed up to go. So we made arrangements with another troop. I planned the menu and the gear... Then we lost a guy. Then another. And a third, and a fourth, and a fifth, and a sixth. And I was left with two guys, one thirty pound tent, and about thirty pounds of food (since you're backpacking, it's much easier to eat canned food - freeze-dried food was still in it's "if it's good enough for the Army it's good enough for you" stage - and it wasn't good enough for the Army. So I'd planned cans. When you figure forty pounds of food for eight guys, you're doing OK. But when most of them drop out and you've already got your canned ham and your canned corn and your potatoes (uncanned, but wrapped in tinfoil), you've got problems.
Which are minor unless it starts to rain and your gear becomes rain-soaked. Yes, canvas tents can, and do, soak up at least five times their weight in water. Now, carry that for about ten miles. You got it. Ugh. That sort of camping.
Last aside before we roar into our weekend experience litany - yes, I do have my "wilderness survival" merit badge. For those of you not nodding (other than the fellow in the back and my mother, that would be, well, all of you), that one was earned on a long weekend's campout. It weeks before by taking a three pound coffee can and figuring out what you needed to put into that container to allow you to survive, short-term, until you could build your own or get rescued.
Given that we were doing the actual outdoor work for the merit badge in early October, we were allowed a concession - we got to bring our cans AND our sleeping bags. We arrived on a Friday night, at dusk. Loaded into the camp bus (take an old school bus - not the snub-nosed diesels, but the older ones - now, turn it into a convertible - leave the seats in, and take the top off down to the bottoms of the windows - except for over the driver. Give him some goofy home-made roll bar (for a bus? I dunno), and there's your "camp bus"). Ran off down the trail. Every two-tenths of a mile, the bus would stop, you'd be given a bright orange flag, and instructions. Find a site, off the trail, but not too far. Attach the flag (about six by six inches) right over you. Sleep there. We'll be back to get you in the morning for breakfast.
We did it. I awoke to frost - well, about six inches of frost - remember, this is northern Minnesota in October. These things happen occasionally. Fortunately for me, I'd used my shelter-cover (basically a plastic sheet) to wrap my sleeping bag in, I'd tied my boots so that I wouldn't get animals (or water) in them, and so I was fine. That day, we learned a lot about what we needed to do to survive - basically learning what to eat, where to find it, and what, especially, to avoid. Like Skunk. I mean the meat. Yes, it can be eaten. I do not recommend it. Were I on death's door, and my choice between life and death would require me to eat skunk, I can assure you I'd do quite a bit of thinking. Otherwise, squirrel had a slightly nutty flavor (understandable), and the rabbit tasted like, come on now, say it with me, chicken.
Anyway, the second night we were allowed to team - no fewer than three, no more than six, and my team found a nice pine grove with some low-hanging branches. A few came down to sleep on (better than cheap air mattresses, let me tell you), and more were tied to stakes we'd made to create a roof. We had a fire going (yes, matches were allowed, but you had to be very, very careful - you needed each one - since it took us only one to light the fire despite the damp conditions (the six inches of frost had melted by early afternoon, but it certainly hadn't dried), we were pretty proud of ourselves.
Anyway, that's my idea of "camping". Now that we've set the stage, forthwith, act one...
Come to this new-fangled stuff, and I'm back to a tenderfoot. And bug food...
Friday afternoon we arrived at Kamp Dels about 4:00 pm. Kamp Dels used to be a family farm. In fact, the old farm house was now the bunkhouse for the kids who worked at the park. The new owner's house was back behind much of the campground on a high hill, overlooking the water park and lake.
We wound our eventual way to our campsite, only to discover that our friends had put their trailer in what was supposed to be our site. No biggie - we took theirs, and we were probably better off for it, as their door and awning would have faced away from us otherwise.
The bright sunshine helped show where the shade would be during the hottest parts of the day, so we unpacked and got the tents going. Despite my desire to set the tents so that the breeze would flow through them, SWMBO convinced me that we would be better served to place both tents in the shade, and use the larger tent to shield the smaller one. And that meant that the smaller tent would not get the breeze. Oops. Good thing it wasn't mine. Bad thing - it was the kid's. Which, in the end, worked out OK.
So, we unloaded, huffed and puffed into air mattresses to get those going, and got the stuff set up and all ready to go - I even got a fire going before our compatriots arrived. We went up to the Barn, where we picked up two bags of ice ($1.75 each), two pizzas, and garlic bread - yes, camping, I know - but I needed some tinder. I suppose this would be as good a time as any...
TINDER - very dry material which lights easily - easier than a candle wick - used to transfer the light of a match into the initial fire.
KINDLING - smaller sticks, shaved bits of wood, and other assorted small things that catch easier than large logs.
WOOD - Big stuff. Takes a long time to burn, but burns a long time.
To start, take a couple of pieces of wood, place them on the bottom of your "firepit". Make sure they're as dry as possible. The dryer the better. Next, select about one third to one half of your stock of kindling - built a small tent or "teepee", and within it, place about one third of your stock of tinder - keep it dry.
Light your match, and then light your tinder - low in the pile, because flame automatically rises. As does heat. Once the tinder is burning nicely, watch for the kindling to catch. Protect the flame, sheltering it with larger pieces of wood if need be, and encourage it. If done right (and yes, it's an art form), you should have a nice crackling fire in five to ten minutes.
Anyway, back to tinder and kindling. I could make my own tinder out of the wood our compatriots had left, but tinder's a bit dicey. Kindling's far easier. Little note for ya - if you need a good burst of flame, get a pepperoni pizza in a paper bag, and make sure the cheese doesn't stick to it.
About 8:30ish, the truck shows up - Mr. B driving the truck, with Mrs. B, CB, AB, and Friend of CB (hereafter FCB, no, not File Control Block). Unloaded the bikes, the camp chairs, the other assorted effluvia we couldn't fit into the trunk, and got started with the first dinner experiment - "Orange Meat Balls". Took six oranges, sliced and gutted them, packed them with ground beef and onions, wrapped them in tinfoil, and froze them. Once the fire was going, I dropped the meatballs (Still frozen) into the coals. Let them sit for about an hour. One was a charcoal briquette, one was half-charcoal, but the rest were edible. The orange surface would usually scorch, but the meat was well-done.
Of course, CB and FCB immediately reminded me of the follies of youth, by running down to the barn and picking up cap guns and caps. What is it about kids and loud noises? I know I was one once, and heck, I even whacked an entire roll of caps with a hammer one time to see if the bang was bigger. Of course, I lacked the intelligence, or insanity, to light an "M-80" (largish firecracker) and drop said lit object into a home septic system tank. Mind you, this was long before I learned the explosive properties of various sewer gases, but I digress... But the smoke ring was pretty impressive - so was the boom that knocked us down.
So, after sitting up talking and enjoying the evening, I ran across to the bathroom one last time (yes, bathroom - running water and everything) and came back. Did I mention that our sites were just downhill from the "dump station"? Yeah. For those of you, like I, who were blissfully ignorant of how camper-trailers work, here's the paragraph to skip. Each trailer has three "tanks". White water, which is the clean stuff, gray water, which is the dish stuff, and black water - if you've got a bathroom in your trailer, you've got black water. The "seasonal" folk hook their trailer's "black water" output to a sewer hookup in-site - thus, the "seasonal" nature. Once hooked, you tend not to leave there with the trailer too often. So the dump station's actually just an opening in the pavement covered with grating, with a couple of hoses - you flush out your tank system, and that's it.
Now, downhill from us was the volleyball court, which is fine, and beyond that was a large open area, about the size of a major-league baseball field. Under that, they'd installed a fairly large septic drain field, which had occasional inadvertent vents in it. People also walked their dogs there, so shortly after the B's arrived, our children no longer went into the field sans shoes. Amazing what you'll happily let them do until you know better...
