Friday, May 26, 2006
This is memorial day weekend. I'd be remiss if I didn't remind people that this holiday isn't so we can have a extra day off as summer begins. It wasn't started so we could take it easy and roast some weenies at the lake. No, it was started back right after the civil war, the exact origins are murky, to honor the brave men and woman who've given their lives for our country. The traditional day is May 30th, but the day was moved to the last Monday of the year by the National Holidays Act passed in 1991.
It seems to me that we've slowly forgotten the true meaning of this holiday over the years. I remember, as a small lad in Kansas City, watching a solemn ceremony conducted by some "Great War" vets at a memorial marker near where I lived. I remember the gents were pretty old, at least they seemed like it to me, and many of them were quite emotional, something I thought odd at the time. I understand now. But slowly, the true meaning has been lost over the years. It's became the de-facto "launch of summer" now, and I don't think that's a good thing. I hear of very few memorial day parades these days.
Almost all of the "Great War" vets are gone. From what I can find on the net, fewer than 100 vets total survive. In 2005, the Veterans Affair Dept listed 11 Americans qualified for benefits from service in WW1. WW2 veterans ranks are diminishing very quickly.
For a while, I volunteered at the Planes Of Fame Museum at Flying Cloud Airport before it closed in 1997. I got to know some of the WW2 vets well, and I always enjoyed hearing them tell their tales from the war, and they sure did enjoy a new pair of ears to listen to them. Sadly, some of them have passed on since the museum closed its doors, and I really miss them. Then came Korea and Vietnam, conflicts that seem like ancient history to the current crop of kids graduating from high school this year. Now we have a new crop of veterans coming back from the middle east, and I think it behooves us to not treat them the same way the Vietnam vets were treated when they returned from the war. And let me tell you, they were treated in a really shabby manner. Stories of uniformed soldiers being spat upon at airports are not uncommon, and sadly are true. After a while, they were told to take the uniform off before they got stateside to avoid treatment like that. That's pretty sad in my opinion, and I think, something the "Baby Boomers" should be ashamed of. (Yes, I am a baby boomer, and I do not suffer us Baby Boomers lightly. I think we tend to be self absorbed and arrogant, but that's another post.)
My whole point to to take some time to at least think for a minute about what this day means. Think about the vet in your neighborhood, no matter what conflict they might have been involved in, and perhaps go and thank them. But above all else, think for a while about the men and woman who made the supreme sacrifice in service to this country. Perhaps say a prayer to your god, higher power, what ever. If you've a deceased vet in the family with a grave nearby, put a flag on their grave and say another prayer. Also, think about the parents of those vets. They made a huge, huge sacrifice. They need to know we're thinking of them. Tell them they're in your prayers. SOMETHING. We owe them so much. It's the least we can do.
Oh, one more thing. Put your flag out. It's the right thing to do.
We cherish too, the Poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led,
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies.
Moina Michael 1915
It seems to me that we've slowly forgotten the true meaning of this holiday over the years. I remember, as a small lad in Kansas City, watching a solemn ceremony conducted by some "Great War" vets at a memorial marker near where I lived. I remember the gents were pretty old, at least they seemed like it to me, and many of them were quite emotional, something I thought odd at the time. I understand now. But slowly, the true meaning has been lost over the years. It's became the de-facto "launch of summer" now, and I don't think that's a good thing. I hear of very few memorial day parades these days.
Almost all of the "Great War" vets are gone. From what I can find on the net, fewer than 100 vets total survive. In 2005, the Veterans Affair Dept listed 11 Americans qualified for benefits from service in WW1. WW2 veterans ranks are diminishing very quickly.
