Misplaced concern for security

Stepped-up screening procedures at Los Angeles International Airport that were designed to make flying safer have created another potential vulnerability: long lines that are a "tempting target for terrorists," security experts said Friday.

Rand Corp. researchers recommended in a 47-page report that airlines and federal officials spend $4 million a year to add skycaps, ticket agents and screeners to speed travelers through lines in terminal lobbies and on sidewalks and into the secure gate area — where they would be less vulnerable to attack.

"We think this should happen right away," said Donald Stevens, a senior engineer at Santa Monica-based Rand and lead author on the highly anticipated study.

The report found that if airlines and the federal Transportation Security Administration, which manages screeners at the nation's airports, hired 5% more personnel at LAX, lines and potential fatalities could be reduced by 80%.

- LA Times
user: latimes18485
password: latimes18485

Typically, I let stupidity pass without too much comment because let's face it, stupidity is everywhere. But am I wrong or is this not the most narrowly focused security measure to come out of a think tank like Rand? Unbelievable. Are they that hard up for brains? We need to be thinking better than this.

While hiring five percent more personnel may reduce potential fatalities by 80 percent, why airports? If I am a terrorist I am looking at an airport for its planes not its visitors. If long lines are a tempting target for terrorists, which I highly doubt, there are plenty of places that have far more people than airports for terrorists to hit. Just because it is an airport does not mean terrorists are not thinking elsewhere.

Really, lines, long lines are a terrorist target? For crying out loud, at some point in the future I have got to renew my driver license. Why hit an airport when the DMV will do?! I want to be safe there too.

Seriously, if the same security concern existing in one place exists elsewhere, then address all aspects of the concern. Easing the minds of those with post-traumatic 9/11 disorder who simply cannot tolerate an airport queue is patchwork thinking and not exactly cost-beneficial when spread across to all lines in America. However, an extra five percent hired everywhere would certainly help wipe out unemployment. And that'd be good for the economy, right?! Oh, now I understand Rand's thinking.

No, no I don't. For $4 million I can think of better ways to spend that money on like... okay, I can't in this cloud of disbelief, but enunciation lessons (and a little deodorant) would go a long way at the Department of Motor Vehicles.

the latest pole results

Students punished for dorm stripper pole

THE ASSOCIATED PRESS

JACKSONVILLE, Fla. -- Three students at Jacksonville University have been punished for installing a stripper pole in an on-campus apartment and taking pictures as fully clothed women performed on it at a party. A female student who won a dance contest also was disciplined.
About a dozen women competed for a $100 Victoria's Secret gift certificate Sept. 11, said James Foster, a 20-year-old who hosted the party. None of the women disrobed.

Residential adviser Amber Davis said the party degraded women. "There are other ways they can go out and get a girlfriend if that's what they want," she said.

Stripper Pole

i'm aghast. agape. agog.

generally that means i can't believe what i'm seeing.

let's recap: students were punished for "degrading women" who didn't do anything more illegal or immoral than dance around a pole. the women didn't get naked--in fact they were "fully clothed." for their efforts, they had a chance to win a legit gift certificate at a store that millions of women like to shop at.

to sum up and in conclusion: well. the. hell.

frick, i don't know where i'm heading with this, except to say that while the world is going straight to hell, dirty bombs could detonate at any time, iraq is turning into a certifiable CF, and we're on the brink of re-electing monkey moron and his circus fleas...

students are being chastised for a fully clothed pole dance thingy.

please take a moment of silence and look at a scantily clad model, a blog entry about pole dancing, and a web site dedicated to strippers.

i'm going off somewhere to drink.

Patagonia time!

It's September, the weather is cooling, and you know what to do for the season ahead. Buy your fall fleece, right? Wrong. Even if Patagonia had stores in Argentina, it is Spring in the southern hemisphere. And in Patagonia, the region of southern Argentina, it is time to welcome back the Magellanic penguin, Spheniscus magellanicus, to its desert shores of relatively remote Punto Tombo.