Anyway, bathroom, back to bed, and I lay there. It's rather amazing how noisy a campground is even during "quiet time". I remember back at scout camp having the opportunity to head off into the woods and the noisest thing I had to listen to was an angry blue jay. While it was certainly nice, I have to admit having electricity and running water in our site was most definitely a benefit which I'm willing to accept, given the noise trade-off.
I mentioned of the problem with dewpoints previously, so I won't bore you with another recitation of "swedish sauna without the fun" parts that was sleeping on Friday night. We did finally all get to bed around 11:00 pm, or a wee bit after, thanks to the folks who pulled into their spot right across from ours with the unmuffled pickup at 10:50 pm. Watching a couple of people who may have been slightly under the influence set up a site, in the dark, which consisted of both a pop-up trailer AND large dome tent was somewhat intriguing. Since I was using a borrowed tent I'd never set up before, I was completely unwilling to try it. Anyway, bed at 11 pm, which was fine, as it was the "quiet hours" - the sheriff (or a deputy) rides around the grounds in a golf cart to check on things, and the grounds are patrolled regularly, so we were safe.
Saturday morning dawned way, way too early. I'd forgotten what sleeping on air mattresses was like, so when I stood, it took some time for the kinks to work themselves out. I did manage to get out of the tent and get started with the whole fire bit. Speaking of...
Bringing a fire back up from coals...
If your firepit is still hot, you might be able to bring the fire back up without another match. This is the "ideal" situation. Take some of your tinder (typically a very small amount will do), and a large amount of kindling. Keep it near, along with larger hunks of wood - Then add the kindling along with some tinder, and huff and puff until the flames catch. Then carefully add larger and larger kindling to get things going right well.
Breakfast Saturday morning was scrambled eggs, grilled ham, and bacon. Except for one small problem. We grabbed the wrong bacon, and ended up with the fatty bits. Oh well. We'd gotten a deal on it, so no biggie.
Now, I did do one thing I thought was pretty smart - one of the most expensive pieces of camping equipment I purchased was the camp grill - not a gas-powered tool or anything like that - just a simple wire contraption which sets on top of a wood (or other) fire. Worked quite well... Then I had an inspiration.
I wanted to bring cookie sheets to do griddle duty for camping, but SWMBO pointed out tinfoil cookie sheets available at the grocery store. $2.19 for a two-pack, we had two thirteen by nineteen inch flat surfaces on which to cook. Worked out very, very well.
Except for the bacon. I'd fried up the ham, and that worked out well (get a ham sliced about 1/4" thick; place a slice on a plate, use a fork to poke holes in it, and place about 1/2 tsp of honey on the ham. Take another slice, fork it on both sides - lay it on top of the previous slice, and then put 1/2 tsp of maple syrup (real maple syrup works best) on it. Continue to alternate until you've got enough. Then freeze. Could also put some brown sugar in between as well, if you wanted). Once the ham was off the cookie sheet, I removed the sheet from the flame with tongs, and let it cool - I also poked some holes at the "low" end to let the bacon grease out. I put the bacon on the sheet, and placed the cookie sheed with eight strips of bacon on it on the grill next to the pan with the still-liquid eggs. Then the fun started. I turned, walked the forty or so feet to the picnic table where they were all eating, and set the ham down. "Anyone want toast?" I asked, and turned back when the assorted minions gasped and pointed.
Where there had been only coals (one advantage of using charcoal is that it dies from flames to coals relatively quickly, which is a completely disjointed aside, I know), I now had three and four foot flames. On my bacon pan - a real DOH! moment. I went back and checked the eggs (looking only slightly less liquid), and then set about rescuing, or at least reducing the damage, on the bacon. Removed it from the fire (not the flames, which were still spouting), and set it on the grass. Remembering I'd just set a flaming pan on dry grass, I took my water bottle and poured a bit on the bacon fire.
Remember when they tell you to smother a grease fire, not to use water? Yeah, they weren't kidding. I've still got eyebrows, and arm hair, and even most of my knuckle hair. But I did learn that the effective reaction time for this particular human being is only slightly less than that of a grease fire when doused with water. In other words, look out, watch the fat man MOVE!
When I got the bacon fire completely out, I counted up the casualties - one piece looked slightly-less-than-raw on the top (couldn't pry it up from the tray to see what the bottom looked like - I think it welded itself to the foil pan). Two pieces looked "done" on top - same problem with the bottom. The fourth recognizable piece looked to be almost an inch long (it was over a foot to start with - farmer's market bacon). The other four? Not even skid marks on the pan. Which is why I brought four of the sheets - I knew I had at least three meals requiring large surface cooking, and with one cheap aluminum fry pan, I wanted the additional space, and the disposability. And the opportunity to recover from my mistakes. One of the things you learn in boy scouts - be prepared. So after the tray cooled, into the trash. Lesson learned.
We cleaned our site, put things away, and then decided to do the manly thing - Mr. and Mrs. B were having problems sleeping in their hot trailer, and my difficulties were the stuff of legend, so we (Mr. B, myself, and Jack) ran quickly into town. We stopped in a hardware store that, to be blunt, scared the hell out of me. We were dwarfed by stacks of goods that I fully expected to fall on us at any moment. One of those old-tyme places where the owner had someone, ask, just once, for something they didn't have - so he went out and bought it - and a few other things. And hasn't stopped. Today, he's probably got an inventory of over half a million items. Some have been on the shelf since 1953, and are likely illegal. We found a couple of beds in the basement - yeah, that's where we had to go to get the fans. After working our way back up and out alive (Jack wasn't phased by it at all, but I was just a bit worried - though I'm sure the fellow's never had an inventory in 30 years or so), we returned to camp, where the ladies had the rest of the kids ready for the pool. And, in fact, they were on their way to it.
So off we went to the pool. By the time we'd made the 100 yard walk, the skies had gone from partly-cloudy to decidedly cloudy. But we got to the pool, got a spot, and the kids splashed on in. The ladies, on the other hand, continued on their way up to the barn to check out the wrist-band situation. You see, the regular pool and wading areas were included in our site price - but the interactive water park, with it's jungle-gym with water toys was extra. Best value was the $12.95 wristband for the entire weekend's use of the park - since we had a coupon for 25% off, we could get the kids in for $9.38 each - just slightly over the $7.50 day pass. Which meant we could get the kids in for both days for a lot less than $15.
So we got into the pool, and started hearing the rumbles. Thunder in the distance. Lovely. The dryest July on record. Eighteen Straight Days without rain. First camping trip I go on in about fifteen years. Rain. Lovely. Maybe it'll miss? Nah. Remember we're talking ME here.
After four or five streaks of lightening across the sky, they close the water park - a good idea, I thought. And of course, the pool closing happened to coincide, conveniently, with the return of the ladies from the Barn with the tokens for the kid's waterpark wrist bands. Excuse me? Apparently they've had people buying the wristbands, and then saving them - gee, hadn't occurred to me. Seems they now have to be applied directly to the child and cannot be proxied to them. Lovely. So not only do they get tossed out of the pool, but they've also got to go to the Barn, then all the way back to camp. With a storm pending.
So, we take wet cranky kids the additional 200 yards back to the Barn to get the wristbands, and check out Channel 17, running on a TV in the barn. It showed regular bright and dark blue showers, nothing more, headed for us. The heavy stuff had split - some to the south, some more to the north. Fine by me. We headed back to camp.
After we got back, Mrs. B decided we needed ice - as did my bride - and the B's decided to return to the barn to pick it up - in their air-conditioned truck, of course. So SWMBO and I went to work cleaning up our site, storing that which could be stored, and generally putting things away or out of harm's way. Except, of course, for the camera (still drying, and I'm still hoping).