For a while, I volunteered at the Planes Of Fame Museum at Flying Cloud Airport before it closed in 1997. I got to know some of the WW2 vets well, and I always enjoyed hearing them tell their tales from the war, and they sure did enjoy a new pair of ears to listen to them. Sadly, some of them have passed on since the museum closed its doors, and I really miss them. Then came Korea and Vietnam, conflicts that seem like ancient history to the current crop of kids graduating from high school this year. Now we have a new crop of veterans coming back from the middle east, and I think it behooves us to not treat them the same way the Vietnam vets were treated when they returned from the war. And let me tell you, they were treated in a really shabby manner. Stories of uniformed soldiers being spat upon at airports are not uncommon, and sadly are true. After a while, they were told to take the uniform off before they got stateside to avoid treatment like that. That's pretty sad in my opinion, and I think, something the "Baby Boomers" should be ashamed of. (Yes, I am a baby boomer, and I do not suffer us Baby Boomers lightly. I think we tend to be self absorbed and arrogant, but that's another post.)
My whole point to to take some time to at least think for a minute about what this day means. Think about the vet in your neighborhood, no matter what conflict they might have been involved in, and perhaps go and thank them. But above all else, think for a while about the men and woman who made the supreme sacrifice in service to this country. Perhaps say a prayer to your god, higher power, what ever. If you've a deceased vet in the family with a grave nearby, put a flag on their grave and say another prayer. Also, think about the parents of those vets. They made a huge, huge sacrifice. They need to know we're thinking of them. Tell them they're in your prayers. SOMETHING. We owe them so much. It's the least we can do.
Oh, one more thing. Put your flag out. It's the right thing to do.
We cherish too, the Poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led,
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies.
Moina Michael 1915
First Taste Of Nitromethane.
Years ago, I took a close friend, Paul, to Brainerd International Raceway for the Northstar Nationals. Now while he knows a lot about cars, he'd never been to a nitro race before, and I told him nothing about what he might expect.
The first car he experienced was Al Hoffman's BDS Thunderbird. (This is when they were still driving the tow truck with the BDS blower sticking through the hood. '88, or '89, I believe.) We came upon them as Al was mixing up a load of nitro. He took a can of green stuff, poured some in and swished it around, than poured some clear stuff in, swished it around some and started to pour it in. He stopped before he began, thought for a minute, set the jug down and grabbed a can of red stuff from the trailer (Fifth wheel type.) and poured some of that in, thought for another moment, shrugged his shoulders, and poured the remainder of the can in. He dumped all of this into the fuel tank, capped off and made ready to start the car. Al climbed into the seat while his crew guy walked around and checked everything on the engine and made sure everything was buttoned up. He put the starter onto the blower pulley and grabbed the squeeze bottle of alcohol. With a nod from Al, he squeezed the trigger and spun the motor over for about 10 maybe 12 seconds and quit. (I assume to bring the oil pressure up.) He disconnected a jumper on the ignition, Al got a firm grip on the brake handle, nodded one more time and the crewman proceeded to squeeze the trigger again while holding the bottle to the injector opening. This time the engine coughed to life, and immediately settled into that throaty high RPM sound blown alcohol motors make. Everyone on the crew looked around for leaks, and upon a thumbs up from everyone, the crew guy reached down and pulled a lever on the fuel pump. All hell broke loose. The engine took on it's Mr. Hyde personae as the sound level immediately jumped down two octaves and up a couple dozen decibels. The car was rocking side to side on the jack stands snapping, spitting and popping, and Al had hold of the brake lever like a Cowboy has hold of the reins of a bull at the rodeo just before he gives a nod for the gate to open. The exhaust headers started spewing clouds of noxious fumes, and the weaker amongst the fans started scattering. Fine with me, I just shoved Paul up closer to the car. Al got one more grip on the brake lever, gave another nod, and finally gave the throttle a whack. The engine immediately responded with a really loud and sudden WHUFFFF!!!! and the car jerked on the jack stands like the rodeo bull had just had a hit of the electric cattle prod. It sent pit ropes flying, and even more noxious fumes erupted from the pipes. When they whack the throttle like that, the sound level makes an instantaneous jump a couple thousand decibels, and your ears pretty much say "Sc**w it!!" and quit working. You just don't HEAR the sound. You FEEL it. It's like you take your balled up fist and hit your chest bone. More weaklings scattered, and I held a firm grip on Paul so he couldn't get away. I told Paul later I was certain, his fingers firmly in his ears, he cleared 12 inches easy on that first hit. Al cycled the reverser, whacking it a couple of more times. More fumes. More cackling. More noise. You swore the car was trying to leap off of the jack stands. Then the crew guy stuck the alcohol bottle back in the injector hat, and shut the fuel pump off, and the engine regained it's Dr. Jekyll personality, going back to that alcohol sound, which seemed tame now, before finally chortling to a stop. There's always a few moments of stunned silence afterwards, before the fans start chattering and laughing with each other, along with some cheers and whistles. The die hards amongst us scattered off looking for the next car getting ready to fire up. My friend Paul turns around, tears streaming out of his eyes from the fumes, and asked "Good Lord, why didn't you TELL me it was going to be like that?!?!?!?" I just told him "Paul, there's simply no way I could have prepared you for it. You just have to do it." He turned into a junky after that. Couldn't get enough.
