This And...That?

§ 1. The astute observer will have noted I missed my late-afternoon/early-evening posting yesterday. Thereby hangs a tale, in much the same manner as a spider monkey hangs from one. My part of the Big Secret Project has involved a lot of Being An Electrician, which is sort of like havin' a nuke reactor tech fix your Jacuzzi. And it's not quite starting from scratch, the place was wired up once, then later unwired back to the walls; so about half of it is lookin' at what's there and figuring out how to get from that to what the project needs with a minimim of kludges, cheats and bends (especially bends other than 90° -- 3/4" EMT conduit and a gal-powered bender old enough to not have handy angle marks, that much exercise I do not need and want even less). And the other half is actually so doing, plus a little work inside a live panelboard. Projects and deadlines being what they are, yesterday was at least twelve full hours of it and no stop for lunch. I came home, made a quick run to the market with Tam (outta cat food and microwavable girl chow), ate dinner and sailed away to Dreamland, the Sandman tagging after, complaining, "Hey! Not so fast!"

§ 2. This guy has been linkin' to me for awhile now. If you like guns and music, I commend Redboy Blues to your attention.

§ 3. My congratulations to the well-chosen winners of Para Ordnance's weekend at Blackwater! (Including my roomie, who won't quite admit to dancing about, singing, "Made of Win! And Cake!" when the happy news arrived).

§ 4. And now, I'm off! Wish me luck, the bulk of The Project needs to be finished today.

In The News

Remember back when the Democrats were all het up and pouty over this sort of thing? An excellent example of a prime rule of party politics, the It's Different When It Is Our Scoundrels Doing It rule. Feh. Havin' Uncle Sam hand out Free Money™ to religious instiutions is never a wise idea, if you ask me: next thing you know, he's bought 'em a little car and a nice condo an' he's a-tellin 'em what to wear and sneakin' away from work and home to spend time with 'em.

And then we have News For Sophisticated Europeoples from Reuters (or did they only use it in the version fed to the States?) with this lead* para:

Police have detained two custodians who were about to harvest their first crop of cannabis, a source of drugs like hashish and marijuana, from a cemetery in Vietnam's capital, a state-run newspaper reported on Monday.

(emphasis mine) Hully gee, I guess I didn't know that! You mean hemp isn't just for T-shirts, paper, and snarky comments about famous d00ds who grew it? A-mazin'.
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* Or possibly leaden.

Here Be Tygers

Or, as is often the case, not.

Here's the picture, see? Our Young (-ish? Aw, c'mon, gimme that much...?) Heroine, armed only with a Scout knife -- her employer having certain regressive notions anent firearms[1] -- climbs aboard her trusty scooter along about 0400 (a.m., mind you) and sets off down somewhat mean & scary streets.

These are by no measure the meanest or scariest in town but parts of the neighborhoods my journey passes through are hardscrabble poor; and it's a sad truth that the poor are the favored victims and frequent refuge of your blue-collar criminal. Along this route, we find (at the intersection of College Ave and Easy Escape) the high-zoot coffee shop that got held up a little while back. That said, some folks hereabouts might be poor but the the overwhelming majority keep their lawns mowed, the shrubbery trimmed and while the paint might not be as shiny-bright as where you live, it's not neglected, either.

Me, I'm a small-town girl and we lived some miles outside even that town; my notions of "dangerous neighborhood" owe more to Hollywood than real life. Go look up the stats: outside of some very small areas, usually ones where storefrontless entrepreneurs of various sorts are found offering their wares to passers-by, most places in cities are not significantly less safe than the countryside. Oh, the hazards differ but "tore up by a combine" or "hit by a tricked-out Chevy" differ very little when it happens to you, nor is the subtle distinction between a crackhead and a meth brewer hopped up on his product all that clear when either one gets in your face. Likewise, the wee sma' hours are not the most dangerous time of day, crime-wise: I'll take "dusk to midnight" for the win, Alex.

Still with me? Okay. Three paragraphs of setup out of the way, an' here I am in the dark an' gloom, waitin' on the light at the intersection of Poor and Proud, when, suddenly-- out of the corner of my eye, I see movement! Oh, noes! Whatever can it be?

[CUE dramatic organ music]

Undaunted and gauntleted, I turn my helmeted head toward the motion as the Dire Threat moves closer and into the streetlight: it's a-- a-- A Mom and two teeny-tiny, just-old-enough-to-be-skipping children. Which they are, under her watchful gaze. She and I both realize we're givin' each other the "who's that stranger?" look at the same time and grin at one another. As the happy family crosses the street, I say, "Howdy"[2] and she says, "Good mornin'!" and her kids wave and wave.