Not two minutes after the truck left, we had one gust of wind which I figure was about 40 mph - mind you, living on top of a hill like I do has made me pretty good at guessing the breezes. That puff scared the kids into moving a wee bit faster in getting towels off the lines, and things like that, and we all got under cover - well, they did, I just grabbed the tent (yes, it was staked down). The kids were under the awning, a bit panicked. After the second gust of about 30 mph, the rain started - then I knew it was going to be OK - we ducked under the awning and watched the truck come back with the ice.
While I was disappointed that it had rained (here at 10 am, or thereabouts), it did help quite a bit. It kept the high temp out of the nineties again, and more importantly, it broke some of the humidity. Which was most welcome.
After about 10 minutes, the rain slackened up - which was good, because there was lunch to be had. Along with more stupid human tricks on my part. Ann, deciding I'd put too much "snack" into the food list, grabbed hot dogs and brats (hmmm... we brought a total of 16 hot dogs and 5 brats - and, strangely enough, only 8 hot dog buns. We also had hamburger buns - but no hamburgers. I dunno, either - I planned the food menu, and had printed out multiple copies of the "what to pack where" list, but I dunno how the damn burger buns showed up), and I started cooking.
A small note for those who don't cook over an open fire very often, or with oak... Or haven't done it in a very, very long time - it gets hot. Oak is a dense hardwood. Dense is good for many, many things. When burning, it makes a hot, bright fire. Let me emphasize the hot portion of the previous statement. I sat in a chair with one eye looking westward for signs of another blow or clearing skies, and one eye on the hot dogs I was cooking. Meanwhile, the fur on my right leg was withering into carbon - and my flesh was starting to brown up nicely. Which is good if you're a cannibal (none in our party, fortunately), but not good, if you were intending to eat the hot dogs or brats, instead.
After a little "aloe-lido" spray on the leg (wonderful invention - aloe vera gel with lidocane, an anesthetic which works on contact to numb things - wonderful stuff, them drugs), things improved to "tolerable" - or "very rare" in the cannibal department. We finished lunch, cleaned up (nice thing about using a grill and a hot dog stick - not too many dishes), and went back to the water park. I guess a description of the water park would help.
Imagine, if you will, the average park/playground jungle gym. This one had one spiral and two tubed slides - stairs and tunnels and all the rest - and all of it leaked water. I guess most of it was planned. Some areas just ran in sheets of water. Other areas had streams pouring down out of rather unusual places in the playground. And, some of it was controllable by the kids - for example, there was a tire swing right underneath a spray nozzle - the nozzle wouldn't work unless someone was on the swing. How nice.
In another place, there was a series of about seven jets angled about 45 degrees off level. They'd normally shoot water twenty or so feet to the edge of the pool. Unless you timed it right, then it'd go about 35 feet, clear to the fence. You activated it by flipping a lever.
And that was minor compared with the "water cannon" the older guys (as in late forties and early fifties - one was most definitely in the running for infomercial model - you know the infomercial where the woman removed hair with basically glue? Yup, you got it - last time I saw a back that hairy, it knuckle-walked and was in a cage) were playing with. They realized that, with suitable application of hands and or fingers, they could control this half-inch hole in a pipe - where the water would shoot about fifty feet. Nothing's more depressing, in my view, than watching four or five middle-aged men attempt to soak teenaged girls in swimsuits. Remind me of this the next time I'm tempted to run around with my super soaker...
Back to camp for dinner, which was very good, except for the potatoes, which took forever to cook. I also learned a new dish - "Hobo dinners". Make up a hamburger, slice some onions and potatoes, add a little margarine and water, and freeze it all in a metal pie dish (preferably one from Baker's Square, as they work really well) covered with foil. When it comes time to eat, put the tray over the fire. The burger will cook, as will the potatoes and all the rest. Sort of like a stew without the juices.
My chicken, however, worked very well. Until I remembered Bob Walder's e-mail of last week where he swore I was food poisoning on a stick. Then a quick trot (sorry) over to the bathroom and back and I was right as rain (sorry again). Ann also found another wonderful recipe - take a large onion, remove the top and bottom, and the core - fill the core with beef bullion (the dry or paste form seems to work better than the cubes) and water - double-coat with foil, and place near the coals for about an hour. It was pretty good.
After dinner, we decided to take the chimps back to the pool to wear them out some more, which we did. And us as well.
We played there for a couple hours, and then returned to the camp site for clean-up. Which is where things got a little ugly. The bathroom near us was also a shower - however, the creep who built the shower was definitely concerned with the maximization of space, and not the accessability therein. So I shoe-horned my behind into the shower for Jack, only to discover we'd forgotten his towel and my soap - so he rinsed off, and that was about it.
I got back to the camp to a lecture a-brewing from my lovely bride, and I decided rather than take it on the chin and come out swinging, or worse, make the evening a drag, I went to bed. Flopped onto my air mattress, in front of my fan, and I was out like a light. Amazingly. And when such a thing happens, she usually stays up late partying. Late as in 1 am late. Sheesh.
Of course, it's never that easy in real life. At some point during the night, Jack awoke, woke Ann, and ended up between us in our tent. Which was fine by me. By the time I decided I'd slept enough it was about 5:30 Sunday morning.
Unfortunately, at some point during the night, I'd slipped off and then, according to Ann, tossed my air mattress. Which sounds much worse than it could have been. It also meant I was laying on the ground. Dry, hard ground that took a lot of hammering to get stakes into. Ouch. While it was nothing when I was younger to hop up and get going, it took me about 30 minutes to go from flat on my back to upright and dressed enough to stumble out of there. Of course, this also meant re-learning how to walk. Specifically, balancing and in the use of feet consecutively, rather than concurrently.
Once motive guidelines were re-established, I decided to again make the long walk and see what was going on at the bathroom. There's another thing I miss about Scout camps. Six steps from the front of your tent was fine, as long as it wasn't prohibited by the use guidelines we got when we arrived. So I made the long walk across the field, and back. By the time I was coming back, I had serious questions about the weather. Which was a good thing, as Mr. & Mrs B were both up, watching the weather, and listening to their weather radio. Seems there was a severe thunderstorm warning out for our area for the next hour and a half. Lovely.
I grabbed my headset, went hunting, and at one point heard the emergency warning noise on the radio, somewhere. I couldn't get the station clear enough to tell what was going on, though. Lovely. So I moved the loose stuff back into the vehicle or tent, and we waited.
After the previous day's "blow" I decided I'd grab the extra shock cords and tent stakes and tie the west side of the tent down to make it just a little easier to tolerate strong winds and the like. And that was a good thing. We had a number of strong gusts - one nearly flattened the tent. Which is why I like dome tents. Back when I was in Scouts, a two-pole pup tent would have gone flat in that blast of wind, and there's nothing to be done but get out, set it back up, and hope the stuff dries before you pack. Our tent (well, our "borrowed" tent) shrank in volume by about 40% at one point, and then popped back up. That was it. All done. No problems.
So, after that little debacle, you know what we got, of course - more rain. In fact, we got about an hour and a half of just plain old soaking rain. We cooked under the awning of the trailer (french toast, sausage, and bacon on a propane stove - very smart), and were just about done when the rain stopped. We sent the ladies off with the kids, and Mr. B and I began packing our sites. Well, I began packing our site - he took a nap. Of course, all he really needed to do was stow the washline, sweep and roll up the carpet, stow that, the large cooler, and put the bikes in the truck bed, and he was done.
I did use the fan to dry out our tent - the little one (the $10 tent we picked up about a week before) did quite well, but will need another go with the waterproofing (and a new front-end strut to hold the door hood up and out of the way), but otherwise it did very well. Well worth the $10 we paid for it, and then some.
