Unexpected Physics

      Oldies TV network Me-TV has been running The Wizard of Oz film most of this month, along with various (old) behind-the-scenes shows about it.  And they've run The Wiz, the much later reinterpretation of the first Oz story (and one that correctly puts Dorothy in silver shoes -- the ruby slippers in the classic film were substituted because the red stands out wonderfully in Technicolor).

     The Wiz was playing this afternoon while I did my various chores, and I'd watch for a bit whenever I took a break.  I was doing just that when Dorothy (Diana Ross) and Toto (some nice stage dog) encountered an unrecognizable Micheal Jackson as The Scarecrow, being hounded by crows who were singing--  They were singing--  Oh, wow!

     What they were singing was social commentary, expressed in the informal or joking version of the laws of thermodynamics:
     1. You can't win.
     2. You can't break even.
     3. You can't quit the game. 
     Economics is known as "the dismal science," but let me tell you, thermodynamics is pretty dour, too.  In The Wiz, the Scarecrow is as crab-bucketed a character as ever was, literally pulling quotes by great thinkers out of his head while the crows caper around him, eating the products of the garden he's supposedly protecting and chortling about how stuck he is, unable to get ahead, unable to walk away.  I hope this isn't a spoiler for anyone: Dorothy eventually shoos them off and gets the scarecrow to walking, in a dance number that shows off Jackson's remarkable abilities.  And in the meantime, audiences have had one of the fundamental truths of the universe sung at them.

     Of course, humans are localized entropy-reversers.  We may not win at thermodymanics, but we can cheat a little.  We can push back, and that's what Dorothy does for the Scarecrow: helps him stand up and start pushing back.

     I am far from the first person to notice this.  One of the others is a huge physics geek, and dug into the history of the plain-language version of the three laws.  It's worth watching!

Vacuum Of Nope

      So, week before last, I dropped the motor unit of my "Amazon Basics" rechargeable, HEPA-rated stick vacuum by not realizing that I was holding on to the wrong part when I unlatched it from an accessory.  Bang! Down it went from waist height, striking the floor with the hinge over the dust receptacle cover and leaving me holding the business-end widget.  Of course hinge broke and the cover came off, leaving me with a nasty splash of hairballs and dust on the floor and a useless vacuum.

     Solvent glue didn't work -- wrong kind of plastic.  There's no way to build up tooth enough for epoxy to get a grip.  I might be able to use 2mm nuts and bolts to fasten a piece of aluminum across the break, but the size of the hardware is a clue to the scale of the thing: it was only strong and large enough to keep a small plastic cover in place.

     I liked that little vacuum a lot.  It was relatively light and didn't strain my back, plus it was quiet enough that Holden the big baby tomcat could (barely) tolerate it.  (My old upright sent him cowering behind the couch.) So I went looking for another one.  It was an inexpensive import and surely the big retailer still offered--  No.  There were some similar models from companies with imaginary names, some with good reviews, some not so good, none of which looked to use the same filters as my defunct Amazon.  After a couple of days spending spare time looking, I gave up and bought a name-brand, well-reviewed, line-powered stick vac.

     The box was pretty heavy.  I unpacked it today, put the big stick vac together, gave the floors a once-over and it's a nope.  Oh, it'll replace my ancient upright, which is overdue.  The roller design on the carpet attachment is great, and doesn't build up hair at all.  But it's too loud (Holden just reappeared as I started this paragraph, looking around for the dire howling Thing) and it's too darned heavy.  It can't be my daily driver.  And it turns out I dislike managing the cord.

     Back to the internets, I guess.

"You Should Smile More. You're Prettier When You Smile."

     You should walk a mile in my ears.  Men (especially) say things to women that they think of as well-intentioned -- but which communicate something quite different.

     For instance, looking pretty to the men around me is, in fact, not one of my goals.  I hope I'm neat, clean and reasonably well-groomed in the eyes of everyone who sees me, but the choices I make in attire, grooming and even facial expression are for me and nobody else.

     Another aspect of it is the assumption of an avuncular relationship.  Wrong, buddy.  I've been walking around on this planet for a long, long time, and I have outlived all my real uncles, of whom there were many.  At 68, I do not need any new ones.  Friends, acquaintances?  Sure!  That's fine.

     This my blog.  You get whatever I have been thinking of, most often the parts that I believe will be of more general interest, or that I am worrying about, or I'm enthused over.  Including politics.  Don't like it?  Go read something else.  Come back later, if you wish; there will probably be something else at the top of my blog.