The Magellanic penguin stands about 27 inches (68 cm) and weighs about nine pounds (four kilo) and feeds on fish, krill and squid. Their habitat is the artic shores of Chile and Argentina over a wide range of territory into slightly warmer waters.

In September males arrive in Punto Tombo after a 1500 mile swim from fishing pools off the shores of southern Brazil. Absence from land has been six months for the penguins. Their first duty upon land is to reclaim their old burrows. Some of them are one-half mile inland. The small, protected underground shelter is comfortable for, ahem, parental duties.

Young, virgin penguins must either stake claim to abandoned burrows, win a squatter's battle or fend off a returning owner (unlikely). According to the video I watched, the option of making a burrow was not addressed. Apparently, like Patagonia the clothing chain, Home Depot, Bed Bath & Beyond and Pier 1 Imports may not be in Argentina either.

A couple of weeks later the females arrive. Amidst the din of welcome hoots and hollers, the female singles out her mate and hooks up again. Sprint PCS' Free and Clear Calling Plan, I imagine. Sometimes the monogamy lasts a lifetime, which can be about 15 years.

For the virgin male, he tries with each wave of arriving females. Rare is he lucky. But his serenade (think of a wolf pup howling at sunrise with a rooster caught in its throat) can attract a female.

After the ritual dance to establish one's commitment to each other and after the burrow passes the female's inspection, the penguin couple throw on the Barry White CDs and get busy for several days.

500,000 penguins (in Punto Tombo alone) making whoopee and the music business can't figure its way out of piracy?! Sheesh.

After the loving is over, the primary duty for the male is to prepare the nursery, a bed of leaves for incubation. The leaves are fetched from the hillsides. It is arduous and after the nest is complete, the male heads out with other males to fish for up to a month. They have little choice. The penguins have no strength and GNC is fresh out of Vitamin E. Besides, the boom box is out of batteries and the females are more into Sheryl Crow by this time. Female penguins are strong and independent.

While the males are out at sea, the female lays two eggs and hunkers down to defend against danger. Hairy armadilloes and kelp gulls will strike at any time. She will try to remain in the nest until her mate returns. Some females can make it, others cannot. Since penguins have the one hatching per year, losing the eggs is catastrophe. (Well, listening to the video, it is, but it may be a premature call. I'll do the math later.)

When the males return, they take up incubation duties, which will alternate every few days. The females take the time to get a drink and feed. Eggs hatch after 40 days. New mouths require increasingly frequent urgent fishing trips, which both parents share.

Penguins learn quickly but many starve in the first few months, some never even seeing the ocean. Parents lose a lot of their catch to the gulls, who have their own brood to raise. After about three months of watching their parents head off somewhere, the baby penguins decide to follow. They have never seen the ocean. They have little choice but to swim on the first day. Some big birds (petrols? I didn't catch the name) with their six-foot wingspans will stampede the babies on the shore and catch them or try catching them in shallow waters. Babies have better chances of survival in the water, but if they are caught, they seldom get a second chance of escape, which is not uncommon (the escape part not the part about getting caught twice).

When fall arrives in March, the penguins sex up (no, not whoopee! again) but head off to Brazil in male and female groups. For six months each group travels, fishes and sleeps in the Atlantic swell. For six months they await one another. And for six months each sex has time to share its bedroom stories.

"Oh, yeah, four times a night. And no Viagra," sayeth the males.
Sayeth the females, "He always cuddles and insists on foreplay."

Sure. I recall one scene in which one couple tumbled into their burrow already in action.

There is a sense of urgency upon the yearly gathering at the nookery. Ninety percent of the previous year's hatchlings fail to return, which by the math means that penguin couples are lucky to have two families in a lifetime. So, losing eggs to predators is tragedy but the odds for one of the hatched eggs even surviving more than year is slim.

Well, that has been your nature lesson. If you're in the northern hemisphere be sure to get out and get your fleece. And should you choose Patagonia, think of the Magellanic's black feathers. Remember dark absorbs heat. Important in the winter you should know. And if you're in the southern hemisphere think of the Magellanic's white feathers for a bathing suit and then head to the beach, enjoy the warm weather, and scan the shoreline for romance.

