No Smoke Detector, Saved By Passer-By

     Along Georgetown Road at 12:45 this morning, a passing motorist realized a house was on fire and rather than taking a picture and posting it to F@ceTwitGram or even calling 911 while driving on, he stopped, got out, and hammered on the door until the occupants were awake and exiting the house.

     Mission accomplished, he got in his car and left.  Who was that helpful stranger?  Nobody knows.  But the family whose lives he saved admit they didn't have working smoke detectors; had he not stopped, they would probably all be dead now.

     "If you see something, say something," works way better for Samaritans than snitches.

Breaking News: Ricin To Bloomberg

     Not a baseball play: some yammerhead slopped a bitta ricin on a letter to gun-grabbing NYC Mayor Michael Bloomberg, a letter in which his gun-grabbing ways were unfavorably mentioned.

     Hizzoner promptly (and to no one's surprise) announced such tactics would never, ever stop his efforts to remove or reduce one of your inalienable and Constitutionally-protected rights.  He'll shove us peasants back into the mud even if it takes half his fortune to get it done!

     Hey, yammerheads, stop sending the little rat poison.  First, it's wrong; second, it's a crime; third, you will be caught; fourth, it's redundant and fifth, this is not how to win.

     Nope, we -- normal gun-owners that is, not morons smearin' castor-bean extract on their dork-notes -- win by being right and outnumbering him.  On the one side, a gazillionaire and his bought-and-paid-for servants; on the other, five million NRA members and a hundred million law-abiding gun owners.  Ballot box, mail box, soap-box: we can whup 'im right there, with the great big mallet marked First Amendment.

     And we'll whup 'im a lot easier if nit-wits don't go sending literal poison-pen letters to the freedom-hating elitist-in-chief and/or his higher ranking minions.  Stay off my side, dammit.  Don't give 'em any blood to dance in: they like it.  They're good at it.  Victims are their favorite props; they know how to work 'em.  Why make their job easier?

Book Review

     I recently read John Scalzi's The Human Division[1] (on my Kindle, not that Amazon gives me anything to mention this, the chintzy jerks -- hey, Bezos, you promised to spend all my Amazonbux on Blue Origin, remember?).

     It's good stuff, classic SF ideas presented in the modern style.  Set in the same universe as his Old man's War, it (mostly) follows the efforts of a Colonial Union diplomatic team in the aftermath of the split between Earth and CU. My guess would be that some fraction of reviewers will compare it to Keith Laumer's "Retief"[2] short stories; but where Laumer is satirical and sharply critical of most of his diplomat-characters and their organization and the hero triumphs in spite of their pettifogging and myopic focus, Scalzi's crew, for all they are something of a bunch of diplomatic misfits, work doggedly and to the best of their abilities against rather grim odds.  Some of the byplay and dialog -- and the tone -- reminds me of Eric Frank Russell's connected short stories (collected in Men, Martians and Machines) about the adventures of crew of the spaceship Upskadaska City. (Though, of course, there'll never be another Kli Yang or Jay Score).  And Ambassador Abumwe is as nicely drawn a portrait of a difficult, talented, dead-ended high-ranker as I've found in SF.  The ambassador is not our main focus; many of the stories spotlight the work of Harry Wilson, an apparently unambitious Colonial Defense Forces officer and Hart Schmidt, underachieving third-tier bureaucrat.  Jame Retief and Ben Magnan, they're not -- but they get the job done, in plausible,  engagingly-told tales. 

     If you've been following Old Man's War and sequels, you'll get more from this collection than if you haven't -- but if you don't mind starting in the middle, it would make a good introduction to that fictional universe.  Recommended.
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1. Or most of it, via the one-story-a-week release schedule.  If you buy the physical book or compiled collection, there's two extra yarns in 'em, all part of How e-Books Kept An Author From Starving In a Garrett.

2. Why hasn't anyone brought Retief to film yet?  He'd out-Bond Bond and leave most movin'-pitchers SF in the dust! Scalzi has at least been optioned; so one can hope for an eventual film. Maybe it won't be Starship Troopers.

Indy 1500 Gun Show

Yes, it's this weekend!

     Tamara is setting up a mini-BlogMeet for Sunday afternoon.  Late word was 3:00 p.m., at Broad Ripple Brew Pub.

Oh, and PS: Thanks to everyone who wished me Happy Birthday!  Wow -- way more than I would have expected.

