Sorry, The Governor Said ’No’

It is probably just my own naivete, but I always believed that anyone could write, if they only set their minds to it. After all, putting words on paper is really no different than speaking, and we even managed to train chimps to push the pretty coloured buttons in the capsule in the right sequence.

It turns out, however, that I was grossly mistaken, and it seems I owe an apology to the chimps.

I have a friend who believes that the phenomenon of "fan fiction" - the use of fictional characters and their worlds created by others in original stories as a show of support and affection for a given TV production, movie, book, etc. - is the root of all evil. Or, at the very least, that it should be outlawed. I must say, though, that after having now read numerous fine examples of this art, that my friend is wrong.

Fan fiction should most definitely not be outlawed. Rather, the perpetrators of these atrocities should all be rounded up and shot. Immediately.

Never have I seen the English language so tortured and abused, even taking the sad state of education in this country into account. But it does seem as if English as a second language is a prerequisite for writing fan fiction. As far as I can determine, the rules for this endeavour seem to be as follows:

1) Construct a run-on sentence that lasts for at least half a page. Longer, of course, would be better, but I suspect that the lung capacity of the authors pretty much sets the three-quarters of a page or full page sentence as an unattainable goal. Still, there may yet be an aspiring fan fic author who will conquer this Everest of the written word and incoherent thought. Hope springs eternal, as they say.

2) When unsure, forget punctuation entirely. Alternatively, when you're not sure which punctuation mark to use, throw in as many of them as you think you need or can get away with.

3) If your typing fingers are getting cramped up, and you don't think you can pull off a really good run-on sentence, make sure that all of your paragraphs consist of just a single sentence. Two sentence paragraphs are sometimes allowable but, really, the true artist in this genre aims for one.

4) Change tenses frequently. In a single paragraph is good, in a single sentence is even better.

5) Capitalize randomly. Look, we all know that proper nouns are prima donnas, so we should revel in letting other words, like verbs and adjectives, bask in the limelight of capitalization.

6) Never use a comma when a good period will do just as well. As in: "'It is cold today.' He said."

7) If you are going to write a fan fic about a television show that is currently still airing original episodes, absolutely do try and tie your story into what the show's writers are trying to do. Who cares if you couldn't possibly have any idea where they are trying to take things?

8) If you are stuck for ideas, absolutely inject yourself into the story as a major character. After all, what could be more entertaining than reading horribly written prose about your juvenile fantasies?

9) Frequently forget what the names of the characters are. Nothing quite demonstrates your devotion that not knowing who they are.

10) Have absolutely no idea what it is you are writing about, but try and sound as if you do. This is especially true of those fan fics that attempt to portray things like the military or the police. Here's a free piece of advice: no one says "over and out" on the radio, because that means you're acknowledging a transmission you can't hear as you have signed off the net. Nor does anyone say "wilco," except in Hollywood and bad fiction, and even "roger" tends to be frowned on.

11) When you are absolutely strapped for ideas, do make sure that your story consists entirely of some good man-on-man, woman-on-woman, and/or man-on-woman luvin'.

And this is where I must apologize to the chimps. Even randomly banging away on the keys, our primate friends are capable of producing much better work than the best fan fiction "author."

Mourning

He never cried for his father.

It's funny, what the mind chooses to dwell on in the small hours of the morning, as the minutes tick slowly on to the rising of the Sun. Like an old dog worrying at a well-gnawed bone, unwanted memories pick away at the defences, demanding their due.

Scenes played out like disjointed fragments from a silent movie, in a kind of fast-motion, jittery dance, and closing his eyes against them only threw them into sharper relief. A lilting tune, Lili Marlene, whistled on the walk to the neighbourhood playground, now just a haunting memory that could cut like a knife.

They told him that time heals all wounds, but that was a lie. Some never healed, no matter how much scar tissue was laid down. The pain never left, never faded, but it could be walled off, brick by brick, until it became like that dog's bone, old and comfortable.

The years passed, as they will, and yet he never cried for his father. Mourned him, perhaps, in a fashion, and yet he couldn't even admit to that. Was it the life that passed he mourned, or a promise unfulfilled, the dim notion that a future had been sacrificed for a past that was forever unalterable?

He never cried for his father. Or himself.

Things to do in 2009

Well, really, that should be "Things I should do in 2009" . . . Your mileage may vary.

1) Find a safe place to lock up my M4 because, I swear to God, if the neighbour's dog takes one more dump on my lawn, I may send a few rounds their way.

2) Help a senior citizen cross the street . . . whether they want to go or not.

3) Find a Terrier-proof dog toy - preferably one that doesn't squeak.

4) Actually finish something I start to write. That would be a nice change of pace.

5) Keep telling myself "Don't kill the civilians."

6) Show my friends that I do, indeed, appreciate them.

7) Move my tax bracket up.

8) Move my blood pressure down.

9) Stop missing cigarettes. After all, they don't miss me.

10) Actually buy a book the next time I go to a bookstore.

11) Not that I want to rush things, but maybe fix that flat tire on my Bronco. I mean, it's been six months all ready . . .

12) Stop laughing hysterically every time I think of Rod Blagojevich going to jail . . . but it's so damned funny.

13) On a related note, stop waiting for Illinois to produce an honest politician. It's not going to happen.

14) Adopt another dog.

15) Become God-Emperor of the Universe. Okay, this one might take a little longer than a year . . .

Ho, Ho, Ho, and Har Har de Har Har Har

Is it over yet? The holidays, I mean. That wonderfully magical time of the year when we all pretend to be nice to each other, and that we actually like our relatives. That glorious season where retailers tell us that if we don't start spending those holiday dollars in October, our friends will curse us for all eternity, our children will grow up irrepairably harmed, and our significant others will run off with the nearest available neighbour . . .

Oh, crap. We still have New Year's to get through . . .

Well, on the bright side, there are only 362 more shopping days until Christmas, and 332 days until certain talking heads can start trotting out the "war on Christmas" stories. I can hardly wait.

You know, it's funny. Granted, I went to a private school, but when I was growing up, I don't recall people getting this worked up over the holidays. When we had school assemblies to "celebrate" Christmas, those parents and students who were Jewish, for example, didn't object or protest. Likewise, when we had school assemblies to acknowledge Hannukah, those parents and students who were Christian didn't object.

So, what happened?

Really, I've got to tell you, I could care less if you are Christian, Jewish, Muslim, whatever. Good on you. All I ask is that you obey the law, treat me with the same respect you expect me to treat you, and I could care less how you choose to worship, or whether you chose to worship at all.

But, please, let's get over ourselves. If there is a God, chances are He doesn't care how you choose to worship Him, either.

By the way, Christmas is not Christ's birthday. How do I know this? Because Christ was born during the Roman census, and the Romans did their census in the Spring. In the Classical world, the new year began in March, not January. Christmas is, however, an appropriation by the early Church of a pagan winter festival.

Oops. There I go, prosecuting my very own "war on Christmas." Oh, well. The good news is, as it is now after minight here . . . there are only 361 more shopping days left . . .

Change We Can Believe In

Now that I've got you looking, this isn't going to be about what you think it is. Or, at any rate, not in the way that you may think. But there is, nonetheless, a point behind the title.

A friend of mine just posted an article released by the Agence France-Presse, commenting on an article that appeared in the Financial Times. The article, it appears, was an interview with a Chinese defence official, a Major General of the People's Liberation Army(Navy), in which that individual asserted China's "right" to build an aircraft carrier.

Well, so what? After all, we've got eleven of them, why can't the PRC have a few, too?

Absolutely no reason at all. Any nation has the "right" to do whatever it wants in terms of its military. I would, however, question the why . . . just as I would question the justification and, I might add, what our own potential response to such a development would - or, in this case, will - be.

We, as a people, have a tendency to be . . . how do I put this? . . . rather oblivious. By which I mean it is far easier for us to ignore things, preferring to live in a fantasy world of our own construction at the expense of approaching the world as it is. We insist that the world, and the other people in it, behave according to our preconceived notions and ideas, and we are invariably left at a loss when that doesn't happen.

What concerns me about the Chinese desire to field aircraft carriers are the following statements made by that officer in the article: "Navies of great powers with more than 10 aircraft carrier battle groups with strategic military objectives have a different purpose from countries with only one or two carriers used for offshore defense," he said, apparently in reference to the United States which has 11, according to the FT.

"Even if one day we have an aircraft carrier, unlike another country we will not use it to pursue global deployment or global reach."

Well, that and the fact that many of us, in our delightful naivete, are going to accept that at face value.

