The Basement in the Attic

My random meanderings on lived experiences & the thoughts they generate.

Returning to 3rd shift after 30 years is a bit of a trial. Working a 4dx10h shift is not, but 2300-0900 is. My biggest challenge is exercise and putting nights like this to use. On my days off, I cannot really revert to a day-life fully because returning to work would be impossibly hard. Sure, overnights in the NOC have been quiet, a tangential benefit to a company with 10,000 remote sites that all operate strictly during regular business hours. Still, I have the “newbie’s fear” of slipping in some way and losing the job.

So overnight Sunday and Monday are up, alone, and mostly web cruising or watching really late night boob tube. These are bad habits, so I shall begin by inflicting new entries upon you, my Unknown Reader. I shall also spend more time fiddling with Plogue’s Bidule. In the end, that last would be a pale stand-in for a Reactable but since that’s not actually a product, and merely a UI, Bidule will have to do.

Living way out past the streetlights means walking late at night is a highly threatening experience (See Mankato’s recent problems). So I need some kind of exercise, but quiet enough not to disturb others under the same roof. There’s always hope of another shift, it’s a really big NOC and my team covers 24x365. Still, it has rendered life with S challenging. I must work to keep her through this, with thorough gentleness. Ideas welcomed.

Current Note Nov 2007: In light of the death of my friend David K. this spring, and my best friend, mother of my daughter, and ex-wife K last month, this seems to need something. For now, this note.

I heard a number of obituaries today for Norman Mailer. This got me to thinking about not writing enough, and not stopping to think of the death of a major figure in my family’s life. Pierce Butler died this year, I’d daresay of the complications of old age. He lived these latter years in an assisted living facility not far from my parents’ home. It is selfish of me to have not visited, but I have a vivid recollection of him 30 years ago that I did not want to occlude with reality. He was a lawyer of some success, in the 70’s he and his daughter (we went to school together) lived in a house that to this day signifies for me the glory of modernism. It is this home, his far-larger-than-life manners and style that I wish to remember. Treat this as an off-the-cuff draft of a better recollection to be written someday. Mr. Butler was a giant, taller than anyone I’d met then. I believe his voice would be described as a powerful baritone, wonderfully complex tones that were rich to the ear. He had many mannerisms but the one most familiar—and the only one I can do a passable imitation of—was to stutter “d-d-do-do you see what I mean?” This usually was told as punctuation to some funny story, and the resulting laughter was shared and hearty. My father visited him more than a few times, and that should remind us that Mr. Butler was truly amazing. Flashy, extravagant (who would own a flat-roofed house in THIS climate?) but still well worth it. Not being in the law-biz, I cannot provide a litany of citations herein, so you’re going to have to grant me that his splash was farther than the small circle I know. I write this mainly as a doodle to be worked into something later. S has started writing again, my daughter has never stopped. I’m surrounded by people who say “You should write...” and though a blog hardly counts, it is a place to note things. Note this, then: Mr. Butler wanted the ceremony remembering him to take place in the Basilica in Minneapolis because compared to the Cathedral in St. Paul, “...you get more bang for the buck.” This witticism transcends mere monetary issues perfectly. It speaks clearly of a man of taste. And that is how I remember him. Requiescat in pace, good sir.

The picture’s irrelevant. Some nice colors, but blurry as all iPhone shots are. My sister’s wanting a blog, so this may be replaced with something at my .com domain. Guess I’ll learn WordPress. Since last we exchanged words, a new job’s putting me on 3rd shift for the first time in 30 years. The adaptation curve is hell, but favorable impressions have brought a very tentative invitation to an as-yet unmade posting on 2nd shift. Wash Car, first snowfall. Is there a correlation? I invite the readers’ thoughts. Since I, for one, believe “luck” is a linguistic construct, I’d lean towards unconnectedness. I think S would hold out for the interplay of some subtle force, a cosmic background radiation of playfulness. Wonder if we can launch COBE2 to detect it. This is truly a splash of news and spew of words, your indulgence is appreciated. There will come a time this will be looked back on and recognized for the bullshit it is.

My sister’s wanting a blog, so this may be replaced with something at my .com domain. Guess I’ll learn WordPress. Since last we exchanged words, a new job’s putting me on 3rd shift for the first time in 30 years. The adaptation curve is hell, but favorable impressions have brought a very tentative invitation to an as-yet unmade posting on 2nd shift. Wash Car, first snowfall. Is there a correlation? I invite the readers’ thoughts. Since I, for one, believe “luck” is a linguistic construct, I’d lean towards unconnectedness. I think S would hold out for the interplay of some subtle force, a cosmic background radiation of playfulness. Wonder if we can launch COBE2 to detect it. This is truly a splash of news and spew of words, your indulgence is appreciated. There will come a time this will be looked back on and recognized for the bullshit it is. Cheers, B