For me, the toughest part of packing up was getting the air out of the air mattresses - that took about a half-hour before I had the sudden inspiration - I'd stack them up, lay down on them, and they'd be flat in no time! And they very nearly were, too. So much for my nap - er, productive time. Oh well. Genius takes all forms, does it not? (he asked, hopefully).
Everything fit back into the trunk of the car, except for a few pieces in the trailer, and at 3:05, five minutes late according to my schedule, we headed up to the barn. After a 20 minute shopping session, we pulled out, and Jack was asleep before we made it the half-mile onto Highway 13. 45 Minutes later we'd passed the trailer (they left 10 minutes before us but stopped for sweet corn) and had two very tired children home, and I was in a shower. Aaaahaaaahhhhhhh.... Three loads of laundry later, we gave up, and went to bed.
Now, I'm on the horns of a dilemma - SWMBO is tent-hunting, making lists, and making plans. First investment - better air mattresses. Camp cots. Better sleeping bags for the kids. Dining fly. Camp stove. Bigger tents... This could take a while.
Oh well. It's a fun hobby.
Well, I see the world didn't stop while we were "experiencing nature". Mr. Thompson has, once again, shown that his breadth and depth of knowledge knows few bounds - he caught my mis-quote of Dr. Armstrong last week, and pointed out that the line, as written, should have been what I wrote ("One small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind."). However, Dr. Armstrong, in the finest test-pilot tradition, tweaked it. Oops.
Tuesday, July 24, 2001
And here we are again at Tuesday. Why "Too's Day?" 'cuz it's too damn far to the weekend, that's why.
Ah well. Today's going to be all over the place, because mentally, so am I. You have been warned.
Yesterday, arriving at my office, I got a serious scare. Walked in the door (we have two), looked, and did a severe and strenuous double-take. The cube with our senior programmer in it was empty. Uh-oh... Looked around, nothing else was missing, but that was definitely not good news.
So I kept busy, did my things, caught up, and when someone finally arrived, I asked.
Seems we had four offices on the "far end" of the office that were empty but for one - a marketing fellow who comes into the office weekly to check his mail (if he's in town), otherwise he works either out of his home office or on the road. So he's moving to the other end of the office where we are, and there's a single office to be had. Our programmers are moving to the other end.
So, I spent THIS morning moving our "situational" servers to the other end of the office. We've got a development server with the latest version of the application we develop on it - not installed, but put together piecemeal so we know what's there. We've got another server which I built out of some spare parts, some new parts, and some help from Mr. Thompson - it's one computer, five different 20-gig hard drives with different OSes. Windows NT, Windows 2000, Windows 2000 French, Windows 2000 Japanese, and Windows 2000 with SQL 2000. What fun, eh? It saved us roughly $15,000 as we'd need some hefty hardware to test these guys otherwise. It's also useful for benchmarking (if I dare use that word) as it's the same hardware - IDENTICAL - just different software.
We also have a file server - basically a PC with 80 Gigs of space in it for "just stuff". Moved those, along with the printer. Tomorrow, I start looking into moving me. Ugh. Twelve systems. The cube I'm going into is the same size as the one I have now - just with windows... Oh well.
Speaking of "oh well", how about this story? Sheesh. Jon Sturm and I were discussing exportation of idiocy the other day. Seems we're doing it already.
And then we've got this from the happy goofball mailbag...
On Mon, 23 July 2001, Jodi (of the singing... well, you know) wrote:
"Some of the opportunistic little bastards figured out that there were a lot more people ankles than horse ankles"
Humans = 2 ankles, horses = 4 ankles
i.e horse have more ankles. heh
Ah, but you look at only the micro-issue :
1 horse = 4 ankles
1 person = 2 ankles
MACRO:
12 horses = 48 ankles
500 people = 1000 ankles.
Assuming that there were only about 500 people available to the damned bugs at the campground at any one time (I guestimate it's probably closer to 1000 people - total of 300 sites - assume 200 occupied. Assume average of 5 people per site, that gives us 1000 people - 2000 ankles - figure something like half are wearing effective bug spray at any one time, 500 people, 1000 ankles). If you throw in all of the animals, excluding fowl (who, frankly, are skin and bone around the ankles anyway), and you might come up with perhaps 400 cow/dog/cat/rabbit/horse/deer/goat/sheep ankles.
Still better feeding on people ankles.
Besides, we eat better. Better flavor of blood. Ask any vampire. ;-)
That's liable to get me into more trouble... Such is the life of a frustrated mathematician who didn't deal well with the damned letters in the middle of the numbers. So it goes...
And at the risk of upsetting our "friends" in the legislature, those ... well, people. At least we have proof he cannot be taught. Our friend Sen. Richard "Dick" Day, from Owatonna, must be working really hard on getting all of us out of the metro area. The Senator, fresh from his "victory" last fall in doubling my commute (Thanks for that, Dick) is now attempting to run a similar test on the "sane lanes" we have here. For those of you fortunate enough to go "eh, wot? Sane lanes?" that's an additional lane, or a completely segregated road structure, that is supposed to be limited solely to vehicles with more than one rider in the vehicle. It's supposed to promote car pooling.
As far as I know, our first metro sane lane was a massive ... well, construction project on the west side of the metro, running from the expensive, ritzy suburbs like Minnetonka, into the downtown areas. The centerpiece of this construction was a center lane that at times was isolated in it's own construction, and at times ran parallel to either east-bound or west-bound traffic (depending on time of day), to allow people to merge in and out of traffic.
This construction project was quite a long, drawn-out mess. When they built the next ones, here in the Bloomington/Burnsville area, they removed the median and added a center lane going both directions - during rush hours (6 am to 9 am, and 3 pm to 6 pm, weekdays), you're supposed to stay out of the lane unless you've got additional company in the vehicle.
From my perspective, they've improved traffic a hundred-fold since their opening. Burnsville used to be separated from the rest of the metro by the Minnesota River, and a bottle-necked four-lane "freeway" named "35W". A branch of the same I-35 that runs from Duluth to Dallas, and points further south from there, 35W here is the western route through downtown Minneapolis. It splits right outside my window here, and runs north to Forest Lake - way north of here. Twice a day that narrow four-lane route turned into a parking lot. At one point when I was living in Burnsville and working further west in Eden Prairie, I was able to avoid 35W and take 18 instead. And there was a fire in the Minnesota River bottoms flood plain - during rush hour. Traffic, already close to gridlock, grew worse when the smoke obscured the road. There were abandoned vehicles along 35W which took days to get out of the way.
The added third lane has made a huge difference in traffic, and now Dick,
(I swear that's his name - appropriately enough), being the sheer
towering intellect that he is, missed a step (or twenty three, we're
not sure) in his latest scheme plan... Specifically, federal money was used
to construct the sane lanes. The feds would have to approve the test,
which is one thing.
That's only one small issue. The other is just whatinthehell is Dick trying to pull this time? It's not like they can say "Okay, if you're pregnant, you can use the sane lane, too" - They could, but that wouldn't work really well. He can't change the rules - he might reduce the hours you're required to have a passenger, but that wouldn't do much for traffic, other than slow it down.
And, just in case it helps (though I know it won't), Our Senator Dick has obviously never traveled from his purported home in Owatonna to Minneapolis through Burnsville regularly between the hours of 7 and 9 am prior to the "sane" lane opening about five years ago... I did. I've lived in Burnsville for 11 years now, and worked in Bloomington or Edina the whole time. And, curiously enough, I remember what it was like to get north or south of the river during the rush hours. Can you say "stop and go"? I knew you could.
Oh well. Enough ranting. Time for bed. G'nite.