--

Magellanic penguin links
Description and characteristics
National Geographic
Patagonia travel

--

Last night instead of getting hooked on some bad new program for the new TV season, I decided to add Wednesdays to my Tuesdays of learning. I watched the video Patagonia's Tuxedo Junction from the PBS documentary series Hidden World. This may or may not continue. And this may or may not have been part one of what may or may not be my penguin series. No commitment, no promises. That goes to you politicians, too. That goes doubly for you, Candidate Zero. Don't think I didn't see you pimping FedEx/Kinkos. Back to the topic at hand, penguins are one of my favorite creatures, and I've not yet taken the time in my adult years to fully look at some of the varieties. It is time I do, but depending upon what I can find at the library I may opt to look at other creatures. Be warned the three pets I have had have been the Norwegian Elkhound, the Samoyed, and the Alaskan Malamute. What can I say, I like black and white creatures.

news from the 'hood

i’m a white boy.

yeah, i play some basketball, and i like a little urban diversity, but i’m still a suburban white boy.

so i was a little surprised recently by a couple of young black women.

here’s how it went.

me, walking alone down western avenue, at the end of pike place place market. up the hill from fisherman’s wharf, in the shadows cast by all of downtown seattle.

it was 7:30 a.m. sunday, and i’d just finished playing ball. i was sweaty and disheveled, and maybe a little stinky. but what the hell, i was heading toward my car to drive home.

anywho, i crossed paths with a couple of 20-something african-american women, both wearing lots of black lycra and sequins. and a leopard-print kind of arrangement. saturday night-wear, i supposed.

they were pleasant enough, but a little rough around the edges…in an early-morning-after-a-long-night kind of way. and one of them was a bit bent to one side—a hip problem, maybe, or something spine-related. nothing severe…she was just a little crooked.

they said “hi,” and i said “hi.” and the non-crooked one asked me for a dollar.

remember, i had just finished playing ball. i had no money. really. and even if i did, i wouldn’t be inclined to give it to either of these two. so i said, amiably, “no, i don’t have any money with me.”

apparently they’d heard that one before.

“you ain’t got any money?”
“no, not today.”
“well, when you gonna get some?”
“uhh…i’m not sure.”
“you don’t know?”
“nah, not exactly.”

the crooked one put her hand on her hip and looked me in the eye.

“do you need to talk about your career, and when you gonna get some money? ‘cause it sounds like you need to talk.”
“nah, i’m good. thanks.”
“you and me could go somewhere, you know, and talk. or whatever.”

it hit me then that these two had, in fact, had a long night, and were not ready to, uh, call it a day.

i smiled, shook my head, said “no, thanks.” and walked on. seven-thirty a.m., sunday morning. slightly bent hooker looking to talk about money.

i love this town.

to die for...

i understand terrorism now.

i can completely grasp the mindset necessary to commit unspeakable acts against another human being, or large numbers of human beings.

all i have to do is imagine someone killing one of my children. or my wife. and suddenly i can clearly see myself cutting off the head of the enemy. or taking hundreds of hostages and blowing them up.

i’m not saying such atrocities are justifiable. i don’t condone decapitation. and i despise killing children for any “cause” whatsoever.

but i understand it.

i’m not, by nature, a violent person. i’d much rather catch a basement spider and release it outside than crunch it underfoot. i don’t hunt, and i don’t own a weapon more lethal than an old aluminum bat.

but i know viscerally and unequivocally that i would become a zealous, relentless terrorist, given the right circumstances. everyone has their snapping point: what’s yours?

don’t deny it. you have your limit, beyond which you would coldly plot the deaths of as many as necessary to restore your peace of mind. this reality doesn’t make you a crazed, bloodthirsty killer. on the contrary: the successful slaughter of innocents requires a rational, calculated approach—a lucid state of mind. by this standard, today’s terrorists are completely sane.

it is reasonable that they love their children and their families, and would prefer to live long lives in their company. in other words, prior to the act of killing and maiming, terrorists are much like their victims.