First of all, B.S. and other choice words in response to those two sentences. Look, folks, the whole point behind an aircraft carrier is power projection and the ability to control the seas, the airspace over it, and to a large extent, the lands bordering the seas. Period. The fact that aircraft carriers are mobile means that you can project that power at a great distance from your own shores . . .

Starting to get the idea? The only reason you build an aircraft carrier is to give your Navy a global reach. What you don't do is use them for coastal defence, which is what the Chinese official is saying a PLA(N) carrier - or carriers, because they're like potato chips, you can't build just one - would be used for. Land-based aircraft, for example, are just as effective in that role, and you can't sink a land-based airfield.

The PRC is not a "great" maritime nation, at least not in the same way that, say, the United States or the United Kingdom are considered to be maritime nations. Neither their trade nor their economy depend on sea-borne trade quite the same way, nor does their inherent security position require or demand the power-projection capability inherent in a carrier strike group. Unless, of course, they are planning on getting in on that business . . .

Therein lies the rub. Aircraft carriers are expensive, both to build and to operate, and they are pretty unnecessary if the intent is coastal defence. They are, however, indispensable if you plan on transforming yourself from a regional to a global power.

It is interesting, and no accident, that the Chinese official in the article classifies the PRC as a great power, and there is a message in that for us. One that we would be foolish to ignore. China is announcing its intentions, if we care to listen.

The PRC already claims the oceans around it as its own. We're not talking the traditional concept of territorial waters here, or even of the recognized 200 nautical mile exclusive economic zone. The PRC claims all the waters, as far east as the Philippines and as far south as Indochina, as their "territorial" waters. What they lack, at the moment, is a true blue-water capability to enforce those claims. Fielding aircraft carriers, and the escort vessels needed to support them, gives the Chinese that ability.

Not to mention the issue of Taiwan. If the PRC were ever tempted to resort to a military option to solve that issue, the only real response the U.S. could opt for would be a naval one. A fleet centered on aircraft carriers gives the PRC the ability to counter that, at a distance from the island, or at least make it a very bloody endeavour.

Nor is the timing of this interview a coincidence. A new Administration is going to take power this January, under a President who has absolutely no experience in foreign affairs. Furthermore, President Obama has also been a proponent of further "downsizing" the American military. Now, before the hysteria starts, let's be clear on this issue. There are aspects of the defence establishment that he has said he is in favour of strengthening; the SOF capability, for one, comes to mind. On the other hand, he has stated that he is also in favour of significantly cutting back or eliminating things like the F-22, BMD, and the Army's FCS. Those issues, though, are really a subject for another time. What is of significance to this discussion, however, is that the President-elect has also stated that he is in favour of cutting the Navy by at least one, if not more, carrier strike group.

Which would be incredibly short-sighted and foolish, especially in light of the Chinese desire to field carriers. The only option we have to project power and presence in the Western Pacific, and for that matter the Indian Ocean, is our carrier force. A force that, given our current committments and operational demands, is already stretched thin at eleven groups.

So what happens when the PRC fields a carrier force, and if we decide to go ahead and decommission a hull or two? Is it really in our interests to cede control of the Western Pacific to China? That is the question we should be asking, for the implications of that have ramifications for the continued security of not only ourselves, but for such places as the Republic of Korea, Japan, the Philippines and Taiwan.

Change is coming, all right. Whether we choose to believe in it or not. But is it going to be the kind of change that we are really prepared for?

The Drive-by Curmudgeon Stikes Again

I don't generally believe in conspiracy theories. Conspiracies, by their nature, are supposed to remain secret, and conspiracy theories almost always involve way too many people for that to happen. But, of late, there is one conspiracy that I can not escape feeling must, indeed, be true.

You were all put here on this Earth to test my patience.

For those of you who can't seem to remember: those lines were painted on the roadway for a reason, you twits.

Solid yellow lines divide lanes of opposing traffic. You may not cross solid yellow lines, no matter how much you want to or how late you are for your fresh latte.

Solid white lines divide lanes of traffic moving in the same direction. Like the solid yellow lines, you may not cross them, even if you were so busy yakking it up on your cell phone that you suddenly realize you were too stupid to figure out you were in the wrong lane.

A solid yellow line paired with a broken yellow line means that the median strip may be used as a turning lane. It does not mean the median strip is a passing lane, or your own personal high-speed lane.

As long as we're on the subject, the shoulder of the road isn't a passing lane, either. Hence the solid white line telling everyone who isn't brain dead that you're not allowed to cross onto the shoulder. The only time your car should be on the shoulder is when it breaks down.

Contrary to popular opinion, a yellow light does not mean "Hit the gas so you'll miss the red." Nor is there, when you are in the turning lane, a "grace" period for you to charge out and make your turn after the light turns red. Fair warning, my Bronco is much larger than the little Japanese hybrid you're driving, and the next time you do that, I'm just going to go ahead and roll right over you. Trust me, safely encased in all that metal, I'm not going to notice it as you get squished.

Speaking of four-wheel drive SUVs, and since we are rapidly approaching that lovely season where the white stuff falls out of the sky . . . Four-wheel drive does not mean you are invulnerable; all it means is that you can now get stuck in a place where even the AAA-club tow truck can't reach you. In case you were too busy in 10th Grade Physics class wondering why your penis always got stiff when the wind blew or when you could finally trade in the training bra for a real grown-up woman bra and missed it, if all four wheels are moving across ice, you're not going to get any traction whether or not you've got four-wheel drive or all-wheel drive. Please consider that as you're sitting in the ditch, wondering why you lost control of your Yuppie Assault Vehicle.

On a completely different note . . . To all the proof readers, publishers, editors, authors and wannabe authors out there:

Please learn how to use the language properly. You're supposed to be professionals, for God's sake.

"Breach" is something you do when you want to make a hole in something. "Breech" is where you put the bullet so you can shoot it from a firearm. "Is" and "are" may never be used one right after the other, as in "The scientists at the LHC is are conducting important reasearch into high-energy physics." The word "affect," in the way that you most commonly use it, means to have an impact on something. The word "effect," on the other hand, means to bring about a desired result. They do not mean the same thing, nor are they interchangeable.

"Efforting" is not a word. The sentence "We are efforting that right now in order to find an answer" doesn't mean anything. Please stop. Now. Likewise, "irregardless" is not a word. Please stop trying to make it one. The proper word is "regardless." Nor is "can't not" an acceptable phrase, as in "He can't not do that." It's a double negative, which means it is a positive assertion meaning that he can, in fact, do that. Do not start a sentence with the word "however," as in "However, he can not do that." The proper usage would be "He can not, however, do that." The former is just intellectually lazy.

Heathen.

You Just Can’t Make This Up

More observations from the Land of the Absurd . . .

Hugo Chavez is, apparently, very proud of himself because he just bought a whole bunch of combat aircraft from Russia . . . including all the "weapons and pilots." Really? He bought the pilots from Russia, too? And here I thought the only human beings Russia trafficked in were women for the sex trade . . .

By the way, Hugo, there's no such thing as "Sukhoi missiles." So, when you threaten to sink U.S. ships using your "Sukhoi missiles" . . . you just make yourself look like a bigger ass than you already are.

Oh, and have fun storming Guyana. I really can't wait to see how Sean Penn is going to explain that one away for you.

Not that I believe it's the only answer, but can we all please get off this idea that drilling for more oil wouldn't have any effect on the price-per-barrel? Of course it would. The price of oil is decided by the futures markets and, for as long as demand remains where it is and supply remains where it is, the price is going to remain high. Once you start adding to the supply by finding and exploiting new sources, the price is going to drop. Even just announcing that you are going to do that - as long as you then follow-through - is going to produce a price drop.

While we're at it, the idea that if every American kept the tires on their car properly inflated, it would make a dent in oil prices, is perhaps the most ridiculous thing anyone has ever said.

Despite what you may think, Senator Obama is not the Second Coming. Nor is Senator McCain "too old." Would either one of them be the best choice for President? Probably not.

News flash for the Europeans: I don't particularly give a damn what you happen to think our national policies should be. Clean up your own houses first, or at least do us the courtesy of also insisting that we should be able to tell you how your nations should be run. I might feel differently about this had any of you bothered to lift a finger to stop the fun-and-games that went on in the former Yugoslavia, but you didn't. So shut the fuck up.

News flash for the Democrats: Bush is neither that dumb nor is he the Antichrist.

News flash for the Republicans: he isn't that smart, either.

News flash for George Soros and MoveOn.org: you all need to shut the fuck up, too.

Just so we're clear on this. Iran is sitting on one of the world's largest reserves of untapped oil. So just why do you think they're developing a nuclear programme?

Go ahead, keep jaywalking in front of me. As far as I'm concerned, you're just points.

Oh, and Brett Favre needs to shut the fuck up, too.