Wednesday, July 25, 2001
Yesterday everybody else in my office moved, so today was my moving day. If the camera obliges tomorrow (mostly by turning up - I know it came home from the camping trip, it's around here somewhere), we'll have pictures of my new home away from home. Kinda frightening. Six of eight people in my office moved. When five of the six had moved, we had shifted a total of six computers. Ten if you count the servers.
Then I moved. Since I can't tell you what I do, thanks to the NDA, I can at least tell you that the number of computers moved in my office more than doubled. Twelve for me alone. Yup. I'm a busy little beaver...
Speaking of, I'd best get right to the "Clarification" portion of today's exercise, or I shall be found in bits with assorted ketchup stains. Seems a certain someone has complained that I'm picking on Owatonna. I'm not. Far from it. What I pick on is the fellow they've seen fit to ship to St. Paul to represent them. I'm sure there are plenty of good people in Owatonna. We're just hopeful they'll get off their duffs next election and dump that slack-witted motormouth out of the Senate. We can hope.
<TECH WARNING>And, speaking of appeasing sysadmins, you should take a look at this (be warned, it's a 4.1 meg animated GIF). It shows the spread of the Code Red.V2 IIS worm throughout the world, graphically. Over a period of only fourteen hours. It's brought to you by the folks at CAIDA, who've done a decent job of high-leveling the information about Code Red. They make two rather telling points, of which you should be aware. The first is that they're covering only the V2 variant - what's the diff? V1 used the same random number seed to generate IP addresses. Oh, all right - a PC doesn't actually generate a "random" number, but rather pulls a number out of a list of numbers when it needs a "random" one. When it's critical, programs like Excel use a "seed" which is typically based on the hundredths of a second in the system time, or some other clock or internal timer.
The "problem" with Code Red V1 was that it used the same series of "random" numbers to generate which meant that it was checking the infected sites first, and it's spread would slow as it grew bigger (more infected addresses to check each time a new server was infested). V2 used a true random seed (again, probably something to do with the time), and the speed and spread is simply terrifying.
Second is that the vulnerability was discovered and reported in mid-June. Patches were available. The exploit, which started on July 18, affected systems with patches THAT WERE AVAILABLE. People just didn't bother to install them.
Code Red is the first serious worm since RTP's infamous Internet Worm in 1988 to infect so many computers so quickly. With Morris's worm, the problem was that there were many "open" (aka "insecure") systems which were infected - once a machine had been cleaned and placed back on the net, the worm would reinfect from some other computer. Back then, most of the machines were running UNIX. Scary thought that we're back in that place, exceptthis time it's Bill Gates' OS that's allowing this to go on.
One last observation, then I'll move on, I promise - over sixteen THOUSAND of the machines infected were on the Home.com and RR.Com domains. That's Cable-modem folks running IIS servers without a freaking clue. Now, as my friend Matt would tell you, only an id10t would run a server without knowing what they're doing. Setting up your own web site off your computer might not seem like a bad idea if you've got full-time internet connectivity and all the rest. Look at that Gif again - your "harmless little web site" happily and merrily infected thousands of others. As the CAIDA report makes clear, the internet isn't an isolated network - 390 of the servers infected were on non-routable internal addresses - which meant that they could, indeed, be infected through whatever security measures the IT staff (if any) put in place. The internet's sort of like a body. When something affects it, like the Baltimore Train fire of last week destroying fibre cable, or the Code Red worm infesting servers, it's affecting all of us. If you're going to run up your own web server, for crying out loud, invest the time and money and effort in making sure it's not a loaded gun pointing at your own foot, or worse yet, the rest of our heads, eh?</TECH WARNING>
Well, after that rant, I should look for fun. Speaking of which, I guess I should be sending a note to Bob Walder that future cleaning bills will be his responsibility. He did, after all, start this way back last year already with this particular little digression. But today, he manages to do it again...
Having only recently returned from a camping trip, and having watched an interview of Mel Brooks by Mike Wallace where the infamous Blazing Saddles Campfire Scene was brought up, I don't need anyone to draw me a picture of what "snaffling" means. However, I have a new word to use the next time my son vents bubbles in the pool. "Jack! Stop Snaffling!" Beats "foofing" and is much less likely to cause a panic than "fart".
Though Bob, if it comes right down to it, and you're using a labrador to provide the jacuzzi bubbles, at least you've got a friend doing the work (and killing two birds with one stone, as it were, by bathing the dog too).
And back by popular demand (as in mine, since I can't kill the idiots who send me this crap) ... Yet another edition of "Fun With Spam!"
SUBJ: Time Is Valuable.
No kidding. Obviously, yours isn't, or you wouldn't be wasting mine.
Earn $1500 Or More Per Week!
Right. Selling organs. Preferably yours.
This offer is limited to the first 49 people who contact me today!
Uh-huh. And the other eleven million who call will catch you drooling
into the keyboard, as usual. Right.
Lets face it,
Yes, let us. And while you're facing it, learn about the contraction
with apostrophe - Let's. Then remove your face from your ... backside.
every business opportunity is not for everyone.
Gee. Really? This IS valuable information.
You need something that fits your needs, budget, and schedule.
And since I need to schedule some time to reduce your budget to the
point where you can't afford internet access any more, this should
help.
That is why we have put together several "Real" Income Opportunities
just for you.
Oh, really! Just for ME! Wow. You know me so well. I'm flattered.
So, what have you got that will make me a billion on a nickle
investment. I mean now, after the dot-com-bomb...
We have searched and searched
I just bet you have. A little tip for you - you're sitting on your
ass. Does that help? Good. You can call off the dogs and search
parties.
and finally found and compiled the best opportunities available.
Found AND compiled! Finally. Wow. Will wonders never cease. Other
companies offer opportunities they've found, but you also compile them
- gee. That's special.
I promise, you will not regret it.
And I promise you, you most certainly will.
You will finally find something you truly can make Money with.
Actually, I already had, but the color printer broke, and anyway, the feds
frown on that sort of thing.
You really can make an Extra $200 to $1,500 a Week
Really? An "Extra", huh? On top of what, the regular amount?
if you have a few hours a week to work your business!
Honey, if I were working my business for a few hours a week, I'd need
the sleep. These days I'm lucky to get ten minutes a week...
You do not have to pay one dime to find out about these true money
making opportunities.
In cold, hard cash. In time, you've already cost a couple of million
brain cells.
Just Call 1(800)234-8190 and we will show you the best, real
moneymakers available.
Really. The best, huh? Real Moneymakers, huh? So how will you "show"
me over the phone? And does this have anything to do with my wife telling my son to "shake his moneymaker"?
It is 100% FREE,
Right. You said that.
so visit us today,
Where are you? I could use a vacation with a brain-dead dustpuppy.
You seem the ideal candidate.
do not miss out on a life changing opportunity.
Oh, I most definitely will not. Miss out, I mean. And once I improve
my aim, I won't miss, either. Not when you're concerned.
This is Absolutely No Risk,
That's what you thought.
so Call 1(800)234-8190 Right Now,
I did. It's busy. Are you using your parent's phone to call phone sex
lines again? Remember, you pay ALL the long distance with an 800
number...
and Find The Opportunity of A Lifetime!
Right. I prefer George Carlin's - "...a nymphomaniac coke connection
with a ferrari dealership." Chance "coke" to "Coca-cola" and I'm right
there. Unless SWMBO finds out, of course.
Call 1(800)234-8190 Immediatly
I would. What's "Immediatly"? The name of the disease you have?
24 Hrs / 7 Days
We're open 24 hours this week, 7 days this year.
- Testimonials -
OHO! Well, I was dead set against it, but now that you've got people
I've never heard of saying wonderful things about this, well, of COURSE
I'll change my mind. And while I'm doing that, would you read this
aloud for me?