     Just understand that I'm not your niece.  I'm a mean old lady, and I have a few things I can do very well indeed, and many more that I can muddle through with.  Sometimes I write about them.

Tired

     I have spent the entire work day -- 9:30 in the morning through 8:00 at night -- working with a very sharp factory support engineer to get a vital piece of equipment (okay, a small TV transmitter) functioning normally again.

     We succeeded.  Ten and a half hours of geekery in the constant roar of cold air and noise with no lunch, just a few snacks and sips of water and tea, is tiring.  I'm going to take the victory, however impermanent it might be, and go to bed.

Falling Behind, Catching Up

      I find it difficult to write these days, mostly due to politics and business.

     One one level, a lot of the GOP seems be adopting an apocalyptic "victory or ruin" approach to elections, and an increasingly authoritarian style when they do win.  This is not a viable long-term approach in a democratic republic -- or in any other kind of democracy.  It is one reason I have put off retirement; a fixed income is perilous if there are major disruptions.

     More immediately, my line of work is undergoing a series of consolidations and adjustments that mean more and more work is being done by fewer and fewer people, and to step out of the game of musical chairs at all means losing your place.  The big owners are more and more remote, the pay gap between the corporate bosses and the clock-punchers is getting larger and larger, and as far as they're concerned, "artificial intelligence" is probably going to make most of us redundant before too long anyway.  There's a lot of incentive to keep on getting while the getting is at least adequate, because tomorrow it may all go away.

     But all of this (and plenty more) is not at all conducive to calm reflection.  I'm running as fast as I can to stay caught up, knowing the music will stop and at that point, the question will be not if things are bad but how bad they are, and how quickly will they get worse.

     I was hoping to retire in more or less genteel poverty, under a largely stable national and local government, in a world that wasn't notably more screwed up than the one I grew up in (which had an ample supply of problems, many without clear solutions, but people were at least trying).  That's not what we've got and navigating the present makes me feel like a drunk on a highwire.

Chilly Night

      This morning, a sign of the changing seasons: it was 61°F inside Roseholme Cottage and I ran the furnace for the first time this Fall.  

     Between the ancient thermosiphon (or "gravity") coal converted to gas forced-air furnaces* in my long-ago duplex and the smelly, cantankerous oil-burning furnace in my first Indianapolis home, the first furnace run of autumn always worries me.  It wasn't too many years ago that the furnace here had a cracked heat exchanger (which I smelled and then saw) and had to be replaced.  The process went okay this year.  Now it's a toasty 64° and I'm enjoying a plate of Breakfast Hash for lunch.

     It's a fancy variant of Breakfast Hash.  I don't make the stuff much, partially because I need to pick up a decent modern wok or deep cast-iron skillet, and because I've cut way back on potatoes and rice; the doc is right about enjoying that stuff sparingly.

     Still, every once in a great while is acceptable, and today's mixture of diced potatoes, scrambled eggs and a couple of strips of bacon is accompanied by sliced green olives, pickled okra and mild banana peppers, a hot piparra pepper,† a whole fire-roasted piquilla pepper and a half-dozen little peppedew peppers, all of them pickled and, except for the very last, chopped up.  
_______________________
* They were an education in the start-up process, with a large ring burner in the old coal combustion chamber and a candle-sized pilot flame in the center, all under a thick steel plate and with a thermocouple stuck in the pilot: if the pilot went out, the furnace couldn't open the gas valve, since the tiny current from the thermocouple powered the controls.  A normal start took nearly a minute, from the tiny click of the valve, the whoosh of gas, the long pause 'til the burner caught and a muted roar as it heated the air enough to trip the fan control.  The fans were different on each side of the duplex -- an external squirrel-cage unit in the cold air return on my side, but the other side had a much larger horizontal squirrel-cage fan inside the hot-air distribution octopus at the top of the furnace and an external motor hanging in a spring-loaded mount driving a set of belted pulleys to run the fan -- a little one on the motor and a large on top of the furnace.  When that system kicked on, the motor would bounce in the springs and the big pulley would wobble and yaw until the fan rotor came up to speed and stabilized.  The entire top of the furnace flexed; the bearing for the fan was in great shape but the sheet metal hadn't been designed to support a fan and the reinforcement wasn't enough to hold it steady.  My furnace guy -- the only one in town who would work on such historic contraptions -- swore it was perfectly normal behavior.  Still, knowing what was lurking down in the basement, I laid in bed on many a winter night, counting the seconds after the first click and rush of gas....twenty-two, twenty-three, twent- foomph, there's the fire, okay, one, two...fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seven--...click, whirrrrrrr, there's the fan, all right, I can go back to sleep.  Running big transmitters for work, I applied the lessons the furnaces taught me, learning the sounds of a normal start-up and often noticing when it stalled before my coworkers did.
 