until something sets them off. the trigger may be the result of years of grievous insult—or a single incident, unexpected and galvanizing. either way, what comes next is always the same. people die—and new terrorists are created, each with compelling reasons to kill or die or both.

if i were the parent of a russian child killed by chechen rebels, i’d be plotting right now to kill chechens. just as chechens clearly have their own reasons to kill russians. israelis and palestinians—today, right now, they’re plotting. iraqis, afghans, americans and others have sufficient reason to take the fight to the enemy—and there are countless targets, available and waiting.

the cycle is old and well-nurtured, constantly refreshed by the new blood of innocents. collectively (and rightfully) we condemn the increasing reports of this kind of violence. we cringe and shake our heads grimly. we pretend that we're civilized and beyond such barbaric behavior. we can’t imagine how such things are possible.

we should dispense with such comfortable and convenient lies. because while we would never advocate or excuse terrorism, we understand it very well.

dad in the 'hood

i went for my inaugural run around the neighborhood a couple days ago. ordinarily i wouldn’t have waited so long to take a first running tour, but extenuating circumstances extenuated themselves, so the run had to wait.

a few observations…

this is not a “tough” neighborhood. it won’t ever be mistaken for the ‘hood.

though it’s within shouting distance of downtown seattle, the only sign of street cred is the proximity to the railroad tracks to the east. yup, some of the railroad cars definitely have graffiti on them. further north there’s a whole lot of “water cred.” that’s where the fishing terminal is, see, and some of those guys on the boats look pretty serious. if they were a gang they’d be “the eviscerators.”

the people strolling along the water-view boulevard are unambiguously suburban. high on the bluff, their homes survey a broad expanse of elliot bay. the water is dotted with sailboats, and washington state ferries endlessly trundle out and back.

these “view properties” are not inexpensive. i’d go so far as to say they’re lavish and luxurious. we do not live in one of these homes. rather, we live in a smallish, bungalowish brick house, away from the water and away from the views. it’s sort of the “bad part” of the neighborhood, by comparison.

here’s the thing: part of the reason we wanted to live near downtown was for the urban diversity. what i saw on my run was a whole lot of white folk.

don’t get me wrong, white people are okay. i’m one of them, so i can’t be too hard on us. but suburban white people are prone to being kinda milquetoast and blasé, and i don’t care to have that rub off on me. to paraphrase cleavon little in ‘blazing saddles,’ “where the black people at?”

today i found at least one place: the local community center, playing hoops. along with some asian people, some latino people, and some white people. Everybody is walking around showing off a little somesome, trying to prove they’ve got game. i’m not talking about some young kids firing up 3-pointers every time they touch the ball. no, these guys (and one strong young woman) go straight at you, and you either D up or get the hell out of the way.

the gym has an attitude about it…but it’s mostly a non-threatening attitude. nobody there will advise you to “step off, bitch.” instead they play you straight up and sincere and everybody gets some respect.

so even with its well-manicured views and its trappings of caucasianality, my ‘hood has a little street cred after all. i like it.

a vote for bulimia

voters say they’re sick of politicians.

i’m sick of voters.

though they’re still vastly preferable to those who don’t bother to be counted, most voters are a waste of a ballot. face it, y'all don’t know what you’re voting for or why. you make your decisions reflexively, based on party affiliation. you don’t know what the local issues or initiatives are, and you sure as hell don’t know who you just picked as a judge.

all you "know" is that taxes are bad, and anyone who even hints that more money may be needed should be politically crucified.

you must be extremely talented thieves, ‘cause you sure don’t want to pay for anything.

you don’t want to pay teachers a living wage, or see any new schools built. anywhere. ever again. if a new school did manage to build itself, it’d be full of kids sitting on the floor looking at each other, ‘cause they’d get no money from you for desks or books or elmer’s glue.

you don’t want to pay for police or fire departments. you’re pretty sure roads are fixed by the pavement faeries, and public transit is an insidious scheme by welfare queens to siphon cash from the far corners of your coin purse.