Yessirree, ya gotta look out while on the roads in the dark of night, cos y'might meet ordinary people. Oooooooo. 'Cos there's about a zillion of them per bad'un. I'm not sayin' there aren't bad guys or even just severely whimsical Urban Outdoorsmen wandering loose and I'm not sayin' it's bad to be wary (quite the reverse); but there really is more good than evil in the world, and way more friends out there you haven't yet met than people who will hate you on sight. Be as ready to smile as you are to fight or flee. It's more way likely to happen and a lot more fun.
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1. Of which I have blogged before. Short version: while it would be handy to be armed to and from, fat lot of good a sidearm would do in the starship anyhow, there is no safe direction: too many people, too much expensive gear, all in too little space. If badness happens, my plan is what it has always been: be elsewhere, rapidly. Bein' in Engineering, I know all the Elsewheres and have keys to most of them. Alas, I'm not good at carrying this out; last looney in the lobby with explosive claims (he lied. As usual), I joined the other electron-pushers in just happening to find reason to saunter out: if we get blowed up, it won't be for lack of trying to stop it.

2. 'Cos I learned my greeting methodology from Clint Eastwood's spaghetti Westerns? Dunno. Habit.

The July Indy Blog Meet

Yes, it's time again! Time to pick a day for the next Indy Blog Meet. (And a place. Barbecue, anyone?)

Are there any weekends near the end of the month that potential attendees find especially suited (or unsuited)?

Lemme know!

(And now, I'm off to be the Good Witch of the North. Or something. A scooter counts as a broomstick, right?)

Now, This Message...

What's darker than oh-dark-thirty? I dunno but it's my new breakfast spot for awhile.

But friends, that's not what I came here to share. More or less Endless Weekend Sports yesterday was brought to us by... TMI!

Do you need TMI? Do you have that listless, run-down, dribbly sort of feeling more than a third of the time? Do other people pass you on the freeway, snickering? Possibly you wake up feeling short on calcium every Whitsunday? TMI may be the the answer.

TMI is only for a very special sort of person, not just anybody. Only your doctor can say if TMI is right for you but you know that quack isn't going to bestir him or herself to get you any unless you call 'em up right now and ask for it by name! Demand TMI!

(Please note that overuse of TMI can result in blurting out symptoms to strangers and/or public discussion of awkward bodily functions. When first taking TMI, avoid operating lightweight machinery and never, ever sing or attempt to sing Grand Opera while you are on TMI. TMI may cause priapism and/or irregular menses. Mice exposed to TMI either developed or feigned migraines in a futile effort to get away. Use only as directed. Really. Please.)

Hullo

It's oh-frickin'-dark-thirty an' here I am, about which you may be wonderin'.

The explanation is quite simple, really: we're on another huge project at the Big Old-Media company, at the peak of the vacation season and with a couple of the techies out sick or on limited duty. Me bein' so duty-minded an' all, when we hit the holiday weekend an' came up short, I offered to help out.

It's not that I am so terribly devoted; it isn't even (entirely) the time and a half plus brownie points[1], though that certainly helps. But even though the really heavy lifting of our current effort[2] was contracted out to Arcane Experts, if my department doesn't stay in step with them, our part of the task will get hugely more difficult. A little extra now to save a whole lot of shrieking panic and superlong days later is well worth it!
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1. The latter already redeemed to get time to attend the Indy Hamfest next weekend; this is not a feast consisting of tasty well-cured pork but rather an amateur radio swapmeet.
2. About which I would love to expound but it's the usual deal: there's a significant competitive advantage to my employer in keeping mum on the project until it is unveiled and it turns out (who would'a thunk?) my paycheck is paid out of their net profits; so nothin' doin' 'til later!

Independence Day!

Huzzah!

...We celebrate it on the wrong day (there may be no single right one: the Declaration of Independence was adopted by the Second Continental Congress 2 July 1776 and signed, mostly, by 2 August) and often with an unclear understanding of what it meant, though most folks get the basics well enough: the birth of the United States. The glorious notion that claiming to have been handed a Crown by $DEITY or blood-right was nonsense, that men were clever enough to rule themselves and the sure knowledge -- stemming from a long period of benign neglect -- that the less obtrusive the government, the better off the people.