† For my taste, these are hot enough that just one is plenty in this, and two or three in a big pot of chili.  However, they're very tasty and YMMV.

Wait, What?

      It's a cold, wet morning in Indianapolis, and checking on Indiana fuel prices has led to a chilling discovery: while the state has suspended the 37 cents-per-gallon gasoline road tax, the corresponding 63 cents-per-gallon tax on gas-station diesel* remains in effect.  The road tax money is earmarked to be spent on just that, and the reason for the disproportion will be found hauling freight trailers on the interstate.  The overall state budget has been running a surplus and it will supposedly be used to make up the lost revenue.  Indiana drivers will be well aware that our usual road spending is, um, thrifty, and so I'm not sure if this will make driving much worse.

     I was hoping to sweeten the pot for a field technician planning a swing through the state; we've got a widget he's far more qualified to look over than I am (the book for the thing is more of a user's manual) and we'd like to see him sooner rather than later.  You'd never guess what the powerplant in his service truck full of test equipment, replacement parts and tools runs on, not in a million, jillion years -- but it ain't ethyl.
______________________
* "Red dye diesel" is not taxed by Indiana; it's intended for use in off-road farm machinery, though the Governor has decreed farmers can now use it in their on-road transportation.  Everyone else needs to stick with the undyed version and pay the tax.  If you pull up at the Co-Op in your Benz, they're going to send you on your way unfulfilled.

A Happier Note: Food

     This morning, I had a treat: a toasted ham, cheese and egg sandwich on rye bread.  It's every bit as bad for you as you might think, consisting of a fried egg sandwiched between two thin slices of lightly-fried ham and slices of Havarti cheese on the outside, fried in a nonstick pan with a little butter.  When the cheese is melted and both sides of the bread are toasted golden and crunchy, it's ready.  (A little mustard or hot sauce would not be out of order, though I passed on 'em this morning.)

     Look, I had oatmeal yesterday and I'll probably have it tomorrow, but there was only a little bit of bread and ham left today and it wanted used up.

Points To Newsfeed, Shrugs

     Look at almost any newsfeed; sure, Fox News and the sites to the right of them are whistling in the dark more loudly than ever, but from the center onward, things aren't looking great for the Trump administration and it's rubbing off on a lot of Republicans, even in states and districts long thought "safe" for the GOP.

     Does that mean the upcoming election will be a romp for the Democrats?  I doubt it.  It's likely they'll do better than expected, but I don't think we'll see a dramatic majority for them in the Senate.  But the image of Republican politicians is getting tarnished even in the demographics most favorable to them, and that slide is unlikely to reverse as long as fuel (and everything downstream of it) remains expensive, Iran remains defiant, and the Russians keep pounding away at Ukraine.  Spin can only do so much, which President after President has learned the hard way.  Mr. Trump is not so much on learning, but the bill comes due nevertheless, and he's not the kind of guy who will happily pay up on presentation.

Events Leading Up To....

     Tamara's line for times like these is "Events leading up to...," that part at the beginning of a history book (or maybe a chapter in an especially thick one) recounting the factors, actions and events before some kind of noteworthy change for good, ill or maybe just very different.  Steamships, wars, disasters, revolutions: Archduke Ferdinand's murder, the promulgation of the first written code of laws, landing on the Moon, the Russian or American or French Revolutions: they didn't happen in a vacuum.

     We're living in "Events leading up to," but leading up to what, I can't say.  I don't know.  It's a cusp, a discontinuity.  The three branches of the Federal government are at war among themselves and with the public; it's a low-key, slow motion war (unless you happen to be Ilhan Omar, a tree on a public golf course in Washington, D.C. or an immigrant with less than spotless papers or less than impressive wealth) but it's unsupportable nonetheless.  You can see it in the polls, in the President campaigning in what should be safely Republican states and districts, making dire warning that he may be "the last Republican President."

     As an amateur student of history, that particular warning doesn't bother me.  While the United States of America has had a de facto two-party system almost from the outset, they've not always been the same two and their disagreements haven't been consistent.  The emerging parties named themselves the Federalists (more or less Hamiltonian, big-government as their day saw it) and the Republican-Democrats (roughly Jeffersonian, generally small-government), but only one has survived to the present day, and it with only half its name and few of the original principles or core issues intact, due to the changes under Andrew Jackson,* Woodrow Wilson and Franklin Roosevelt.  On both sides, party names and key issues have come and gone.  Who remembers the Whigs, the Know-Nothings, the Anti-Masons?   The spot the Republicans now occupy has seen the most changes of name, and both sides have had huge discontinuities, with the emergence of Jacksonianism for one and the collapse of the Whigs for the other.  Nobody weeps for them now except students who didn't study hard enough for the test.