what are you happy to pay for? weapons of mass delusion. guns for urban guerrillas. people who want you to worship their god, and would be happy to teach your kids His views on science. the right of women to have back-alley abortions. the right of the government to monitor who you sleep with and what you do with him/her/whoever when you’re not sleeping.

oh yes, you’re lining up to pay for these life-affirming, all-american programs, either proactively or by default, because you don’t stand up to say, “no more.” rather, you sit down and turn on the television. football, followed by a must-see, all-new episode of “fear factor.”

you’re sanguine about being stripped of civil liberties, because the current administration says it’s for your own good. and who are you to question them? if you’re not with them, you’re with the terrorists, by god, and anyone who says otherwise is un-american.

when did we lower the bar so dramatically? when did it become okay not to know what you’re voting for, as long as you get out and vote? when did we bury the premise and the value of the vote under so much rhetorical offal that even when we go through with the act we feel dirtier and more stupid than when we started?

when did voting become the civic equivalent of nailing a ten-dollar whore?

so go ahead, sport your “i voted” sticker, whistle a happy tune, and congratulate yourself for helping keep america great. then get back to sneering at politicians and complaining about your taxes.

proud to be an american voter. yay.

whew! that was a killer f*ck!

Two guards testify they saw Olson, client having sex

Despite former public defender Theresa Olson's explanation that it was only a "hug gone bad," two King County Jail guards testified yesterday that they saw her doing much more than that with her client, a man facing triple murder charges, in a jail meeting room two years ago.

"I thought I saw two individuals having sex," said King County corrections officer Leander Glenn.

Olson is accused of having sex with client Sebastian Burns, later found guilty with friend Atif Rafay of killing Rafay's father, mother and sister in their Bellevue home.

rest of article

(note: this post features the word “fuck” several times. if you find this word offensive, i don’t know what the fuck to tell you.)

theresa olson is a fucking idiot.

and this story is a fucking laugh riot.

where to begin? how about with the “hug gone bad.” for the record, there’s no such thing as a bad hug. because like a kiss and a sigh, a hug is just a hug, no matter how you parse it. it’s a brief embrace to express affection or consolation or some such noble sentiment. a hug may lead to other things, but that’s on you. don’t try to pin your jailhouse frenzy on an innocent hug, you slutty little con-monger.

moving on to officer leander glenn. he “thought he saw two individuals having sex.” i don’t know where leander is from or what his experience is, carnal knowledge-wise, but generally when two or more people are bumping uglies, it’s pretty easy to spot. you’ve got bare butts and legs akimbo, and a universal vocabulary of guttural sounds.

officer glenn, did you witness these things? yes? then miss theresa and the murderer were copulating.

we’re all adults here. we understand how quickly things get out of control when our compatible parts start rubbing up against each other. your brain (may) occasionally tell you, “this is a bad idea,” but your body says, “shut the fuck up,” and the rest is personal history.

we know this and we accept it. we may tut-tut when people get caught rubbing compatible parts with someone they shouldn’t, but still, we understand how it can happen. all of this is true—but who among you would ever (ever) consider rubbing parts with an accused triple murderer?

yes, good judgement often leaps out the window when the clothes start flying…but if you were heading inescapably in that direction and your lust bunny whispered, “oh, by the way, i’m accused of killing three people,” wouldn’t that throw a bucket of cold water on your flaming engorgements?

(if your answer is no, then what exactly would it take? seriously.)

but fine, let’s assume you’re really horny, and by golly the accused murderer will have to do. innocent until proven guilty, after all, and damn that’s a big torpedo. once again, who among us hasn’t gotten busy in a place usually reserved for nonsexy behavior? it happens, and it can be really (really) great when it does…

but. not. in. a. prison. you fugging moron. prisons have guards and bars and video cameras. and you, madam, are supposed to be a public defender, with many years of education in institutions of higher learning. did you misunderstand and think you were a pubic defender?

you can’t blame the murderer—it’s not like he’s a rock of self-control. i mean, the guy terminated three people, what was he gonna say: “no, thanks. i know you’re my only hope of beating this rap, but i just don't think it would be prudent”? when you’re looking at three consecutive life sentences, what’s another couple years for nasty behavior?

no, theresa, it’s you who will take the fall for this one. your career, your personal credibility, not to mention your chance with the future mr. right. (imagine trying to explain this escapade on a fourth or fifth date.)

all gone. poof! traded for a bad fuck with a really bad person.

no offense theresa darlin’…but you are a fucking idiot.