Eye Yam Sew Dam Stew Pit.
"My very first day
Oho. Born yesterday, were they?
with less than an hour of my spare time
Gee, I've sold my spare time on eBay. Got a lot of money for it, too.
I made over $123.00.
Wow. Really? I didn't think prostitution paid that well...
My second day
Wow. A really quick study. Or a painfully slow one.
I duplicated that in less than 30 minutes."
Gee. Sounds like you need a faster copier. . . Oops...
Jason Vielhem
"Mr. Skeptical"
Ah. Mr. Dominik, "Smart Ass". Nice to meetcha.
"I literally make thousands
Uh-huh. Please to define "make" for me? And by "thousands" should I assume people, or dollars? Ahem.
each month from the comfort of my home,
Wow. Cardboard boxes have come so far...
heck my couch!
The heck you say.
Thank you for changing my life forever!"
I swear to God, get a DNA test, it's NOT MINE!
Jenna Wilson
The REAL Jenna Wilson? What's that? I thought not. 
Put your email address in body and send email to here
Pull your head out of cavity in backside and get real job. Or I'll
send you to there. In pieces. Or in sponges. Your choice.
Oh well. Look at it this way - it keeps me off the streets. And, just to top it all off, SWMBO informs me that she's discussed camping with other friends of ours, who are excited and planning on a trip with us - Great. That Bush Tax Rebate, along with my Sales Tax rebate, will end up going for camping gear I haven't got storage space for... Oh well. My priorities - Air Mattresses, Dining Fly, Cook Stove, and Upgraded Cooking Kit.
And, believe it or not, ABC's proving they're still sheer geniuses. I wonder if this Bob Patterson will be upset by the show Bob Patterson. Ahem.
Thursday, July 26, 2001
Hmmm.. Seems I was a bit harsh on poor old Bob yesterday when I misrepresented "snaffling". I guess I should start saving for the next edition OED when it comes out - Several people wrote, explaining that "snaffling" apparently means to snatch, pinch, or "take the unauthorized loan of" something. Though how a big ol'dog like Benson would sneak up and borrow a bowl of baked beans is beyond me... Though, apparently, not Benson. Not, says Bob, that old Benny needs help in the methane department. Some day Benson and I will have to swap war stories. I could tell you more than a few there... But not over breakfast.
Although I'm curious to know how Benson managed to get a job working for our local phone company Qwest. Now, I've known people who've worked for US West/Qwest, and they're nice people. Good, hard-working, mostly intelligent people. But sometimes, you get the occasional ... well, let's just say "stuff that floats" and it floats into management, or procedures, or something along those lines.
This last month, the fine folks at Qwest, in an apparent bid to improve their fortunes (though not really, see below), sent out cell phone bills to about 14,000 customers with "small" errors on them. How small? Well, it seems that if you used your phone while roaming, you got a bill for at least $27,000 more than you really owed. Scary? You bet. One fellow got a phone bill for $123,900 and change... Just a bit high, don't you think?
Qwest explained it as "it's an error that occurred when our computer system and our accounting system were out of sync." Oh. I see. The chimps in accounting went on strike again for more bananas, and apparently stopped slipping abacus beads in the right directions or something.
Then, this morning, comes word that for the last two months (maybe more), many customers were also billed an additional $8 a month for internet access on their cell phones. Well, isn't THAT special - we check our bills pretty carefully, so we'd notice an unusual $8 charge. Some I am sure would not. Isn't that just lovely?
And to really irritate the security-conscious among us, there's news that Microsoft has posted a security notice - the sender's PGP key does not match the address it came from - the authentication certificate expired on FEBRUARY 1 of this year (yes, nearly six months ago), and to top it off, they direct people to download their public key at a non-existent page. Combine ALL of this with the fact that recently someone sent out a fake security bulletin from Microsoft, and you've got a whole world of hurt for the Redmondians. Sadly, again, 90% of it's self-inflicted. Sheesh. Is it too much to ask for "professionalism" in something as big as Microsoft? Attention to detail? Sure would be nice...
Yippie Skippie it's...Friday!, July 27, 2001
And an especially grueling week draws, finally, to a close.
Why is it that Fridays move so slowly? I swear - you could pack a dozen weekends into the time you spend at work on a Friday between lunch and quitting time... Or maybe it's just that I'm passing time in five minute blocks. Over and over and over and over again...
Today was a really twisted day. After finally getting things organized and getting some momentum in a testing project at work, I was really looking forward to getting into the office this morning. Yeah, I know, but hey, it beats unemployment. So I was looking forward to it... So much so that I managed to turn off the alarm at 5:15 and go right back to sleep without turning on the television. Ann and I both apparently slept through hers, as when I awoke at 6:30 am, her alarm clock was on her stomach. Hmmmm...
So I hopped up, got Rhiannon going, got myself cleaned and dressed, and Ann followed along. When I got Jack up he seemed quite happy and bouncy; a perfectly normal morning. When I left (with them) this morning, all was well. When I got near the office, I got a call. Ann said that Jack had been more and more listless as she got to daycare, and by the time he was at daycare, he was pretty much a sack of potatoes.
She expected to get a call to take him home; since she drove (to take advantage of her previous week's overtime and leave early), she'd take care of it. And sure enough - she got downtown, got a parking spot, and while walking to her office got the call. Lovely. So she checked in there, and then turned around and came home.
Of course, by lunch time, he was fit enough to want to take me out to lunch... Ah, youth. The ability to bounce back from adversity, primarily because you believe you, and most of your internal organs, are primarily rubber in origin. Kids.
I'd like to keep my mouth shut on the whole Thompson/Ward-Johnson political discussion, but in the fine tradition of "...where angels fear to tread" I've got to open my mouth. Or keyboard. Whatever. You've been warned. Should you prefer to insulate yourself, click here to avoid it...
Now, I consider myself an individual with a wide range of interests. In college, I once seriously contemplated a degree in Philosophy. Yeah, all that dry stuff. When I discovered, however, that simple questions could not be answered without hours of debate, my pro-forma balance sheet with the equation "Time=Money" ripped right down the middle and that little voice inside me said "and Philosophy Majors make how much an hour flipping burgers?" FLOOSH. That's the sound that the SJU Philosophy department heard as another Phil Major ran for the business department. Of course, the Business Department later heard a similar sound as I fell into computers, but I digress...
However, between those wide-ranging interests and my mother's encouragement to explore my world, I've managed to learn a lot and question a lot. Actually, my mother didn't encourage us to explore, directly. Instead, her method was to call any slightly-advanced idea "magic". Such as photography, computers, laser printing, certain woodworking techniques, and the like.
Much of my youth was devoted to finding and controlling that magic. To a great extent, I've discovered my mother was wrong. There are no little people painting pictures inside the camera, for example. Aside from some magic involved in getting the negative to line up just right on the developing spool when you run your negatives through, and a little bit more to get the sheet dryer to dry off the picture before the bus leaves, there's no magic involved.
When it comes to computers, I'm not entirely convinced she wasn't right, however. When it comes to Microsoft software, I swear sometimes I HAVE to speak incantations to get the damned things working right. It's gotta be magic.
All of this exploration and learning built in me the desire to question. Everything. Why is there air? Why should we drive on this side of the road? Why does that smell like that? How can we make it smell worse/better/different? Why is he so stupid? What's his problem? And so forth.
I know, for a fact, that there are a number of beliefs which I have which have little credible evidence, little scientific evidence, behind them. My faith, for example. I reached the conclusion some years ago that my faith was just that - a belief in, a faith in, something that I could not scientifically explain or provide concrete evidence of. It just doesn't work like that. My "faith" is something I have chosen to take, on faith, and it's something I'm responsible for - I'm not going to pretend it's got all the answers, though.