I'll probably remind you of this again next winter, but to the next idiot who decides to park halfway into the Handicapped spot because they don't want to trudge their way through the slush . . . I'm not going to say anything anymore, I'm just going to beat you.

To those of you who seem to believe that every Muslim, everywhere, is part of some great Islamic conspiracy to "overthrow" us: lose the tin-foil hats and move out of the basement. All you're doing is diverting attention away from those radicalized elements within that belief system that are a threat.

To the former Apollo astronaut who knows that aliens are on Earth and that the Government is covering that up: remind me again how successful your ESP experiments on the way to the Moon were?

Dear Treasury Department: no, really, I mean it. Stop fucking with the money.

Dear Department of Defence: once you've totally reconfigured yourself to prosecute asymmetric warfare, what are you going to do when someone like, say, China decides to make trouble? You do remember, right, that the "ten year plan" didn't work for the British in the 1930s?

Uncle Sam’s Used Ships Emporium

Okay, let's see if I've got this right.

The Navy has pretty much ended their much-touted Littoral Combat Ship programme at two hulls, because Congress blanched at the massive cost overruns for the ostensibly "cheap" ship . . . not to mention that the platform, as designed, was incapable of meeting its minimum endurance requirements. Just recently, the Navy also announced, before Congress, that it was terminating the DD(X) programme at just two hulls - Zumwalt and her sister - citing ballooning costs in the programme and "emerging threats," which they conveniently don't expound upon. Hmm. The very same programme that originally called for thirty-two hulls, which was subsequently cut to seven hulls because of rising costs, and which has now been cut to just two hulls . . . because of costs. I seem to remember writing something about this a while ago . . . damn, I'm good.

Now, if the $3.2 billion dollar DD(X) is dead in the water, so to speak, I'm guessing that we can assume CG(X) is likewise dead, since that platform is only a larger and hideously more expensive DD(X). Which means that we now have no follow-on destroyer or cruiser design. But what the hell, we don't have any follow-ons to the various frigate classes we've already retired, and the Oliver Hazard Perry-class frigates we're already well into retiring. And the SSN community has already been decimated. Pretty soon, all we'll have left are the CVNs, the Burke-class DDGs, and a handful of Virginia-class SSNs, what with the Los Angeles-class SSNs leaving that community.

On the bright side, however, the Navy is going to take the funds already procured for the DD(X) programme and reopen production for the Burkes. Great, they killed the $3.2 billion dollar ship so they could buy a few more $3 billion dollar ships. The very same ships they claimed needed to be replaced because they were "1980s" technology rapidly being overtaken by emerging technologies and threats.

Anyone else see the contradiction there?

Look, I've always said that DD(X) was too expensive to procure in the numbers needed to adequately replace retiring platforms and keep the Fleet at a strength where it can do all the things we expect it to do. But cost wasn't the only thing that killed that programme. Unproven propulsion and machinery concepts, an inherently unstable and inefficient hull design that was abandoned prior to the First World War, and the blind insistence that the very latest, bleeding-edge electronics technology - technology that obsolesces itself every 18 months, by the way - is what really killed that programme.

Also, one can't help wondering just what these "emerging threats" are that so suddenly rendered DD(X) and, by implication, CG(X), an untenable proposition. Remember, folks, DD(X) was trumpeted as the do-all ship for any combat environment, faster than a speeding bullet, able to leap tall waves at a single bound . . .

There's an implication in there, too, which is that the senior leadership in DoD, both uniformed and civilian, have lost focus on just what it is they're supposed to be doing. What we need are ships that are capable of executing their missions and controlling the seas; what we don't need are horrifically expensive technology demonstrators.

But comfort yourselves with this fact: CVN-21 is still steaming full speed ahead and, by the time the first hull of that $8.2 billion dollar ship hits the outfitting pier, I'm quite confident that the end-cost will be somewhere in the neighbourhood of $12 billion dollars, if not more.

Not so important, I guess, save for the fact that we still seem to be rushing headlong down the path to where the Navy, because of costs and a blind belief that new technology can solve all our problems, will rapidly devolve into a force incapable of even basic coastal defence. We're already well on the way to that.

We're a maritime nation, folks. The economy and the way you live depend, to a not insignificant degree, on the Navy's ability to control the seas and keep them open for commerce - a mission it performs not just for us, but for everybody who conducts trade using the sea.

As one of my least favourite Congressmen used to say, "A billion here, a billion there, and pretty soon you're talking about real money," this is your money that's getting tossed around here like so many Monopoly bills, people. Do something about it.

Men Are From Mars, Women . . . Are Just Screwy

Do you know what I really love about women? Aside, I mean, from all the soft, curvy bits they have, which are pretty much guaranteed to turn my higher-level brain functions off and send my IQ plummeting to some number smaller than my shoe size . . . I tell you, a nice brunette in a black dress, with a sultry look in her eye that could set a room on fire, and I'm putty in her hands. Throw in a nice Southern accent, even just the hint of one, and it's game over, she'll have me doing whatever she wants me to do . . .

But I digress from the question, the answer to which may not be as obvious as it would seem. What I really love about women is that they are always right. It's true. Just ask them.

No, really, I mean it. Guys, ask yourself this question: have you ever won an argument with a woman? Of course you haven't, because even when you're right, you're wrong, and you wind up losing anyway. Think about it.

Yet there is another level to that, one that we of the male half of the species rarely consider, generally because we're spending so much time sleeping on the couch and wondering what went wrong. Not only are women always right, they also control everything. Granted, that might not be too terribly difficult to accomplish, seeing as how God was kind enough to provide men with two heads but only enough blood to use one of them at a time, but it doesn't change that simple fact.

What I mean by all this is that women have managed to quite effectively gain control of and rewrite the rules of behaviour in our society. I remember, for instance, a time when holding a door open for a woman and allowing her to precede you was considered an act of social grace. Now, however, it seems that nine out of ten times I hold that same door open for a woman, I am somehow signalling my belief that she is incapable of caring for herself and denying her dignity and self-worth as a human being by trumpeting a belief that I am superior because I have a penis. Um . . . what?

Men are told that women should not be objectified, and that they are more than just a walking womb. Well, of course they are. But then those same women walk around in Summer wearing tank tops with no bras, and little tight shorts with cutesy messages printed across their bottoms . . . and then get upset when we look. Let's not even discuss swimsuits . . . Yep, men are pigs, it seems.

I really just can't help but chuckle over our - meaning us guys - incurable sexism. Something, it seems, which is hard-wired into us, despite the female half of the race's attempts to enlighten us and cure us. But consider this scenario. It is apparently perfectly acceptable for female office workers to gather around and discuss how cute the UPS guy is and what a great set of buns - woman-speak for ass - he has. Yet when you reverse the genders of everyone involved in that situation, all of a sudden you've got an HR emergency and, at the very least, a session with the "sensitivity trainer" in your future.

Curious, that. But I have it on reliable authority from the females I know that I just don't get it. And you know what? They're right. Of course.

Drive-by Observations

Gee, it's been a while, but . . .

Dear Treasury Department: quit fucking with the money. If I wanted to play with Monopoly money . . . I'd play Monopoly.

The right-hand driving lane is not a left-hand turn lane. Conversely, the left-hand driving lane is likewise not a right-hand turn lane. My SUV is bigger than your compact, and the next time you try that trick I'm just going to go ahead and roll right over you.

By the way, that six-inch-high curb in the median is there because they don't want you to make a turn right there . . .

They didn't include a turn signal in your car just because they had some wires and light bulbs left over. Really, I can't read your mind.

When you decide to jaywalk, please do not assume that I am going to stop for you. Pedestrians do indeed have the right-of-way . . . in marked crosswalks. Everywhere else, you're fair game.

The speed limit sign says "40 MPH" for a reason. It really does mean 40 MPH . . . not 15 or 20 MPH.

Traffic lights tend to change from green to yellow to red on a predictable pattern. I guarantee you that if you just sit there at the limit line looking at it long enough, the light will change from green to red.

The menu on the left-hand side of the counter at the fast-food restaurant is exactly the same as the menu on the right-hand side. Quit dicking around.

Just because the sign says "PLEASE TAKE ONE" doesn't mean that you have to.

If you're one of those people who think that the colour of a person's skin automatically denotes the content of their character, you are an idiot. The flip side of that coin is that people have got to give up the culture of victimization and start taking responsibility for their actions and their communities.

Dear Gals: PMS is not an excuse for bad behaviour.

Dear Guys: being drunk, stupid, horny, having a penis, or any combination thereof is not an excuse for bad behaviour.

Dear Mr. Rumsfeld: please admit that your plan for Iraq was an extremely bad one.