And that was just the warm up!!!
"The most exciting phrase to hear in science, the one that heralds new discoveries, is not 'Eureka!' (I found it!) but 'That's funny ..."
Isaac Asimov
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
The 2006 Headwaters Rally
Had a great weekend. Drove "up nort" to Park Rapids Minnesota. Participated in the Headwaters Rally. What fun! If you're a motorhead, you've gotta check this action out. The way it works is the race consists of a series of "stages" run on state forest roads. Each one is between ten to 30 miles in length, depending on the layout. The cars are started in one minute intervals, and the object is to cover that stage in the fastest time possible. No speed limits, no penalties for going "too fast" like on public highway rallys. Nope, this is honest "balls to the wall" type racing. Then, after the car completes one stage, it moves to the next. The trip between stages IS conducted on public roads, so therefore the cars have to be street legal and licensed, and they must observe the speed limit on the transit between stages. If the time between stages is too short, they've broken the speed limit and are penalized. No one did that this year. After all the cars finish the stage, they transit to the next stage, group up, and are started in one minute intervals again. Two minutes if dust becomes a problem. Everything is done to a strict schedule, as the stage roads are usually old logging roads that are normally open to the public, but are closed for the race. That means we stick to a schedule, and laggards are usually penalized if they take too long due to damage or whatnot. This year, I worked the starting line for stages 2 and 8, 8 being the final stage. The weather started out iffy, with a brief sprinkle about 2 hours before the race started. But then the skies cleared out and it turned into a beautiful northern Minnesowtah spring afternoon and evening, with daytime temps in the upper 50's and nighttime temps in the mid 30's. Skies so clear at night that out in the country like we were, away from city lights, the stars were incredible. We were seeing stars, shooting stars, satellites, gawd it was wonderful.
Here are some pictures I took when able. Check out the clear blue skies.
Here are some pictures taken by a pro photog that turned out pretty well.
It's fun to go watch racing at a track like Elko speedway, and such. But there's something about actually being involved IN the race that makes it better.
"The most exciting phrase to hear in science, the one that heralds new discoveries, is not 'Eureka!' (I found it!) but 'That's funny ..."
Isaac Asimov
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Da Vinci Code Hoopla
There seems to be a big "whoop-de-do" about the new movie "The Da Vinci Code." There've been protests, calls to boycott the movie, calls for theaters to yank it, nuns prostrating themselves at the Cannes festival, etc.
My goodness people. If you've got some objection to what this movie says and portrays, I've got one suggestion for you, but prepare yourself because it's a pretty dramatic one:
Don't see it.
There, now was that so tough? I mean, c'mon, if your faith is so shaky that a movie (A poor one at that if I'm to believe numerous critics) is going to seriously challenge it, then you've got bigger issues to deal with than a bad movie or boring book present.
Me, I'll probably not see it. Not because I'm upset with the premise, but I found the book boring and poorly written. I have a standard that I use. If I still don't give a rat's ass by page 100, then I consider my time wasted and move on with life. I didn't get to page 80.
"The most exciting phrase to hear in science, the one that heralds new discoveries, is not 'Eureka!' (I found it!) but 'That's funny ..."