That's why I question things like I do. I also believe in challenging myself, and occasionally my three regular readers, to stretch their minds. I'm not at all opposed to being proven wrong - That's how you learn. It's certainly how I learn - such as things like "snaffling" and the like.
That said, I learned, long ago, that there's very little value to the emotional demand "...I'm gonna take my ball and GO HOME!" It produces one of four inevitable reactions. One of those is apathy. The other kids, waiting to play ball, see it's just not gonna happen, and they bag it. Walk away. Give up. There's always something else to do.
Another one of those inevitable reactions is anger. If you're gonna take your ball home and not let us play, well I'm gonna try to take that ball from you so WE Can play since you won't be using it - or needing it - or ABLE to use it, once we get done beating you. Always a mature reaction, assaulting someone else. It might produce results, but when Mom and Dad get home, and the neighbor comes over to talk, you're grounded. Probably for life.
A third type of reaction is to find another ball. This problem-solving approach is typically the most productive in the sense that you might well get to play if someone else has a ball you can use. If no one's got another ball, then you're pretty much out of luck, however. You either need to fall back to the first option, or move on to the fourth.
The final type of reaction is to negotiate a solution, a way out of the mess you're in. The ball-holder obviously has concerns that were not being addressed, which caused them to pitch a petulant fit and go home. The ball-players obviously have a vested interest in reaching some sort of compromise, somehow, with the ball holder, or they're in for a bored afternoon. This solution, which is basically "politics," is quite often the most mature approach. Everyone gives, a little. Everyone gets, something. Everyone should be better off.
As children, we learn "politics" whether we want to or not. It's called "work and play well with others." And whether we realize it or not, it affects nearly everything we do. Which is why it becomes such a heated topic for some; it's close to the bone and integrated with so many issues.
"To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them? ..."
Hamlet, Act III Scene 1 - William Shakespeare
There's very little "noble" these days about argument and negotiation. Most people see it as the wimp's way out. It's more macho to bluster, thump chest, holler, howl, and generally make loud noises. Fights happen. Disagreements happen. And when they do, the "noble" thing is to step back, think, to discuss, and if need be, agree to disagree.
In the Daynoter ranks, we've not got one shrinking violet - we're all fairly willing to pound on the bar and holler and howl and get the bartender's attention. 'Tis the nature of the beast. You think we'd be putting major portions of our lives out here on line if we weren't slightly off our nuts in one direction or another? Sure, we "do these stupid things so you don't have to." A sane person, concerned about the public perception, does stupid things in a room, alone, and learns how to control them. Then they do it, properly, in public, in front of witnesses. That's what you'd call normal.
Back to "... Abby somebody. Abnormal? Yes, that's it!"
I'd like to pick apart a bit of the discussion between Mr. Thompson and Mr. Ward-Johnson and see where we are. Before I go further, however, two more things. I respect both gentlemen, and consider them friends - I hope they do me. I also know that they're adults - I'm not going to be a peacemaker here - they're adults - they don't need it. If they want to make peace, they can. If they don't, that's fine. Their lives.
First of all, let us discuss the nature of American Treaties. As any Native American can tell you, American Government Treaties are worth their weight in glass beads. Or anything else. The American Way is to buy low, sell high. And if you can find a sucker to sell it for far less, then run with it.
The way a "Treaty" works in this country is that the president negotiates and signs an agreement. After that, the agreement must be ratified by the Senate - one of the elected houses in our government that represents all states. Until an agreement is ratified by the Senate, it's just basically an autographed piece of paper.
If we have an agreement we like, we follow it prior to Senate ratification. If we have an agreement we like and the present Senate is unlikely to pass it, the president sits on it. Waits for a favorable climate. Sometimes, this takes a while. If we have an agreement we do not like, or, as in the case here, we have an agreement that's agreed to by one administration, then a sea-change in parties, ideology, and technique takes over, we quietly stick the agreement in a bottom drawer in a large warehouse somewhere, and via sotto voce conversations with allies and others, we say "sorry, folks, we don't like this. Change it, or it doesn't go anywhere on our end."
At least, that's how we USED to do it.
Leaving aside for a minute the fact that the Kyoto Accord (not the car, Dub, not the car - sheesh) is an agreement which is a fundamentally flawed attempt to correct a "problem" we're not sure we're having yet, and the fact that the Anti-Ballistic Missile treaty (which I do not think was ratified by Congress, as far as I recall) was widely rumored to be violated by the old Soviet Union with a ring of anti-missile batteries around Moscow, and all you've got is another piece of paper with a couple of historically interesting autographs. Nothing more.
The Biological Weapons Convention, on the other hand, is one of those agreements that sounds wonderful on paper that no sane individual or nation would ever dare to think of passing on. No one wants to encourage the spread of biological weaponry.
Right. Like every developed nation in the world couldn't provide their military with Anthrax samples, and more, within a few moments of a phone call authorizing said release. And if you don't believe that, please, grab your club, go back to your cave, and wait for the saber-toothed tiger to eat you. You're more likely to get squashed by a bulldozer and suburban sprawl, but that's your choice, Caveman Og.
Once you pull the Biological Weapons Convention apart and look at it, you make the fundamental conclusion that it's just not gonna happen. As we saw so horribly with Timothy McVeigh, fertilizer can become an explosive. A deadly, horrible explosive. Fertilizer plants can be used to produce much more than fertilizer - pharmaceutical factories can produce helpful pills or, with adjustments in dosages, poisons. All with the same ingredients and equipment. Not much more than that. No "evil biological agents" obvious in the area.
As we learned attempting to insure Iraq was done with biological weapons, it's not going to be easy. Even direct observation doesn't work, because when you're gone, they can adjust one dial up, another down, and what was a nice little pill now becomes a nice little "magic bullet".
Unless you're prepared to station trained pharmacy-trained chemists in every drug plant, trained agro-chemists in every fertilizer plant, and by extension, every other plant that produces anything else that might be slightly dangerous, forget it. And remember that each country would have to supply observers for every plant in every other country to make sure representation was "legitimate and fair." Where do you think they're going to find enough space to store an extra 150 bio-chemists in the average fertilizer plant - each with their own equally-equipped labratory? And who's going to pay for it? If you're a developing third-world nation, you might team up with a couple of others, but then you've got the "sharing of information".
From the production side you've got trade secrets and other issues to deal with. Unless your biochemist is chained to that one site, plant, or whatever for the remainder of their lives, they will eventually look for another job - and then you've got the problem of "loose lips sink ships."
As to the danger and ease of biological and chemical agents, let me tell you another little story...
I remember as a kid using two common household agents to make a "stinkbomb" to get rid of the woodchuck living under a shed we had. No, you won't get the recipe from me here. I'm not that dumb. There were many problems with the concoction I made up - not the least of which was that the two household agents I used could also have killed me had I been stupid enough to stand downwind - since I stood to the side and used plenty of water, I'm not sure if the gas or the water killed the woodchuck - but it worked. He died.
And since we can do simple things like that without a whole lot of brains, just think what you could do with a little know-how, more chemicals, and a real nasty streak...
That said, I'm profoundly and extremely disgusted with my government's handling of these treaty "obligations". Typically, when a treaty is not going to make it, the President puts the treaty in a drawer. They sit on it. They let our allies down, gently, or seek to modify the agreement to make it more workable.
The present Administration's willingness to thumb it's nose at convention is admirable cowboyism, and really shows great belief in the correctness of their actions. But they've also made it clear to our allies, and our enemies, that they haven't yet figured out how to reach consensus, negotiate, or express their ideas. Which is a sad way to bumble through the world.