Dear Mr. Obama: please admit that you know jack-all about foreign and military affairs.

Dear Mr. McCain: please admit that you know jack-all about the economy.

Dear Hollywood celebrities: please just shut the fuck up about politics.

Dear Mayor Daley: when you force people to purchase permits for public parking spaces, they're not public parking spaces, are they?

Dear Governor Blagojevich: have fun in jail, along with all the other ex-Governors of Illinois.

When a turn-lane is present, that does not mean you may make your turn from the driving lane.

If someone is so blithely stupid that they can not see the red light and stop in time, they are going to collide with you and force your car into a collision with the car in front of you. whether or not you choose to stop a car-length behind the vehicle to your front.

My lawn is not there for your dog to take a shit on. Only my dogs are allowed to shit on my lawn.

When the sign says "PLEASE WAIT HERE," that does not mean you may step in front of me. Unless you are delivering an organ for immediate transplant, my time is just as valuable as yours.

The next person who tells me that "Jesus wants to hear from you" is going to get an opportunity to meet Jesus much sooner than they expected.

The next person who tells me that they "support the troops" but "don't support the war" is, quite frankly, going to get bitch-slapped.

By the way, not everybody else in the world is "just like us," nor do they particularly want to be.

The next idiot that gets on the internet and bemoans the fact that there's "no such thing as Free Speech in America anymore" needs to be immediately taken away and dumped in a country where that truly is the case.

The movie Goldfinger notwithstanding, can we please get away from the idea that a hole in an aircraft means immediate explosive decompression and being sucked out of said hole, even if it's the size of a coin? Airplanes have lots of holes in them. Let me put it this way: when you're sitting in your seat and you turn that overhead vent on, where do you think that air is coming from?

Life on the Lam

*Sigh* It's happened . . . again.

Yesterday, I sat down with my laptop - yes, the very same Gateway laptop that, having made four trips to the service centre in the past month and a half, was returned and certified to be 100% healthy and psychologically well-adjusted - to get some work done. And, for an hour or so, things proceeded just fine. I was in the groove, tapping away on the keys, my thoughts flowing out and magically being transformed into letters, sentences, and paragraphs.

But then, the laptop thought it fit to interrupt me and deliver this message: "You may have a counterfeit version of Windows."

Um, what? The only version of Windows on the machine was the one it came installed with . . . and which has, as of last count, been reinstalled four times now.

Call me jaded, but I couldn't help but have a bad feeling about that message . . .

I looked at the laptop. The laptop looked at me. Neither of us did anything for a pregnant moment, laden with a profound anticipation, that seemed to drag on for an eternity.

The message disappeared, fading slowly into a digital nothingness, leaving me staring at the block of text I'd just entered. Being of Irish descent, with some German and Russian thrown in just to make for interesting family reunions, and therefore by definition not being very bright, I blinked, then resumed working. After all, what could possibly go wrong?

Of course, rumour has it that's exactly what the Captain of Titanic had to say when informed of all the ice floating around, but I digress.

For the next half hour or so, everything was still just aces. Despite the hiccup, I was still in the zone, cruising on auto-pilot, the words and thoughts flowing inexorably from brain to electronic page like a mighty river in full flood. But then, apropos of nothing, the laptop interrupted me for a second time, delivering this message: "The activation code you have entered for Windows is invalid."

But, wait. I hadn't entered an activation code for Windows. I hadn't even tried to enter any such code. What in the world is going on here? Then it hit me.

R'uh r'oh. I'd seen this message before. Right before the first time the laptop's hard drive had decided to commit suicide. Taking with it, of course, everything I'd been working on and everything else that was on the hard drive, as well as dumping the OS itself.

Nah. Couldn't be. Not again. Not for the fourth time. I mean, this was a brand new hard drive, albeit proceeded by three other brand new hard drives and one brand new motherboard. The Muses couldn't hate me that much, could they?

Well, apparently they can. Within seconds, the laptop presented me with the proverbial Bronx Cheer. In a blaze of glory, the hard drive departed this vale of tears and moved on to whatever digital Elysium it is that such things go to when they pass on. Disbelieving, I watched everything I'd just done move irretrievably past my recall, an electronic diaspora dispersing itself forever.

Everybody, I guess, wants to be a critic.

I'm starting to get a complex, here. It's as if the laptop is commenting on my writing in the only method it feels is open to it, by killing itself. Words, it seems, really can kill . . .

Which would, I suppose, in turn make me a serial killer. After all, I have now apparently committed cybercide five times now. Which leaves me wondering if I should be worried about the FBI kicking in my door in the middle of the night, to haul me away for Crimes Against Computers. I'm afraid to go into the local Post Office, lest I see a poster on the wall with my picture on it . . . and, given my luck, the picture they would find to use would be one of those really unflattering ones that seems to haunt all of us in High School.

I'll admit to some trepidation when I walked into the local Best Buy to yet again deliver the mortal remains of my laptop into the hands of the Geek Squad. It felt as if every computer in the store was staring at me, pointing and chanting Killer! Killer! Killer! I do believe that, had they been able, those computers would have grabbed a rope and strung me up from the nearest display.

I felt the need to explain that it wasn't my fault, that I really wasn't persecuting this poor laptop or trying to launch a campaign of computer extermination. But what cyber jury would believe me after five episodes of laptop death, what mercy could I possibly find in the cold logic of the machines?

On the other hand, I could just be overreacting to the whole thing in a kind of anthropomorphism run wild. It may just be that this laptop that keeps exiting the world in the most dramatic fashion it can think of is just a worthless piece of junk, and Gateway a company that no one should ever buy a computer from. That, I suppose, is possible too.

I must also admit, however, that there is a part of me that just can't help being intrigued by what the laptop is going to pull next. We'll see, I suppose, if and when it returns from its next sojourn in the repair centre.

But if worse comes to worst . . . If you ever see a man in an electronics store, with a hunted look as he warily moves through the aisles, constantly checking over his shoulder as he passes through a sea of hostile computers, don't worry. That's just me, and I'm mostly harmless . . .

What Happened to the Democrats?

Is it over yet? The race to see who the Democrats are going to nominate as their Presidential candidate, I mean. I only ask because the whole thing just bores me to tears and, frankly, either candidate would be a disaster. For the country, that is, as I think the Democratic Party as a whole is beyond redemption, and that's a shame.

People who know me also know what my reservations about Senator Obama are. Despite what he proclaims, he has no experience, particularly at national-level politics. More importantly, he has the judgement of a radish. I'm sorry, one does not sit in a church for twenty years, listen to the kinds of things said by Reverend Wright and be, as the Senator now claims, offended by it, and continue to park your butt in the same pew Sunday after Sunday.

To be very blunt, Senator Obama is lying about that. As the old saw goes, actions speak louder than words. Hearing those sermons, for twenty years, he either agreed with them or didn't find the statements to be that out of line. Given the anti-American and, frankly, racist nature of the Reverend's statements, there's a huge problem there in the Senator's complicity in seeming to endorse them.

Then again, dishonesty, intellectual and otherwise, don't seem to be a problem for the Senator. Remember, two days before he held a press conference in which he stated that he found Reverend Wright's statements to be offensive, Senator Obama flatly stated in another press conference that he had never heard Wright make any such statements. Which leaves me to wonder which of the Senator's statements on that issue we should believe.

Of course, there are also the Senator's deliberate misrepresentations of Senator McCain's statements about Iraq. Now, one could simply excuse those as just being politics, except for one thing. When Senator Obama first stated in a press conference that Senator McCain wanted to continue the war in Iraq for a hundred years, he was called on it by a reporter. If you remember, what McCain had actually said was that he saw no reason why, if it was mutually agreed to, that U.S. troops could not be stationed in Iraq under a SOFA, just as we presently do with Germany, Japan and the RoK. The reporter did, indeed, point that out to Senator Obama, and to his credit, the Senator did agree that that was what his notional Republican opponent had said. To his discredit, however, a day later he was back to saying that McCain wanted to continue fighting in Iraq for the next century.

Then there were Senator Obama's statements about troops in Afghanistan being so under-supported that they had to take weapons and supplies from the enemy just in order to be able to fight. The good Senator was even kind enough to cite both the news report and the Army officer he claimed to have spoken with that support that charge.

Problem is, that is neither what the report nor the Army officer actually said. Oops. Yet that didn't faze Senator Obama, and he continued to repeat those charges. It may just be me, but I can't help thinking about someone else who once propounded on the efficacy of the "big lie."

Now, don't think for a moment that I am in any way comparing the Senator to that individual. I am not. But I am questioning the Senator's character; you can not make contradictory statements, nor can you deliberately distort issues, and then claim that the nature of your character is beyond reproach.