So, Yesterday

     Yesterday, it was my birthday.  One of those difficult ones, in between the ones that start with "3" and the ones that start with, "Wow, I can't believe I made it this far!"

     --Except, of course, they're really all in the latter category.  We're every one of us wildly unlikely critters and yet, here we are.  That's worth celebrating.

     Me, I celebrated by going to bed early.  Ah. sleep: the cheapest gift and yet one of the most difficult to acquire, give or indulge in when you really want to.

....Um, Hello?

     I admit it: I have been ignoring the news.  I got nuthin'.  Oh, overheard this morning that the EU has decided it is oo-tay to sell weapons to the Syrian rebels now -- 'cos there is nothing Unified Europe likes better the World Peace except, maybe, money and a chance to mess with a former colonized area.  Kids, a hornet's nest and a long, long stick--  Okay, a lotta this type "hornet" is already a bee under their bonnet, and maybe swatting's too good for 'em, but y'hate to look.

     At least I do.  So I have not, as mentioned earlier, been seeking out The News.  And yet it's still difficult to avoid.

Overheard In The Kitchen

     While cooking Swedish Pancakes* (because Swedish Pancakes!):

Thing 1: "Y'know, they write about Bathsheba; they write about Beersheba.  But nobody ever writes about Beerbathsheba, who had way more fun."

Thing 2: "Or her cousin Champagne-Shower Sheba, who had even more fun!"

     Ah, Roseholme Cottage, built in 1924 and still alive with the memory of flappers....
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* Simplest recipe in the world: a cuppa flour, a cuppa milk, a coupl'a eggs.  Or three.  Pile high and serve with butter and sugar or good jam between each layer, or syrup.  Whatever.

Memorial Day

     I--  Don't have anything fancy to say.  I haven't even got a photograph.  People -- men, women, mostly men -- have gone out and died in service of this country.  Taking one day, even a few minutes of one day, to remember them?  It's grossly disproportionate. 

     But it's something.

     Remember them.

I Slept Late

     And it felt goooood.

     Meanwhile, the TV has spent all morning showing me the 500-mile race track and all the fans, from celebs to J. Average Guy.
       Interesting (?) personal trivia #1: in the late 1980s, I worked for a radio station that got itself thrown out of the track; the next year, the new owners -- despite having learned of this history -- refused to apply for media passes and location by the deadline and sent me out to make last-minute arrangements.  I did my best but No Dice; guess whose fault that was?
     Interesting (?) personal trivia #2: My first boss in my current job wouldn't send me into any venue like the track on qualification weekend or race day where getting in and out consumed considerable time: "You're on call.  When we need you someplace like the transmitter site, we need you there ASAP."  Ah, the perfect blend of need and inclination: they need me available and I'm little inclined to brave crowds.

     (Is Carol Brady dodging Gomer Pyle?  Nope, she's recovering from pneumonia -- but he's there, to sing "Back Home Again In Indiana" [proving that Hoosiers are tolerant of anyone who will -- and can -- sing our state song]. She's home instead; and she's usually got a musical number, too,  fillin' in for Kate Smith on "God Bless America."  Not good weather today for anyone getting over a lung infection, even without having to belt out that tune.  Conversely, while Jim Nabors looks about 102, when asked to "do that voice," he sounds 20 as he drops into full Gomer mode. Gawllllleeeeee.)

End Of The Grid

...As seen from the Left.  Or part of it, anyway.  Interesting -- and maybe it's not an issue that will see division along the stereotypical lines.

Bajaj Chetak: The Flying Percolator

(Post title being make, model and name of my scooter, a kind of semi-copy of a Vespa.)

Self-parody, 'cos no one else will:

Arise, oh daughter of Vespa
Your cloned motor scooter awaits
Arise, oh daughter of Vespa
The Bajaj Chetak's ready at the gate

Gray-silver classic scooter, not sedate
Child of Vespa, please don't be too late;
Needs tires checked and oil level, too
Arise, oh daughter of Vespa:
Your motor scooter's waiting for you

     I am so overdue to get my motor scooter back on the road.  And still suffering balance problems from my cold.  Bummer.

What's China Look Like...

...To a visiting musician?  Imogen Heap shows us.
...And all you brought back was a T-shirt?  Yeah, that and a handful of photos is about all I ever manage, too.