Mermaladies

Thank you hjm and spaceneedl for burying my post-o-crap.

Not that I ever got rolling this summer with posts, but I haven't been able to enjoy writing for awhile now. Writing has been like another big love of mine, bodies of water, which I both crave and fear. I crave the soothing effects of a bubbling brook. Crashing waves, morning or night, of a temporal sea or the landlocked lake. Even a storm offshore can calm me. What I fear though is drowning. That and the sea monsters of the ocean depths keep my chest constricted. I can barely swim. Treading water is out of the question. Yet each summer I tell myself I'll conquer this fear. But as this summer closes, the fear remains. Perhaps, leaving this fear allows my love for water and writing to continue. The shared dichotomy is another story.

Another struggle that has been this summer is my toe-dipping with XHTML and CSS. I want to learn it. But I only go in so far before running back. When I finally dived into writing code without worry for ability to stay afloat, pretty much all writing ceased. Writing has been devoid of self-sustaining nourishment. And what with all the ocean horror flicks aired on cable this last month to scare me, like America I must learn how to swim with the monsters if the sea and let them have their space without feeling trapped by the freedoms of occupation. But that too is another story.

This morning (if 11 am can be called morning) I awoke to remember why I don't like to write. Code, that is. My literary creativity gets all shot to hell whenever I am submerged within computer languages. Happened as a kid. Happened in college. Happened in work. Happens now. And coding keeps me from getting sound sleep. If it were not for the side-effects of poor sleep, I'd write code for a living. Last night lasted until 5:30 this morning. Upon falling asleep it was all I could do to not dream of shifting CSS DIVs emptying their content -- overflowing onto the background and then off the screen -- twisting and spiraling like the underwater horror scenes from the Wizard of Oz. What's that? No such scenes? Ahh, but had you visited the cutting room floor in your childhood nightmares as I did you'd be hearing me sing an octave or two off-key my styling of "If only I had a muse."

HJM, I think my muse dumped me for your muse, which also may be why you see that extra hop in her step. ;) FWIW, I've been all over the map with cellular service and I always return to SprintPCS.

Spaceneedl, after reading your Sunday post, I may or may not publish something similar in two weeks, the three-year anniversary of the day I beached the shores of Seattle. Wish I had called it home that day. Maybe I did. I cannot recall. I've been carrying around the idea that Seattle is temporary for so long now that I've forgotten what home is.

Maybe it is time to change that. If I can find the fun within writing again, and I think it is coming back, then everything else usually falls into place for me. You two keep writing and I am sure to remember the joy. Good job, guys!

Oh, and if any plain, brown paper packages arrive at your doorsteps containing mermaid-on-mermaid action, umm, those are for me. Lord knows what the online purchases I coded in my sleep were.

a long strange trip

two months ago we picked up and moved cross-country.

it wasn’t job-related, this time. we moved for us. and for some others, whom we’ll talk about in a bit.

since 1987 my wife and i have lived in five cities, from one coast to the other, with a stop in the middle. phoenix, seattle, san francisco, minneapolis, raleigh, and now back to seattle.

along the way we picked up some fellow travelers. two cats (one now gone, and another in her place), two big dogs, two children.

in the interim we lived through the loma prieta quake in ’89 (7.0 on mr. richter’s scale). remember the bay bridge world series between the oakland a’s and the san francisco giants? al michaels saying, “i think we’re having an earth—.” yup, that quake.

our apartment in san francisco’s marina district was heavily damaged, so we moved across the golden gate bridge to mill valley. firmer ground, we supposed. for the rest of our time in the bay area, however, i had recurring earthquake dreams. i’d wake up too early in the morning absolutely certain we’d had a 6.5 (thankfully that never turned out to be the case).