Hospital time is outside of the normal time for us. It would be weird to work in a hospital, to be surrounded by all the people wandering through that “other time”. The pic above is irrelevant to this entry, it is merely the most wonderful daughter in front of a windmill blade. The entry regards the woman who’s seen fit to hang out with me fell off her bike at full speed. (SES) “Shattered elbow” is an understatement, though the surgeon’s seen much worse. So I’m catapulted into the role of her medical advocate and caregiver, which I’m relishing. The hard part is, however, the squeamishness. Every time she moves that bone-shard we have such similar reactions: all physiology stops. Breathing, heart, everything just stops. Hers takes much longer to resume than mine, and her tears are so heartbreaking. Yeah, I hate needles. April’s appendectomy taught me to endure them a bit better, my e-room visit where the nurse told me not to look as she cleaned up the mess from my IV installation worked wonders in getting me adjusted to pokings. But watching SES go through this is like the bad old days. Sure, it’s not my arm that giant fucking catheter is going into (Jeez man, it’s an IV, not a canula!)but I still squirm and clench. I swear my anus is about 3x stronger after the last 24 hours. Brief History: Thu, 18:50-SES meets pavement at +20mph. 19:30, I finally meet up with her in the E-room of the local University. The absolutely SHITTIEST hospital and patient care I’ve ever seen, including my suburban hospital where they sent me home with pain pills and muscle relaxants without imaging the enormously infected appendix. (The aforementioned disaster with the IV occurred at to me there.) 23:30, discharged after watching SES attempt to extend her elbow for the X-ray. Dear god in heaven, the pain displayed on her face was like I’d seen only once before, and hoped I’d never see again. 24:30. Attempt to sleep. Fri, 10a: at the Orthopedist’s office in a nearby suburb. Herein your correspondent and his heroine meet the X-ray tech from hell who melted when she saw “that face” I described above. On seeing that, said tech then proceeds to bust her ass to use angles that get the desired shot without SES moving too much. We also meet the delightful nurse J who reveals spontaneously that her fiancée died in a plane crash last week. This sounds so trite, dear reader, but it was not, and it TOTALLY and lovingly reminded us that yeah baby, it could be a lot worse. ca. 11am, the good doctor takes a closer look at the wounds, and we are suddenly catapulted to the “right now” school of surgical scheduling. Health care may indeed suck in the US gentle reader, but it can at least do some good when it wants to. 1:30pm Checking into the same hospital that yanked my appendix. 3pm, SES passes the gate “Recover hope all ye who enter here.” and proceeds to wait...for... 5:15pm, the last dose of “Vitamin F” (fentanol, pain killer) and the dry-mouth-drug are given, and I kiss her forehead as she’s taken off to be fixed. 19:30, Meet Il Doctore, and all is well. Turns out we were premature in performing this surgery, in the sense that it was NOT one of those fractures where the bone goes through the skin. But we couldn’t really tell until she was out and pain-blocked. 19:46, right now, I wait to see Her Grogginess and wait out the recovery before taking her home. Like I said, it’s not real time here in the hospital. it’s other-time. +8 weeks later: We’ve been through casts, and pain, and SES can now extend & fold about 90%. The pain is constant, typing’s a bitch, and her other elbow’s “Tennis Elbow” is exacting revenge. BUT...last night, for the first time, she awoke early and actually did some writing. Now recovery can begin. Post-script: 2009, after months, after the relationship’s ended: SES could—last time I saw her—pretty much do everything with that elbow. She had problems with biking a bit but tweaking her new-used Schwinn and she’s a rocket on 2 wheels. This old update, she still had the wire-loop to hold the broken pieces together: she had that removed due to the pain and irritation it caused. Duh, like the doctor thought THAT would be optional. Honestly, her recovery is so complete as to be amazing, due to her own diligence in stretching and working it, and overcoming. The woman with the strength of 10,000 men.

Ok, so I saw this guy’s vid on the intrapipes, he’s applying what I believe is “Pascal’s Wager” to the climate change debate. Not bad. But no action other than to spread the word. Ok, fair enough, get the word out, change will happen. But I want action. So I’m saving the world single handedly. I can’t wait for you. But if you’d like to join me, it’s easy. First, come up with a catchy theme. You need one that can be made into a recognizable sting for quick cuts. Then apply this theme or sting every time you do a world-saving thing. (Blue Man Group’s version) Turn off an extra light? (cue sting) Driving 5 mph slower? (Full theme) Averaging 20% slower on a commute (aka “Driving the Speed Limit”) (roll the full orchestral denouement version) See? I’m a super hero, done all of those in one day. Today, ok, the lights and -5mph. I’ll work on the other for the drive to the airport tonight. Oh jeez, I need to put my sting into my PC at work, as the shutdown/hibernate sound effect!! See? There’s another! Look, don’t give up your SUV or 5000 sf McMansion, just trim. Change a buncha bulbs to LEDs (no mercury, but CFLs are good and cheaper), that’s a sting EACH. Run your SUV slower, that’s a theme. Lighten your SUV as much as possible (buy the REAL fix-a-flat stuff, the green mil-spec stuff that’s ALWAYS in your tires, then dump the spare, toss the 3rd row seats, empty the garbage) then you’ve got 3-5 mpg right there. That’s another major orchestral variation. Or perhaps the jazzier variation, the one that will be on the single. So get yourself a theme, and find ways to earn its use. World=saved.