Isaac Asimov
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Be they fences or speed brakes??????
For some time now, I'v had a running conversation (OK, disagreement.) with a good friend of mine concerning certain parts of an aircraft. I'm specifically referring to those hinged plate thingys on the top of the wings halfway between the leading edge and trailing edge of the wing. If you've ever been on a commercial jet and sat next to the wing and watched, you'll occasoinaly see them flip up and down. That means they're being used to make minor corrections in the rolling motion of aircraft. My friend has always referred to them as "speed brakes" and I've been calling them wing fences. They're more than merely speed brakes because they're often used to make small corrections in the rolling motion of aircraft. Wait, I said that already. They're also used to help bring the aircraft to a stop after the plane lands. They can be set so that they'll deploy automatically when the wheels hit the runway.
Sigh.
Damn, it really pains me to have to say this.
It turns out I've been mistaken. (God I hate that. At least it doesn't happen too often.)
They're NOT called wing fences. They're called spoilers. They're called that because they're used to "spoil" the lift of that particular wing. When one wing has more lift than the other, it raises, thus they're used for minor course corrections when cruising at altitude. For more robust turns, and at lower altitudes the aelerons are used instead.
But, in my defense, they're not called "speed brakes" either, because they do more than that.
[edit] They ain't airbrakes either.
[edit] They ain't airbrakes either.
So there.
"The most exciting phrase to hear in science, the one that heralds new discoveries, is not 'Eureka!' (I found it!) but 'That's funny ..."
Isaac Asimov
I'm back!!!!!
I'm back!!!
Yes folks, I'm back!!! Huh?? What that you say? You didn't even know I wuz gone???? Hummpf!! Well, pay attention next time.
It seems that, on the third of May, the 26th anniversary of the smartest thing I ever did, (I married my lovely, patient, wonderful wife.) I decided the thing to do would be to cook some pork stir fry for her. Good so far. I carefully choose and gather the components, get out the big wok my kids got for me a couple of years ago, and start chopping some of the veggies that go into my dish.
I'm whacking away, carrying on a lively conversation with my wife and kids when I took a whack at my fingertip. Ouch!! Damn, that hurt!! I hold the finger under the faucet stream, see the water turn red under my hand, watch it stay red. So I get some gauze out and press it to my fingertip. Oooh, man, this is really starting to smart! The spot over the cut tip immediately turns red. Then the red spot starts expanding, until the entire piece of gauze is soaked with that bright red color all us clutzes are familliar with. About the time the gauze started dripping red onto the counter, I realized I did far more damage than I first thought. And so my lovely child bride and I spent a very romantic evening in the hospital emergency room. She took it well. She said "At least I got some quality knitting done, and met and talked with a very nice lady while they were dealing with you!"
Now, I work with computers every day for a living, doing CAD work. (Computer Aided Design.) The missing tip really put a cramp on my keyboarding style, and by the time I got home, I was in no mood to blog. Then, a few days ago, I started using the finger again, and by the time I got home, it was too sore to do any more work. But I saw the doctor Monday, and she told me the finger is healing nicely, with new tissue filling in the hole I left. It isn't as sore as it had been, but still smarts a bit if I knock it against something.
I guess I'm going to have to learn not to throw myself so much into what I'm doing.
Anyone up for stir fry?????
"The most exciting phrase to hear in science, the one that heralds new discoveries, is not 'Eureka!' (I found it!) but 'That's funny ..."
Isaac Asimov
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
They got him.
They caught the guy who escaped from the St. Peter Regional Treatment Center 18 days ago this morning. He was finally caught when he was featured on "America's Most Wanted" on television, and someone in Kansas Ciry recognized him and called the authorities. The idiot was still driving a car he stole when he first escaped. I've often heard police say that most criminals are pretty low on the mental food chain. I believe them.
Minnesota has a somewhat unique way of dealing with hard core sex offenders. Once they've served their prison sentences, most of the worst ones are then "committed" indefinitely to one of two "treatment" centers for "rehabilitation." Just one little problem. They haven't been able rehabilitate one single "patient" since the system started back in the mid to late eighties. Every single one of them are still in the "hospital" population, and they're adding more every year. It's sort of become our own little Guantanamo system. These people disappear into it, and are almost never heard from again.