the quake dreams stopped when we moved to minnesota, but tornado dreams immediately ensued. something to do with living in tornado alley in the northeast suburbs of the twin cities, no doubt.

minneapolis was not our cup of beer, so we leapt at the chance to move to north carolina. the triangle area (raleigh/durham/chapel hill) is lovely. mountains to the west, the outer banks to the east. the tobacco fields were disconcerting at first, but they soon faded to background. we had hurricanes to think about, after all.

bertha, in ’86, was our introduction to hurricane warnings, but she didn’t compare to fran, who dropped a dozen trees on our house. dennis did us some mischief, and floyd just skirted past us to the east, where he caused horrific damage. just last year isabel got people all riled up, but she fizzled as she came inland. instead, it was last winter’s ice storms that dropped 35 trees on our house and car.

don’t take away from all this disaster banter that i’m complaining. i mean, such things happen, and in each case others were affected far more adversely than we were. at no time did these natural calamities prompt us to look at each other and say, “we’ve got to get out of here.”

it took another disaster to convince us of that. to remind us that life is sometimes short and always fragile.

of all our stops, nowhere did we appreciate our life together more than in seattle. for a thousand reasons, from the physical and intrinsic appeal of the city, to the extravagant natural beauty of the pacific northwest, to the enduring friendships we made during our too-short stay. the emotional roots we put down grew deep and elaborate, even in the long years we were away. despite that, we could never seem to make our way back. miles and years and careers intervened, and at times we nearly forgot how integral this place was to us.

then came sept. 11, 2001, and everything changed. for the first time it occurred to us that we might not make it back to our adopted home. or that we might not get back together. it took 9/11 to open our eyes to the reality that random tragedy is a daily occurrence, and we are no more immune than the innocents who died that day.

in the months that followed, we stopped procrastinating and got a lot more involved with the course of our life. we looked in earnest for jobs and a home and a better place to raise our children. we re-awoke to the fact that if we didn’t take these steps, another 10 or 12 or 15 years would go by—years we would one day desperately want back.

it took awhile, but we’re finally home. our children are off to school, our dogs and cats are busy exploring their new environment. we’re trying to fit too many things into too small a house and too short a day. spending too much money accomplishing too little too slowly.

but we’re here.

and that fact is our small memorial to the people who died on 9/11 and the people they left behind. they no longer have the chance to do the things they always said they’d do. for the time being, we have that chance.

we’re taking it.

Safermetrics

Tonight the NFL kicked off its umpteenth (85th?) season with the Mayflower Colts led by the fabulously overrated Peyton Manning against the Tom "He's won two Super Bowls" Brady-led New England Patriots at Gillette Field in Foxboro, Mass.

As a kid I could throw the tightest spiral but couldn't imagine taking the knocks required to be a QB. Soccer and hockey (where my small size actually benefited me) are more my sippy cup of Tang. So, like baseball I never played organized ball, but I did follow both sports as a fan and endured all the cockamamied theories from those whose career experience is based upon bygone eras of playing nth-string in high school. I use nth-string because sometime in college I learned that anybody who wanted to be on the high school football team merely had to show up for practice. There were no cuts like in my sports or in baseball.

Where baseball has slowly awakened with the help of the Moneyball revolution, football still seems to be stuck in the dark ages. Granted, there are twenty-two players who are nearly all involved in each play and that football can be a very complex game but some "simple" things seem to escape analysis.

[Note to self: Not sure how football can even compare to baseball's sabermetrics but where you are going to go with this post?]

When it comes to football I don't know squat, as I've alluded, but I sure do love to watch the NFL (well, Weeks 1, 2 and 3, some of Monday Night Football, the occasional Vikings game, and the middle of the playoffs) and Satruday college football games on the West coast when living in the dreary Midwest (IOW, nap time).

So, I'd watch more football but I am quickly reminded and turned off by pro football's time management, fourth quarter/fourth down decisions, and the reliance upon setting up the ground game through the running back (overrated).

Tonight, already Game One of the season, I looked into some of this a little.