When Dub says "I'm gonna take my ball and go home" it's certainly his prerogative. It's also clearly understandable that there will be repercussions in many areas - social, political, economic, when he takes the damned ball home with him. I can't decide if Bush is genuinely surprised when he gets "assaulted" by other leaders, taking him to task, or if he's really got some sort of fiendish plot to return to nineteenth-century isolationism. Frankly, the later is giving the C-student Bush far too much credit in the brain department, I think.
What's frightening about this particular display is the amateurish nature of the announcements the Bush White House has used to dump these treaties. A professional political organization such as the Republican Party would supposedly have provided some far more intelligent people to assist Bush in his foreign policy - I can't help but wonder if the really smart cookies are in the private sector, trying hard, despite the economic downturn, to make their millions while "the sun shines".
If we're willing to remain a world leader, we in America need to learn to take criticism of our leaders - they, after all, affect far more than what happens within our borders. And if you're overseas and willing to criticize us, please be patient. We're still a young nation, relative to Britain, France, and others, and we're a bit uncomfortable yet with our world leader status. Think of a bull in a china shop, or better yet, a pimply-faced teenaged boy who's just discovered certain anatomical bits. We're still looking to figure out how to use some of this stuff. It's gonna take us a while, so bear with us, And in those cases where you forget that, remember, we occasionally bite. Sometime hard. Since we're hormonally imbalanced, we're not always sure what's going to happen. But, should things get really ugly, remember, we've got plenty of lawyers, we love to compete (look at our pro sports), love to win, hate to lose, and know how to tie things up in knots so tightly you won't realize you're eye-to-eye with your own bellybutton (re your average American Software License Agreement).
We also have lots of slings, arrows, brickbats, mudballs, and the odd nuclear weapon around. Hopefully cooler heads will prevail with those toys.
It's a disheartening and depressing bundle of issues we've got here. Sadly, there's no way to insure a happy solution that all parties will be satisfied with. Personally, I'm in favor of something along the lines of the Kyoto treaty - if it's uniformly applied, and universal, that would be something I think we could all agree to. And I think the others are equally important. I don't want this sort of crap to get handed over to my children in thirty or forty years with the same problems we've failed to solve, just thirty or forty years worse.
That's what keeps me worried.
Oh well. Enjoy your weekend. I've penance to do for forgetting a crockpot, then there's the whole "Trip to Cabela's" thing tomorrow - we're looking, not buying. And I'm looking forward to a long, long nap. I hope. G'nite...
Saturday, July 28, 2001
First up, sad news for some of you... I found the camera! Bottom
of a box I'd looked in, I swear, three or four times. Came right on, and
with new batteries, is fully functional. Yes, I hear that regretful sigh
from many of you. Oh well. 
Regrettably, there's only about four
good pictures from the camping trip, but I've put together some other stuff for you as well...
Since some of you will no doubt forgo the pleasure (cough cough), I've put the
images AND a copy of the text right here for your eternal (well, until Internet2
and MS-XML take over) viewing pleasure.
And today was the long-awaited (well, it's been almost a week) trip to Cabela's. Here is a link to the trip report, such as it is (and Mr. Beland will feel a bit at home with some of the pictures). This is a link to a page of pictures for my father, when we go see him next week, and I show him some of the moccasins we found which he might like. I dunno. Yes, Marcia, they've got a large shoe department. Though I have to confess this is the first shoe department I've ever seen that's had a "test wear" area that was composed of (artificial) rough rock area. Makes sense when you're selling hiking and trail boots. We also stopped next door at Heritage Halls, which is a museum of sorts - mostly transportation-related. Planes, trains, and automobiles - and motorcycles, gliders, and some really goofy stuff in the discovery room. Pretty cool place - sadly, they're closing September 4th, forever.
After that home via Faribault, for a quick bite at an A&W restaurant, and then home. Hope your Saturday was equally restful (HA!)....
Sunday, July 29, 2001
|
Ah, yes. End of the weekend. Bummer, dude...
Yes, that's my timid little seven-year-old daughter. Doing the wall at Galyans in Richfield. This morning, I was not quite awake when Ann said "wanna go to REI and Galyans and finish up the shopping?" Huh? You asking me? I'm there. We hopped up, got out, and down the road to Bloomington. REI is south of I-494, east of the 494/35W intersection. Galyans is on the northwest corner, same intersection. You can see the REI store from the Galyan's parking lot - mostly because the REI Climbing towers are up front in the store.
We went in and looked around REI first. Their front entry was almost impossible to find, mostly because it was camoflaged - as you can see here... Which, I think, helped convince SWMBO that this was a good place to come - she plunked down the $15 membership fee, and, about twenty years after I first came aware of REI, we joined as members. Hey, $15 for a lifetime catalog subscription isn't all that bad a thing... Besides, they also rent equipment. So, after wandering REI and getting some good ideas for things, we stopped over at Galyans. More shopping, and some lower, some higher prices. Then, Gander Mountain (which is in the same building as the Grocery Store, so give me a break, eh?), then back home. |
While I'd like to be able to again shut the heck up, here at the bottom of the page, where both of you have hung in there all week long (Hi mom), I'm gonna pop my mouth off again regarding our tempest in a teacup.
While I've mostly said my piece in the above, I'd like to add a final comment on the whole discussion. Not on the issues being discussed or in the ideology of the participants, but the level of debate.
For years, as a small child and even as a young man, I attempted to fight emotionally, using harsh, value-laden words that would illicit a reaction, usually violent, in order to provoke the opponent into striking the first blow. This "Pearl Harbor" strategy was guaranteed to keep me out of trouble with my parents, while at the same time allowing me to gain the sympathy of the viewing crowd (for there was always a crowd). Said audience sympathy was valuable in gaining testimony later (as the nuns would typically interview other witnesses if an altercation developed, and we all knew "sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me"). Gaining the audience's favor would insure that while they might not agree if I called the opponent a "scrawny weasel" or a "rat-faced little woman", they would agree that he, and not I, struck the first physical blow.
Meanwhile, at home, with four sisters, physical confrontation was absolutely forbidden. There was just no way that a boy would be allowed to "wallop" a younger girl - which meant that the girls were allowed to tee off on me, and yet I was unable to strike back. Therefore, I was at a distinct disadvantage. And they knew it. I could be provoked with those same techniques I learned to use on my opponents at school, and it would invariably conclude with me starting to strike just as mom or dad hove into view and busted my tail back to the stone age... again.
After nearly eleven years of marriage, however, I've found that my wife wields the scalpel of logic far better than I ever could control the mace of my emotional arguments. As a result, I've learned that there are certainly times where emotional content is necessary and valuable in an argument. There are also times when personal attacks cheapen and devalue the argument, and lessen the stature of the arguer.
Resorting to emotional words and emotional attacks often turns off the intellect, and engages instead the emotional animal within us all. When intellect and logic depart, all you've got is a schoolyard fight where there are two petulant children saying "is not" - "is SO".
Additionally, emotional arguments, especially those pertaining to an opponent's physical characteristics, are nearly always guaranteed to lose the point for those who use them. Saying, for example, "you're an ugly SOB with hair like a malnourished dog" would backfire if you found out that the target of the remarks was the victim of a childhood household accident where burning grease had been dropped on their head.
Personal attacks and name calling are methods that belong on the playground. Given the broad nature of experience, background, and belief present on the internet, it's a simple but straight forward plea - if you prefer not to tolerate, then ignore. If you cannot ignore, limit your discussion to the issues. Should you choose not to do so, it's only your reputation that will suffer.
Oh well. SWMBO is chatting away on the phone with a friend of hers, so this will be posted when it gets posted. Probably tomorrow morning... Anyway, G'nite. ;-)
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P. Dominik. All rights reserved. No reproduction without express
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