But though they were soon to be calling themselves "States," i.e, Nations, the former colonies were not all that "united" in the Summer of '76, acting instead in a loose confederation later codified by the Continental Congress passing the Articles of Confederation in November of 1777, Articles not ratified by a majority of the former colonies 'til March 1781. (It should be noted that the Second Continental Congress was the American Congress that began the custom, honored by all successor bodies, of kiting checks or equivalent paper. This provides yet another reason to keep government small).

The day our Founders told the Crown to take a hike is not the same thing as the day the United States became a nation: on that day, the 13 colonies became 13 nations. The "one nation, indivisible" guff took nearly a hundred years to gel and a far greater death-toll than than was paid in the War of Independence. (And even at that, it took a concerted PR pitch in the form of a nearly-compulsory oath to completely sell it -- see Francis Bellamy). What we share as U. S. citizens is more than a mere patch of land or a required oath to a symbol. We share a dream, a shared ideal, a solemn promise redeemed in blood. Don't lose sight of it in the celebration.

When was the most recent bit of revolutionary zeal exercised in the U.S.? Possibly 1961! (We'll ignore the cabals of secessionist plotters in Yreka and Key West and their occasional overt acts for now). The 13 colonies did it first and best.

On this day (or near enough) in 1776, brave, clear-thinking men put their fortunes, lives and sacred honor on the line for an idea: the wild, unproven notion that adult humans could govern themselves. 232 years later, it's worked out pretty well but our would-be Kings and petty nobles cry out more loudly every year that they know what's best for us and should dictate our lives and our fate. Green or to the Purple born, they're not to be trusted. Tell 'em what the Colonies told the King!

Linguistic Patrol: The Chickens, Home To Roost.

Looking up "enormity," I encountered "fortuitous." Oh, lucky me? Fortuitous, hey? Wrong!

Turns out I have been misusing the word for years. It means "by chance," period. It contains nothing of "good luck" or "serendipity."

Ow!

What She Said

In a footnote to this post, Tam writes, "If I haven't answered your email, it's because either I really love you or I thought your question rated a very thoughtful serious answer," then expands on the notion.

So true. RTWT!

Linguistic Patrol: Day Two

(Going after the low-hanging-fruit).

Improper use of "enormity" may result in having one's skull stomped flat by a venomous T-Rex ridden by an overmuscled, baby-eating Nazi in a silver lamé uniform, playing disco at high volume on a bad boombox.

If something is hugely ginormous, it possessed possesses the quality of enormousness.
If some thing or act or entity is boundlessly or outrageously wicked, it may well be an enormity.

Don't confuse 'em. Little Rolfie and his thunder lizard, they tend to jump the gun. Oh, the enormity!
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Thanks to Charles Pergiel for the correction!

Oh, No

Phlegmmie's beloved little doglet Valentine has gone on to the eternal fields, where "Fetch" can be played at will and the tiny legs of elderly dogs never let them down.

Services are now, at Fatale Abstraction. Stop by and say something.

FDA To Asthmatics: Stifle Yourself

Perhaps that's a little strong, but FDA is banning the "Primatine Mist™"-style rescue inhalers -- including, as nearly as I can find, some prescription types -- over concerns that CFCs in the propellant will destroy the ozone layer and kill Mother Earth. Considering the palm-able size of these gadgets and the quick shot of the stuff it takes to bail sufferers out of a bad asthma attack, the message is clear: the FDA would rather bask in the smug glow of a largely symbolic act than let little Jimmy take a breath. Yes, there is a replacement but it's more costly, harder to find, not as forceful and tastes awful.

My ex suffered from asthma controlled, as is most often the case now, by medication that kept attacks from happening -- mostly. He'd still have the occasional one and he kept a (prescription) rescue inhaler of the to-be-banned sort. Since his attacks were few and far between, he sometimes failed to carry it, so ready availability of over-the-counter relief was important. There is little love lost between us, but you don't have to be all that fond of a person to not want them to suffer asphyxiation. Especially not as a result of green-brained nonsense.

Wears-his-rump-for-a-hat money quote:
Dennis Acha of Breathe California said,” We have to look at the big picture. People with asthma depend on a good environment."
Mebbeso, Kemo Sabe, but when you can't depend on your next breath, high-minded abstractions are just the teensiest bit awkward to entertain.

But hey, forget those ickily gasping asthmatics, how 'bout them snail darters?
Ijits.