...and once again I've run out of steam to write anything more than a long lead but I'll at least let this go published as is...

Two places to go: RBs are overrated and safermetrics.

BTW, Peyton's Colts lost again to New England.

test your sanity

america is insane.

that's the only explanation for polls indicating americans will re-elect george w. bush in november, thus returning control of the asylum to the head inmate.

this is not the act of a rational electorate. by definition, it is madness to compulsively repeat the same act and expect a different result. so, either americans are insane...or they approve of the last four years of bush administration ineptitude.

but if they do, in fact, endorse four more years of lunacy...they must be insane.

either way, those voters clearly are incompetent to manage their own affairs, let alone those of the entire country. legally, such a result would be invalid, and a guardian would be appointed. anyone want to volunteer? (note: volunteers will be considered legally insane.)

look, is it reasonable or rational to bring back a commander-in-chief who, upon learning of the 9/11 attacks, lingered in an elementary school classroom, waiting for someone to tell him what to do?

does it make sense to support a president who could not, or would not recall any mistakes made by his administration in the years since 9/11?

for those of you uncertain of your mental status, the compos mentis answer to both questions is, “no.”

in a courtroom, those judged not guilty by reason of insanity are still put away for a long time. where can we send millions of americans who, contrary to all logic, will still vote for a nutcase and his cronies in november?

of course: france. that’ll drive ‘em crazy.

help me...

i have a problem.

i’ve become a political bigot.

i’ve become one of those people who doesn’t want to reach across the aisle for fear of accidently touching one of “them.”

this problem became painfully apparent to me in the last couple days, during which a very nice, capable young man was doing some work at our house. the kid was polite as could be, very conscientious, and excellent at his job. he offered to do a couple extra things, over and above what he was there to do because, he said, his company wanted to provide a high level of customer service.

ordinarily this kind of attitude would be enough to make me swoon with appreciation and to find any pretext to use the company again.

except that during the time he was there, in the course of casual conversation, it became obvious that this person’s political and social ideology were not consistent with mine. for example, i found that he had some pretty intransigent views about a woman’s role in the world. if i were to forced describe them, i’d say his views were, uh, “traditional.” this is what women do. this is what men do. strife in relationships results when these roles get confused.

hokay…

i never directly questioned or contradicted any of his casual remarks. did i watch the convention coverage last night? no, i did not. boy that was some speech so-and-so gave, did you read about it? no, i saw the headline today, but i didn’t have time to get into the article.

wrong convention. wrong party. not my interpretation of said speech, which i had read about and found annoying.

mind you, we didn’t ever engage in a big, long political discussion. under different circumstances i might have found a dialogue interesting, or revealing, or educational. but in this case i intentionally avoided the opportunity because (get this) i thought this otherwise upstanding young man might sabotage the work. or that he would stop volunteering the little peripheral details of the job.

nothing he did or said would lead a reasonable person to leap to this conclusion. i leapt of my own accord. it wasn’t a big jump, either. it was more like a short step off the curb. into the path of an oncoming bus.

that bus, i think, might be personal integrity…which makes me intellectual roadkill.

i’m a political bigot. and that’s a problem.

A New Look!

To heck with the build stages, I tells ya. The redesign is almost complete, and it is alls I can do right now. I've no more time -- well, so little -- to give to design-storming (design + brainstorming) for this here blog, so the build template goes live. Of course, there are a few elements that could withstand further revision and a few type details that could be ironed out with a deft touch, but all in all this is the direction for transcendental floss.

For primary content, new links are what I call oyyo (oranjellowelloyorange). Visited links are khaki, which is the color of the framing wrapper. The links in the sidebar differ only in their color scheme (off-white for new links and softer green (than the sidebar background) for visited links). Upon hover (or mouseover) all text links within the entire template, whether new or visited, become underlined for purposes of clarity. [edited 02 sept 04]

If something is broken (or appears to be) please leave a comment along with your browser and OS and respective version numbers. Thank you.

NOTE The "transcendental" color block in the masthead is subject to occasionally change upon refresh.