Then there is Senator Clinton. Quite aside that I believe having a former President take up residence in the White House again is just a really terrible idea, and one that would make the Founding Fathers roll over in their graves, her character is even more suspect than Senator Obama's. Sniper fire, anyone? If she had told that tale only once, I might be able to buy into the explanation that she merely "misspoke." But she didn't tell it just once; she stated that story as fact on numerous occasions. I can only suppose that she somehow forgot about all the news cameras recording her arrival in Tuzla.

Then there is her dogged determination - which, at least, is in step with the majority of her fellow Democrats - to declare the fighting in Iraq a disastrous failure. Now, make no mistake, the campaign in Iraq has been seriously mishandled, from the very beginning. Yet, even with the mistakes, we are winning. She, along with others, predicted that the troop surge would be a failure, and she was wrong. And she is equally as wrong to, as we are succeeding in stabilizing Iraq, to insist on an "immediate" withdrawal.

I'm wondering what happened to the party of John F. Kennedy. It seems to have gone from "Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country" to "Ask me not to do anything that might inconvenience me." It would appear that we have indeed seen the torch passed to a new generation, one which firmly believes that if we just pretend nothing bad can happen to us, then nothing will.

Senator Obama proclaims that he would solve all the ills of the world by simply negotiating with those who are hostile to us. But how, I wonder, does one negotiate with people who are willing to fly aircraft into buildings because they believe God is telling them to do so? Senator Clinton, it seems, would rather base her national security decisions on what the liberal intellectual elites in Europe would have us do, rather than on what our nation's actual security needs are. Both would, it seems, rather base their economic policies on what the Democratically-aligned PACs want, rather than on what a healthy and vital economy requires in order to remain that way.

Not that the Republicans don't have their own problems with these issues, but those are subjects for another blog.

The GOP, at least, is not as beholden to its extreme elements as the Democratic Party is to theirs. There is, in fact, very little room for a "middle ground" in the contemporary Democratic Party. Someone like a Sam Nunn, for instance, could not exist in the party today. This is the same party that has given us Jimmy Carter, who now embraces organizations like Hamas, and condemns their victims. How is it, I wonder, that the priorities become so twisted that the terrorists are the victims, and the victims are the oppressors? And is this really the legacy that the Democratic Party desires for itself?

It seems that the Democrats have lost their way. Questions and debate are a good thing, a healthy thing, in the body politic. But, under the influence of it's more extreme fringes, the Democratic Party no longer seems interested in that. Rather, it tries to shout down those who disagree with them, as if by denying a voice to the other side of the argument somehow validates their own beliefs. The only thing that says, however, is that no opinion matters or is valid, except there own. They seem to forget that people of goodwill can disagree, and that it is a very dangerous assumption to make that your ideas are the only "correct" ones. More things have come to ruin from an excess of hubris than anything else.

There are some good ideas within the party, but those ideas have to be tempered with the realization that government is not the answer to everything, that there is such a concept as personal responsibility. When you remove that from the equation, then people will not be responsible, because no one is holding them accountable. That leads to anarchy and a welfare state, and would lead to a fundamental change in the nature of the United States that no one would find very palatable. It's called the law of unintended consequences.

What happened to the Democratic Party?

Questions of Absolutely No Importance . . . Except to Me

Okay, fine, I'll admit it, one of my (I think rather harmless) quirks is that I like video games. And, yes, all you young'uns, one fine day you, too, are going to discover that you are in your forties and still playing with your XBox 360 (or PS3 . . . or both, for that matter, for all you spoiled little brats . . .). Then again, I also still play with model trains and little hunks of pewter that look like tanks, too . . . What can I say? He who has the most toys, wins.

Anyway, as I "died" for the thousandth time today in exactly the same place in a game, it occured to me that I have a few questions - and observations, I suppose - both for those who make games, and those who play them.

First of all, for UbiSoft and Rainbow Six: Vegas 2 . . . since when do handgrenades bounce off walls like rubber balls? I mean, yeah, I could plonk a grenade off a wall a foot or so, but your grenades come bouncing back at you like superballs. Come on, I've heard of "relaxed" physics, but that's overdoing it more than a bit.

Oh, and you do realize, right, that real CT teams consist of more than three guys? More importantly, you do realize that the other guys on the squad actually do more than soak up bullets? Honestly, I've seen more responsiveness out of the inhabitants of a graveyard . . .

I've also got to ask, just when does it get fun when the enemies never miss? Sure, I suppose you've got to find some way to make up for the fact that they tend to charge blindly straight into your sights, but really. If I can empty half a magazine into some guy standing five feet away from me and have him laugh it off because presumably my aim off, at least do me the courtesy of saddling them with the same sort of aiming difficulties.

Speaking of enemies, is it really that difficult to ensure that once they are dead they stay that way? Okay, getting shot in the back by someone you just killed is kind of funny the first time it happens, but really aggravating the next six hundred times. And why do you think it's terribly fun to have one guy going up against, oh, a few hundred enemies? Particularly when they never miss and seemingly can shake off headshots like rain drops . . .

And for those of you who have played and mastered both Rainbow Six: Vegas and Rainbow Six: Vegas 2 and froth on and on about how "realistic" the games are . . . If you really think that the games have given you a taste of or mastery of CT operations and CQB, I can only suggest that you never look into that as a possible line of work. As a matter of fact, please don't even pick up a real firearm, you're just going to hurt yourself.

Ah, Call of Duty 4. I love that game . . . but talk about enemies who blindly charge into your line of fire and who never miss . . . Oy. At least when you shoot someone in that game, they stay dead . . . most of the time. But, really, what's with the automatic spawn points for the enemies? I ask because it seems that, if you and your "platoon" (for you do have a lot of A.I. buddies alongside for the ride) secure an area, it should be a no-brainer that enemies can't appear there. Especially when they appear a foot in front of you and empty the entire magazine of an AK-47 into your face. On the bright side, though, at least the grenades don't go bouncing around like tennis balls . . .

As I said, I love that game, but if anyone out there thinks it is even remotely like a real battlefield, I would advise against ever joining the Army (or the Marines, since the Army doesn't make an appearance in Call of Duty 4), because you'll be in for a rude shock. If you tried to do in a real firefight the kinds of things you do in a videogame firefight, the only thing you'll earn is a ride home in a box with one of those letters from DoD that starts off "We regret to inform you that your son is dead because he was stupid . . ."

Now, for the game that's currently giving me fits, Ace Combat 6: Fires of Liberation . . . Look, Namco, a long time ago, I was a fighter pilot. And I can accept that I can not do in a game the same things I used to do with a real-life high-performance jet fighter. No problem. Still, for a game that bills itself as being so ultra-ralistic, there are some things that should still be the same . . .

How about this as a for instance? When a jet is "down in the weeds" and using terrain-masking in a nap-of-the-earth profile, i.e. below five hundred feet of altitude, and zipping along at a thousand miles an hour (and, look, a jet that low can't travel that fast, but . . .), it can not be shot down by another aircraft or a SAM. That's the whole reason the tactic was invented in the first place.

An enemy aircraft certainly can't get below you, and if it gets in front of you, you're going to blow past him before he has time to do anything . . . unless he likes mid-airs. Any enemy pilot who manages to get in behind you is going to be too busy avoiding imitating a lawn dart to worry about anything else. The only approach angle you have on an aircraft flying NOE is from above, and that just isn't going to work. Here's why. First off, the approach angle is too steep; I can guarantee that you can dive down on the target, but you're never going to be able to pull out of that dive before you hit the ground. Second, your aircraft's radar can't track something that close to the earth; you're going to lose the target in the ground clutter. Even a pulse-doppler radar with a variable PRF isn't going to be that helpful, because it's only going to "see" a target that is moving directly away from or directly at you; if it's moving perpendicular to your course, the radar won't "see" it at all. Third, the guidance-systems on your weapons won't be able to track a target that close to the ground . . . nor will the guidance systems on a SAM.

Oh, speaking of SAMs, every one of the blessed things is controlled and guided, at least initially, by the battery's radar unit. If you take down that radar, SAMs are pretty much useless. Sure, you can blind-fire them and hope something wanders close enough to the proximity-fuse to set it off . . . but I wouldn't go betting the farm on that.