Watching the History Channel’s nonsense-science program about the inspiration of Star Trek has reminded me of the cachet of the original show. Shatner’s narration comes right out and mentions how Roddenberry wanted the starship Enterprise as an allegory for a starship Earth: the only way it would succeed was through its diversity.

Living in a family that discusses politics all the time, I’ve been bothered with all the “us vs. them” of the world. I keep telling them—especially when I refuse to join in these discussions—quit talking about it and do something. Even if it’s just writing a check, do something.

Now this mildly funny show has driven home what I really miss. I’m tempted to blame the Reagan Revolution for its introduction of the really serious “Dirty Tricks” teams. And its even tempting to blame the Conservocrats for ideological exclusion. I guess I’m looking like a hippie, but why can’t we just get along for the bigger picture? I’m sure the conservatives hated Carter, but are they blind to the liberals’ criticism of Reagan? Compare the excesses and results of Johnson’s congressional control to Gingrich’s.

Author’s MUCH later contextual note: The Mac in this ancient cave-scribbling was a 15” PowerBook. It still runs (16 Nov 09) and will be, in fact, the place this website will be kept on that dusty but still serving machine. (If you only knew how many times I’ve disassembled it...)

Time for the periodic reload of the OS. Lessons learned: Make sure that the iPod (also recently reformatted) is storing ALL the extras.

It might have become necessary to read my contact info for the passwords ‘n stuff. Also, maybe backing up preferences might be ...uh... necessary. We shall see: Trying MoinX next. Oh crap, just lost my GIANT music list. Ok, I have the list-page itself. Ok, iSync. (All my devices have wildly cryptic names) OK. M...m...m...mail. Niiiice. 2059 messages. Ok, Quicken; Bing zam zowie. Turbo Tax? Good. Lost sight of the tax file, but manually pointing to it and it’s good. Now, the biggest, baddest of them all: iTunes. Well, looks like all +8k tunes are still there.

Did I get the speed I expected? Doesn’t seem so, right now. No hope of a new one in the immediate future. Wonder if they can get HOTTER as they age? I tried that fan-hack once, and ended up restoring the old settings. (And now, the entire the OS.) I think I’ll look for a GUI-fan-hack. Be Great.

People, we must rid the world of these things. We must kill them with memes. And this one has a killer meme. “Yuppie Short Bus” is from the Urban Dictionary. We could be rid of these bean-counter POS’s in no time. What we NEED is something like this that works. Exit and entry angles that aren’t too bad, road-manners for the day-to-day, but with brains, can get almost anywhere. Like the old Disco claimed to be, and the Land Rover (or Land Cruiser) before it. The critical component in the US market is a demand for Diesel engines. That’s it, we get over this hump, we’re saving the world. Not limiting the benzene in petrol (makeup on a corpse) or killing MTBF (horse fled, barn burned down, let’s lock up!) we need to improve the acceptance of diesels. I want my daughter’s 1st car to be a diesel so she will learn. Hear that Detroit? You got 2 years TOPS or she’s goin’ in a Beetle!!! How hard is this? Electric cars? Interesting, but the storage medium sucks. Batteries are too heavy and expensive, ultracapacitors are not efficient enough and WAAAAY too dangerous. Hydrogen is a fiction, although as a storage medium it leverages several things we’re pretty good at. Turbines? Oh yeah baby, but the price...CVT’s might yet save them but I don’t know. We need the home-made turbine hobbyests (take a turbocharger, put a combustion chamber between the sides, presto: Big Heat & Noise Generator!!) to start making real work out of these bastards. I say $100k for the first from-scratch, scrapyard turbine-powered lawn tractor. $250k for the 1st one Toro judges as a suitable pre-prod proto. As for now, I want you to go out and use “yuppie short bus” in a sentence to one friend today. We can generalize it to the entire Hummer line now that the good one is gone. Thanks for reading.

So who doesn’t hate commercials? But NASA TV is even cooler, I mean what does a boob-tube episode cost? You want reality?!! I watched some footage from the late 60’s about the LLRV, aka “The Flying Bedstead.” Pretty same-old stuff: fueling with concentrated hydrogen peroxide, turning up a nearly un-housed turbo-jet, unleashing this analog-controlled monster. Yep, same tech, different day.** But when the pilot turned on the downward looking camera, it was electric. Sure, the peroxide motor firing on the foreground was pretty violent. Oh my god, the view. The appeal of thrust-born flight, the idea you could just translate in any axis. Wanna go left? Let’s go left. Wait, what’s back there...rrrrrr back you go. Sure, I’d like to fly a plane, it’s got a logic and set of rules that are so sound. But I really want to fly an air-car: Moller’s a real nut, I have no illusions that everyone’s going replace their Yuppie Short Buses, but I still want one. So I guess I need to find my local gyro-copter club and start lessons. Closest I’ll get: helo’s are just too freakin’ expensive.

**We have nothing like this flying today, though we are in a program with the Japanese.

2025 Note: Multicopters hadn’t been invented when this was written. (There were experiments in the 60’s with full-sized multicopters. Ended poorly.