     The thing about historical discontinuities is that although the term is bloodless, the real-world working out is not always so.  Things are not great now.  They could be much worse and I don't have any confidence they won't be.

     It's time to stock up on canned goods again.  Just in case. 
__________________
* I somehow managed to conflate him with Hamilton in an earlier draft, resulting in "Alexander Jackson," a hybrid who is best not speculated about.

Y'know What I Want?

     I want to get back to a country where it's (mostly) safe to (largely) ignore politics.  The problem is, of course, that politics isn't doing a very good job of ignoring us.

     No matter who or what you blame 'em on, fuel prices, inflation, various kinds of food contamination, a slow-growing measles epidemic, simmering war in the Gulf and Ukraine (and a few other smaller hot spots) is affecting all but the most wealthy of us, every day.  Meanwhile, those rich people keep on getting richer while the rest of us are running as fast as we can to stay where we are.  I know I am; adjusted for inflation, my pay has gone steadily down for the last 25 years, and probably longer.  There's nothing "trickling down."

     If a politician ran on a platform of Make America Boring Again, I'd be seriously interested.  We've had way too much excitement.

Everybody Out Of The Pool?

     The Trump administration's DOJ -- far more a creature of Presidential whim than ever before -- is investigating the member news organizations of the White House Video Pool over their not covering the President on events that CNN (a long time member of the Video Pool) is barred from attending.

     To explain all this, I need to start by taking a long step back, to the White House Correspondent's Association.  The roots of it go back -- allegedly -- to Theodore Roosevelt's time in office, but the official founding of the organization was in 1914, during a time when -- wait for it! -- the odious Woodrow Wilson, then President, was feuding with the press and threatening to stop holding press conferences altogether.  They managed to broker terms between a President angry over what he saw as publication of off the record information, and a press corps hungry for news.

     There's only so much room in the White House, and even less when a President travels.  The WHCA operates as a kind of as "funnel," sorting out precedence (and, traditionally, seating arrangements) in the White House press room and selecting a subgroup of reporters to provide "pool" coverage for the entire membership when it's impractical (or impossible) to haul the whole bunch of them along.  In theory, they are the eyes and ears of the nation, and in practice, their membership and leadership represents a broad spectrum of political leanings and news philosophies.  This happens not because they're all so very chummy but because they're highly competitive and the only way to avoid anyone having an unfair advantage is to all be watching one another, all the time.

     The Video Pool reflects this.  There are many events where one or two cameras (a main and a backup) are all there's room for, and the outfits with the most experience making moving pictures and the best tech and production support comprise the Video Pool: NBC, CBS, ABC, CNN and Fox News.*  They're not there to be the President's best pal or worst enemy, they're present to get whatever is newsworthy, and to share it with the other members of the pool and the rest of the WHCA.  When the President decided CNN (after trying to ban CNN, MS Now and Politico from White House press coverage and being told by the courts that having invited the press in, he didn't get to be picky-choosy about kicking some of them back out) was uninvited to those events that required Video Pool coverage, the other members of the pool declined to step in.  If CNN was the WHCA-designated Video Pool lead and they weren't allowed to do the job, none of the rest were going to pick up the slack. 

     DOJ is crying foul over that, saying such a showing of press solidarity may constitute illegal collusion under anti-trust laws.  Bartleby may "prefer not to" all by himself, but if he's been getting together with the other scriveners and stepping away en masse, well--  The courts will get to figure this one out, but the Press has considerable freedom, which the Federal government is Constitutionally disallowed from abridging.

     What, exactly, that might mean in this context remains to be seen.  Most administrations manage to do their work without needing to test every damn limit and norm; even the prejudiced and haughty Wilson saw the light of sweet Reason (or at least of bittersweet Compromise).  This crew, not so much.
____________________
* This is in rough order of the formation of their TV news operations, with CNN and Fox News coming along well after the other three.  Bear in mind that pool video is share and share alike, and it's a prestige gig for the videographers and reporters, real "Don't screw this up" stuff.  They don't get brownie points for playing partisan gotcha, they get 'em for eye-catching, attention-grabbing coverage, period.  There is always a mildly adversarial relationship between Press and politicians, and I wouldn't have it any other way, no matter who's involved: you want 'em looking close.