Before I forget . . . avoiding SAMs and, for that matter, AAMs . . . It would have been nice if you included chaff and flares in your game, because all combat aircraft have those systems. Sure, sometimes they work, and other times the missile still bites you, but it would have been nice to have them. But at least you did include breaking to avoid missiles, even though that seems to rarely work in the game. Look, I've got to tell you, it's a really exciting maneuver and not for the faint of heart, and the timing has to be just right, but . . . The maneuver works because a missile, be it a SAM or an AAM, can not match it. With a SAM, you point your nose at the weapon, wait until the time feels right, and then break hard in whichever direction looks best to you, and the missile can not make the turn to follow you. It will fly right on past you, at which point you can cease worrying about it . . . unlike the SAMs in the game. The same with AAMs; a good, hard break can succeed at evading the weapon.

Speaking of the AAMs, I really have to admire how, in the game, sometimes the "tracking" works and sometimes it doesn't. I mean, nothing is quite as fun as having a target locked up in the pipper, but for some odd reason the missile refuses to lock on, or even acknowledge that there's an aircraft out there with a huge "KILL ME" sign painted on it . . .

Oh, yeah, and one generally doesn't have to wait thirty seconds or so from the time a control input is entered until the aircraft actually responds. Just thought I'd point that out . . .

Finally, I have to ask again, just when does it get fun when you find yourself confronted with a 1-v-30 (because, no matter what you tell your wingman to do, he only responds with helpful comments like "Watch out! They've got a lock on you!" instead of doing something actually useful like, oh, engaging the enemy) where your missiles refuse to track and you can't hit squat with your gun? And since when can aircraft reverse direction in, like, no time or space at all? I mean, I've seen aircraft in this game pull off maneuvers that even the nimblest UFO couldn't match . . .

Maybe I'm just missing out on something, but, really, I believe a game should be fun and not punish the player. Is that too much to ask for? Or perhaps I should just take up cribbage . . .

Bend Over, I’ll Drive

I should have known this day was coming. Well, actually, I did know this day was coming . . . or, I should say, coming again. And yet, I feel so violated . . .

There comes a day in every man’s life where a visit to the doctor’s office suddenly and dramatically changes, and nothing is ever the same again. You leave the office feeling somehow cheap and dirty, desperate to appear as if everything is normal, but given away by the furtive, worried glances and the snickering emanating from the nurse’s station.

The conversation, of course, starts off harmlessly enough. You wait in the little room for a while, and finally the doctor comes in and she asks you how you’re feeling. Why, just fine, you reply, lulled into a false sense of security by the complete normalcy of the conversation. No complaints?, she asks. Nope, you say, just here for my physical . . . and then it hits you, as you realize what she is doing as she is speaking. Uh, say, doc, what’s with the gloves? . . .

R’uh r’oh.

Time to drop the pants and bend over the table, the Flying Fickle Finger of Fate wants to introduce itself. It wouldn’t be so bad, I suppose, if she didn’t take a full wind-up first, like a major league pitcher getting ready to smoke one over the plate. Except, of course, someone is sticking their finger what feels like halfway up into your intestinal tract from the wrong end. Talk about an awkward situation, and you just have to stand there while it feels like someone is tapping out a rag-time beat in your anus. And you just can’t help but notice that the conversation flows along the lines of something like, "Does this hurt? Aside from my finger being up there, I mean." Well, I suppose that, as long as someone is going to be poking around down there in such an intimate fashion, the least they can do is be polite about it . . .

Now, I have been told that there is a certain etiquette to this whole procedure. Wiggling around is frowned upon, but a few moans here and there for the performance are apparently appreciated. "Ooo, yeah, doc, right there. Oh, you’re the best doctor I’ve ever had . . ." You know, that sort of examination talk. Of course, the one thing you don’t want to do is inadvertantly moan and then murmur your old doctor’s name. That tends to break the mood and can really make things awkward. Talk about embarrassing . . .

Of course, the humiliations don’t end there; no that would be too easy. After the finger is removed, with the same kind of popping noise a champagne bottle makes when the cork is removed, you’re handed a wad of paper towels to clean up all the lube - and, trust me on this one, there’s no such thing as too much lube in this case - and, well, other things, that may currently be working their various ways out of your ass and down your leg. Yeah, nothing like wiping with company present to make your day. But the bigger problem is that you notice the gloves are coming off, only to be replaced by another pair. So, just when you thought it was finally safe to put your pants back on, you find out it’s time for . . . a testicular exam. Oh, joy.

First of all, I want to make it very clear that it was cold in that exam room. In such circumstances, shrinkage is inevitable. Even more so considering a digit was just inserted and took a short tour in a place where no self-respecting digit has any place going. Such things will make any gentleman’s, er, appendages seek refuge, let’s all just be real clear on that. Back to the point at hand, however, you’re now in a position where all you can do is stand there, stare at the ceiling, and wonder which is worse: the finger up your ass, or having someone playing ping-pong with your balls. My vote is for the finger up your butt . . .

In any other situation, having someone basically play with your nuts is a rather enjoyable situation. Unfortunately, I rarely seem to be in those situations. Call it another fantasy shattered, although I somehow feel much closer to my doctor than I did before . . . Hey, it’s not like having my fantasies destroyed hasn’t happened before. I mean, I used to have one where I was lying naked on a table surrounded by three really hot nurses. What I failed to anticipate that time was that they would be shaving me in preparation for an angioplast. So, no, no happy ending there, either, just a reminder to be careful what you wish for.

Still, I can’t help feeling cheap and dirty and, well, used. Like I just want to take a shower and put the whole sordid affair behind me, so to speak. I mean, after all that, the least my doctor could have done was buy me breakfast . . .

I Heard Him Say It, So It Must Be True

Once again, Senator Barack Obama has firmly stuck his foot right in his mouth. I would like to give him the benefit of the doubt on this one, and say that it was merely a case of letting campaign rhetoric get the better of him, but I can’t. This is yet another example of him baldly lying.

"This," for those of you who may have missed it, is his recent statement that Senator John McCain wants to commit the United States to continue the fighting in Iraq for "the next hundred years." Now, that’s a spectacular statement. McCain also didn’t say anything of the kind, as Obama was forced to admit when a reporter, in a rare act of intellectual and journalistic honesty, pinned him down on the subject.

What Senator McCain actually said was that he saw no reason, if both the Iraqi government and the U.S. government were amenable to the idea, some sort of security relationship - including the stationing of U.S. troops in Iraq - couldn’t be continued, and he drew a direct parallel to the stationing of U.S. troops in Germany and Korea. For those of you who haven’t been counting, we’ve had troops in, and security relationships with, Germany for over sixty years and Korea for over fifty years.

*Sigh* But that isn’t what Obama said that McCain had stated. Nor would he have said anything other than "McCain wants to fight for a hundred years in Iraq" had he not been almost immediately called on that. Not that it matters, because you know what people are going to remember and continue to spread, even though it is untrue?

"John McCain wants to continue the war in Iraq for a hundred years."

I understand that Senator Obama wants to be the President. I also understand that there are enough issues, including the current Iraq policy, that divide the candidates which can be debated without resorting to blatant falsehoods. Nor, I think, does deliberately distorting positions and outright lying speak much for the good Senator’s judgement, which he claims as a cornerstone of his candidacy.

There is a sickness in American politics that favours form over substance. The thirty-second sound bite reigns supreme, and if it sounds good, run with it. Who cares if it’s true or not? Except that we do a profound disservice to ourselves every time we play that game. Why is it that we, as a people, place a sacred trust in our elected officials, but allow them at the same time to abuse that trust in order to get to the office they seek?

If It’s So Easy, Why Isn’t Everyone Doing It?

Someone needs to explain this to me, because I admit that I just don’t get it. Perhaps I’m just somehow lacking in experience, or maybe I’m just not a trusting enough soul, I don’t know. It might be that I’ve become so cynical for so long now that I wouldn’t recognize opportunity if it came up and bit me, but I do try to keep an open mind on things. However . . .

I have a friend - and it’s probably best if she remains nameless - who saw an e-mail that told her she could make a ton of money with little or no time and effort on her part as an "internet marketer." A marketer of what, I don’t know. As a matter of fact, I’ll admit that I don’t know a whole lot about this, other than that she was given the opportunity to get in on the ground-floor of this incredible business opportunity for the low, low investment of only $2,000.00.

Hmm. Could just be me, but I am reminded of an old saying: A fool and your money are soon partners. In any event, my friend bought into this idea - literally, and tried to convince me to get in on the action, too. But I’m afraid that the only thing that occured to me when she was explaining it was "ponzi scheme." Again, maybe it’s just me being cynical . . .

My friend didn’t stop there, though. Funny thing about the internet, but you keep getting all sorts of e-mails promising to show you the road to riches; hell, you can even see the commercials on television promising hundreds of thousands of dollars of income in exchange for a few hours a month at your computer keyboard, "marketing" things that "sell themselves." And all of it for a low, low "investment" fee that you’ll make up ten-fold.