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm really glad these guys aren't on the loose. They're notoriously hard to "cure" and indeed, most never will be. What bothers me is that the reason these guys escaped (Three others also got loose in the plot, but were captured within an hour.) is that they've no real reason to believe they'll ever be released, and I'm convinced this produces a feeling of hopelessness that will cause some amongst them to try anything to get out. And I'm afraid that once out, knowing they'll probably be caught again, will "live it up" so to speak while on the lam and re-offend. I fear for their future victims because knowing they'll be sent back if caught, the perps may feel no need to allow the victims (witnesses) to continue to live.
The whole problem with this scenario is that the two facilities were never really meant to hold people like these. They're state "mental institutions" that have been modified to hold the new population. Because we've been committing so many to "treatment" they're becoming very overcrowded. To compensate, the "hospitals" have been hiring new staff. It's been noted that the staff's inexperience may have part of the reason these guys were able to get loose through a broken window. In the aftermath of this embarrasing escape, fingers were pointed, committees are being formed, and We'll (The taxpayer) be dumping more money into the places in an effort to make them more secure, but being what these facilities are, I'm not convinced it'll ultimately do any good. There's plans afoot to build yet another "treatment facility" at a cost of millions to, you guessed it folks, the taxpayers.
If we intend to lock 'em up and throw away the key, (Not entirely a bad thing.) we need to become honest with ourselves, and these "patients" and revise our laws. We need to consider life-with-no-parole sentences for hard core offenders. That's what we're doing now in an extremely backhanded way. But if we come clean and admit to ourselves that's what we ulitimately really want to do with these folks, then instead of a "hospital" they'll be sent to a maximum security prison, from which escape is MUCH more difficult. But it will require us to be honest with ourselves about our intentions. Honesty about these sort of issues is not something Americans in general and politicians in particular are very good at.
"The most exciting phrase to hear in science, the one that heralds new discoveries, is not 'Eureka!' (I found it!) but 'That's funny ..."
Isaac Asimov
The Indy 500 I Knew And Loved Is Dead.
The Indianapolis 500 is NO LONGER the premier motorsports spectacular it once was. It breaks my heart to write that, because I've been following the race since the early sixties. I've seen the traditional front engined roadster replaced by the rear engined cars. I saw the arrival, and just as quickly the disappearance, of the turbine cars. I've seen the arrival, and retirement, of racing greats such as Rick Mears, Gordon Johncock, the Gurneys, and, of course, the legend A. J. Foyt.
But the race simply hasn't been the same since the CART people and Tony George got into their spat, and took their balls and bats home to play in their own games. CART had most of the big name drivers, and George, with his IRL organization had the venue and a bunch of no-name drivers, and the race simply hasn't been the same since. It's no longer a race for the best and the fastest. The cars are tightly controlled spec cars, and many of the drivers are there not because they're the best, but because they were able to put together a sponsorship package to "buy" themselves a ride. The end result is an inferior brand of racing compared to races from years past before the IRL/CART split. CART is dead now, replaced by an owners group running under the name of "Champ Car." They're not having much more luck than CART did in battling Tony George. The overall effect has been a huge degradation of the quality of the sport, including a diminishing fan base, and a reduction in advertising revenues for the TV broadcast.
The funny thing is, CART was formed when the owners of the teams rebelled against the all-powerful USAC in 1979, forming their own series, and running in competition with USAC, which folded their National Championship tent in 1980, leaving CART in total control of United States open wheel racing.
I will watch the race again this year. I've never missed it since buying a video recording device. But, loath to waste a nice holiday weekend day inside watching TV, I rarely watch it in real time any more, preferring to zip the commercials.
All because of egos.
"The most exciting phrase to hear in science, the one that heralds new discoveries, is not 'Eureka!' (I found it!) but 'That's funny ..."
Isaac Asimov