And you know what? $2k here, $1.5k there, pretty soon you’re talking some real money, and I suspect I know how the authors of these schemes are making their internet riches. Something about a sucker being born every minute, I’m guessing, because I have yet to meet anyone who has actually made any money off one of these pyramid schemes. Other, that is, than the people who start them.

I may indeed have no faith, but I just can’t escape the old saw about if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. Take my friend, for example. So far, I’ve watched her sink a ton of money into these "plans." I’ve watched her spend upwards of eighteen hours a day on her computer and on the phone, talking to her "partners." Last May, she wanted to borrow $2,000.00 from me because she "could earn" $200,000.00 by September. Unfortunately, the return so far on all of her investments has been zero . . . not that I’m surprised by that. But she plugs away at it all the same, day after day, but this whole thing seems like an awful lot of time and effort to sink into something that is, after all, billed as a turn-key operation.

You know, my entire professional life in the civilian world has been the study of the human mind and behaviour, but this one really stumps me. That otherwise intelligent people could be so easily and so willingly suckered into such obvious scams. It would seem that common sense would tell you that if it were indeed so easy, then everyone would be doing it; hell, we could eliminate poverty in this country simply by giving everyone a computer and an IPS connection and telling them "Go forth and internet market."

Funny how that hasn’t happened . . .

What really disturbs me, however, is the fact of all those soulless schmucks who roam the digital wastelands, preying on the naivete of others. The very same kind of people who would be howling for blood if the same kind of thing were done to them. Or that we, as a society, tolerate such things. I realize that I may be somewhat out-of-step in my insistence on clinging to the idea that one should always do the right thing simply because it is the right thing, and I realize that you can not always protect people from themselves. But I care about my friend, and I care about other people, else I would not have chosen to do the things that I have done with my life. But this one has me flummoxed . . .

It Gets Fun, When?

Things I’ve learned from playing Rainbow Six: Vegas 2 . . .

That as long as it has the proper scope attached, using an H&K M468, which is basically a reworking of the Colt M4 carbine, I can drop a terrorist with a single shot to the head at five hundred metres.

That using the same weapon, I can empty an entire magazine of thirty rounds into a terrorist standing five metres away from me, and he just laughs the bullets off like Superman.

That just because you clear a room and kill every living human being in it, doesn’t mean that one of the corpses isn’t going to get up and shoot you in the back.

That you have to be very careful when throwing hand grenades, because they tend to bounce back at you like superballs.

That unlike you, the terrorists have an edge because they can shoot through concrete walls.

That your highly-trained and skilled counter-terrorist teammates are only really good as bullet sponges.

That one should never seek cover near a fire extinguisher, as they tend to explode when hit by stray bullets.

That, speaking of things that blow up, one of the major items stored in all American warehouses are red barrels that explode.

That, while it may take you several attempts and most of a magazine to drop an enemy at a distance, that very same enemy can and will drop you with a single shot . . . through whatever cover you are behind and your body armour.

That even when you’re looking in the opposite direction, that flashbang grenade you just tossed will blind you while not even mildly irking the bad guys.

That when using a sniper rifle chambered for 7.62-mm ammunition, it typically takes two to three shots to the head to drop an enemy.

That the terrorists have apparently mastered Star Trek-style transporter technology, because that’s the only explanation of how they can appear immediately behind you in a room you just cleared.

That when you throw a grenade, it will rarely make it more than halfway to your intended target, but when a terrorist throws a grenade, it will invariably land right at your feet.

That, curiously enough, the casinos and public places in Las Vegas are littered with containers full of military equipment.

That "NSA field agents" are incredibly incompetent, because they all wind up dead.

That anybody who actually goes to Las Vegas is an idiot, considering the place is overrun with people trying to kill you.

Gotta Nuke ’Em From Orbit, It’s the Only Way to Make Sure

"Right, then, so when we left off last time, most of our dear friends the Colonials were occuppied with being reduced to their constituent atoms in a rain of nuclear hellfire courtesy of the Cylons. Those Colonials who didn’t happen to be busy dying were in the middle of preparing their yearly tax returns, which tended to make those people think that the ones who were getting blown up were the lucky ones. Except that meant all those ex-Colonials would also miss that evening’s broadcast of Colonial Idol, which promised to be a real barn-stormer, what with the tight competition between the man who could walk and chew bubblegum at the same time and the woman who could count from ten to twenty-one simply by removing her shoes and socks. I tell you, that Colonial talent pool is just bottomless.

"Anyway, about the time the Cylons had managed to slaughter a quarter of the Colonial Fleet and reduce most of the population to fond memories, Bill Adama decided it was about time to get his ship, Galactica, into the fight. The first thing he did was give a rather stirring speech to his crew, reminding them that they had all trained for war, there was a job to do, and that they had to depend on each other if they were going to fight through to victory. Unfortunately for Bill, there were two fatal flaws with his plan. The first and, in comparison, pretty minor one, was that by never drilling his crew or maintaining any kind of discipline on board his ship, they couldn’t fight their way out of a piss-soaked paper bag. The second was that he had blown up all their ammunition the day before. Oops.

"It was at this point that Kara Thrace managed to pick the lock on her cell down in the brig, and decided to pop by the CIC to ask Bill what all the fuss was about, since all the ringing alarms and people running in circles screaming ’We all gonna die!’ hysterically had ruined her beauty sleep, which everyone could agree she was desperately in need of. ’We’re at war!’ Bill told her. ’War?’ Kara asked, stumped by the concept. ’Yes, war,’ Bill said. ’The opposite of not being at war.’ ’Oh,’ said Kara. ’Well, gee, I’d really like to help out, and so would the other twenty pilots who are still on board because, obviously, they’re so good at what they do the Admiralty decided to strand them all on board a decommissioned ship, but we don’t have any aircraft left.’ ’That’s funny,’ Bill said, ’I seem to remember that we have a whole squadron of obsolete aircraft set up as static museum displays down in our starboard hangar bay.’ ’Wow,’ said Kara, ’no wonder they made you the Commander.’ So off she went to gather up the pilots and the aircraft, leaving us to marvel at the fortuitous chain of events that allowed a ship being turned into a museum to still have the fuel and aircraft ammunition on board to turn a bunch of museum displays back into fully-capable combat aircraft. Such a pity no one thought about that for the ship’s ammunition, but we can’t have everything now, can we?

"Pretty soon, Kara and the rest of the pilots who had been stranded and forgotten on Galactica were zooming off into space, looking for some Cylons to kill. Good thing for them, then, that the cranky robots decided to show up and start shooting at them and the ship. Bad thing for them, though, because the Cylons decided to shoot nuclear weapons at the ship. This is where we were introduced to that marvellous invention known as the ’radiological detector,’ a device that could, as the name implies, detect nuclear weapons, but which also had the bad habit of only seeming to work when the writers remembered that the Colonials had one of those. Anyway, the radiological detector went off, providing everyone on the ship with enough time to tearfully kiss their asses goodbye . . . but all hope was far from lost. In what has to be one of the neatest dramatic twists of all time, and a shining example of gritty and realistic writing, the very same kind of nuclear weapons that had already destroyed much of the Colonial Fleet and reduced the Colonies to smoking ruins hit the ship and failed to do much of anything at all except start a few fires. But, just to make the fires really tense and dramatic, there was a fatal design flaw in Galactica in that the ship’s main fuel lines were routed through the hangar bay where the nuclear weapon hit, presumably because the hangar bay was nowhere near the ship’s main engines which, of course, would need that fuel. Again, Colonials, not smart.

"Anyway, this led to a nice moment between Saul Tigh and Chief Tyrol who, instead of being down on the hangar deck attending to the duties that his title of ’Deck Chief’ would imply, was up in CIC handling Damage Control and bitching about how ’his people’ were busy being burned alive because they were all apparently too stupid to run away from fire. This prompted Tigh to remember about the inconveniently placed main fuel line, and order the compartments being burned vented to space. Tyrol, naturally, objected to this course of action, because his crew were still hanging around down there wondering what to do and probably toasting some marshmallows to a delicious, golden tastiness. After all, who cares about the ship blowing up, he wanted to save his people . . . Be that as it may, Tigh prevailed, the compartments were vented, the fires were put out, and Tyrol decided to go and sulk over the injustice of it all and gent bent out of shape over an event he completely forgot about by the next scene and which never bothered him again.

"With his ship now safe, at least for the moment, it occurred to Bill that he might have been a little hasty when he blew up all the bullets, and that it might be a good idea to actually be able to shoot back at the Cylons. So, after talking it over with Tigh to ensure he wasn’t making another mistake, he decided to take the ship to the nearest fleet replenishment point. Tigh, of course, pointed out that that would be a three day journey and, what with the Cylons zipping around all over the place, they might object. But Bill, being Bill, had an answer for that, and pointed out that the ship had FTL engines and could just jump to where they wanted to go in no time at all. Literally. I mean, since we’re tossing Einstein and E=MC2 right out the window, why not have a ’jump’ drive that can move you from Point A to Point B in zero time? Tigh, however, felt compelled to point out that since the Colonials apparently never felt the need to go anywhere with this fancy FTL drive, no one had used it in over twenty years and just now might be a really bad time to find out that it wasn’t working like they all thought it would. ’Nonsense,’ said Bill. ’What’s the worst that could happen?’ ’We could jump into the middle of a star,’ replied Tigh. ’Spoilsport,’ said Bill. ’Let’s jump anyway.’

"Meanwhile, all of Galactica’s real pilots, who had taken all the real airplanes and were winging their way through space to somewhere else, were busy dying courtesy of the Cylons. It seems that the dirty, sneaky, underhanded robots showed up and, emitting an electronic signal that completely shut down all of the avionics equipment on the Colonials’ aircraft, thus causing the pilots to lose control and the aircraft to go off course and start colliding with each other because, you know, there are just all sorts of crazy winds in outer space that would make aircraft do that, wiped them all out. The only two to survive were Sharon Valerii, the robot Asian girl, and a guy named Karl ’Helo’ Agathon, who was a big dope. They managed to run away and land on Caprica, where they had to fix their aircraft and, incidentally, run into a bunch of survivors, among whom was Gaius Baltar. Apparently, sheltering in the crotch of a hot blonde woman is a sure-fire way to survive a nuclear explosion. In any event, it was decided that they should take some of the survivors with them when they attempted to find their way back to Galactica, so they held a lottery to pick the lucky few. When that was done, Helo decided to prove just what an idiot he really was by deciding to stay on the fatally irradiated planet and allowing Baltar to go in his place. It was here that we were all looking forward to Helo dying a slow and gruesome death but, alas, that was not to be . . .

"Elsewhere in the exploding Colonies, Lee Adama was escorting Laura Roslin’s ship back to Caprica, and still pouting about how unfairly Bill had treated him. It was no secret that Bill Adama thought his oldest son was a bit on the emotional side, but to call Lee the daughter he never had was really a bit unfair. Lee’s latest bout of self-pity and angst, however, was cut short when the Cylons showed up and fired a missile at Laura’s ship. Pity of it is, the Cylons apparently never stuck around long enough anywhere to actually make sure that their weapons hit anything, and Lee came up with a brilliant ploy to save Laura’s ship. He drew the missile off the transport and got it to lock on to his fighter, which, of course, left him with the problem of facing imminent death because the weapon was no after him. But he solved this problem by out-running the missile because, you know, that always works. Anyway, after successfully running away from the missile, Lee found out that he had run out of fuel and, in what can only be classified as the greatest mistake since allowing the Cylons to bomb the Colonies into oblivion, Laura Roslin decided to pick him up. How that was done, of course, was never explained, since in order to get his aircraft into the transport’s landing bay, Lee would have needed some gas in order to maneuver, but now we’re really nit-picking things . . ."

Next time: The tragic consequences of using Colonial Priceline . . .

Hit It With A Wrench . . .

There are times when it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed . . .

Last April, after a fair amount of time debating with myself and exploring the pros and cons of buyer’s remorse, I finally decided to go out and purchase a laptop. The idea, you see, was to have something dedicated solely for the use of my writing projects and, well, to have a new toy to supplement my aging desktop. So, much to the delight of the local Best Buy, I soon walked out of the store with a brand new Gateway laptop for the bargain price of $1,500.00.

Did I say "bargain"? The laptop worked beautifully . . . for about a month. Then, one fine morning, the motherboard decided to commit suicide. I’m guessing that it had some pretty severe pre-existing psychological problems, or it took one look at the stuff I was working on and decided it had nothing to live for. Or, at least, that was my initial theory.

Lucky for me, being only a month old, it was under warranty, so I trotted it back over to the local Best Buy and paid a visit to the Geek Squad. They pronounced it DOA, and packed it off to the Gateway repair centre in Chicago, telling me that I should see the laptop again in about a month.

Wait a minute, a month? I live about forty miles away from Chicago; what were they doing, walking it to the city? This, I guess, should have been my first clue. Or the second, if you count the laptop offing itself as the first.

Be that as it may, the laptop did indeed return from the dead about a month later. Once back in my hot little hands and subjected to what I can now only assume is my turgid prose, it worked beautifully . . . for about a month. Then the hard drive decided it was time to exit this vale of tears. Great, another editorial comment . . .

So back it went to Best Buy and the Geek Squad, and thus it was sent on a return journey to the Gateway repair centre. It was at this point that I began to consider what a wonderful thing warranties and service plans are. But once again, I was without the laptop, on which all of my work resided . . . while my desktop just kept chugging away and, thankfully, resisting the temptation to say "I told you so."

Eventually, the laptop returned, now with a new hard drive in addition to the new motherboard it had acquired from its first trip, and a little note from Gateway saying "We really fixed it this time."

Count that one, if you will, as clue number three. Once again, the machine worked beautifully . . . this time for nine months. Call it a case of being a refugee from the law of averages. But then, this past week, having failed in its two previous attempts to leave all worldly lamentations permanently behind it, the laptop decided it was time for a third attempt. But this time, it dumped both the operating system and all the drivers, and then the motherboard took itself out in a blaze of electronic glory.

Oh. Well, I guess that I should have been used to that by now. The problem is, everything that was on the hard drive also disappeared into the ether, wiping out months of work and a half-dozen or so projects. Now, I’ll be the first to raise my hand and take the hit for the latter, since I was apparently too stupid or too lazy to make any hard copies or backups of all that work. Really, I should have known better, and doing so probably would have saved my editor from having a stroke. But why cry over spilt milk?

Anyway, back to the Gateway repair centre the laptop went, courtesy of the Geek Squad. For those of you keeping count, this would be the third time and, yes, I’m really getting some good mileage out of that warranty. Doesn’t help with the fact that I’m never going to be able to recover all that work I lost but, hey, at least it’s not costing me anything but a lot of aggravation, right?

So the laptop was returned to me yesterday. Eagerly, and with great anticipation to get back to work, I brought it home and fired it up. Only to have the hard drive say "N’uh uh" and kill itself. Again. Ah, well, back to the Geek Squad it went today and, really, they’ve got to be getting tired of seeing me by now. On Monday, the laptop will, for the fourth time, make the great journey into Chicago and the Gateway repair centre. Go, warranty!

I really can’t wait to get it back this time. You know, just sort of a morbid curiosity to see what it will do next. I have a new theory, you see. Apparently, there is some sort of really bitter cold war going on between the motherboard and the hard drive, that periodically breaks out into a massive thermonuclear exchange between the two in which all the hapless cyber life caught in the middle is wiped out.

That, or I just really suck as a writer, and my continued mutilation of the English language has turned me into some kind of serial computer killer . . .

Hitting the Streets

So, I was watching the news this evening, and caught the coverage of the anti-war protest outside of a DC-area recruiting station. And all I could do was chuckle at all those folks of military age chanting in the streets that they don’t want to go. No problem. I’ve got a news flash for them; military service in the United States is entirely voluntary, and there hasn’t been a draft since 1973. So don’t sweat it, I don’t think you’re going to be packed off to Iraq any time soon.

I also kind of appreciated the chants of "We want our Constitution back!" It was a catchy little ditty, if completely meaningless in this context. As far as I’m aware, no one has made off with the Constitution; after all, this isn’t National Treasure, and that was the Declaration of Independence, anyway. No, I’m sorry, but this was all aired out and Congress consented, so find something else to chant about.

What really caught my eye, however, were all the signs and banners that read "War Is Never the Answer." That one made me pause and think. Really? Never? I’m sure that the peoples of Europe, who were overrun by Germany in 1939 and 1940, would have been interested to hear that. As a matter of fact, some of them are still alive; why don’t you ask them how they feel about that philosophy? I’m guessing here that our Civil War also falls into the "never the answer" category; then again, and it could just be me, but I don’t think that the antebellum status quo was an acceptable alternative. And I guess that when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbour, the correct response would have been to do . . . nothing.

Okay.

The problem with blanket statements is that, well, they’re blanket statements. They make great sound bites, I suppose, but they have little to do with reality. Guess what, folks. War is messy. War is inconvenient. It is also sometimes necessary. That is reality, and it doesn’t care one whit for catchy little protest chants.

You can argue all you want that the fighting in Iraq, for example, was an unnecessary war. That is certainly your right under the social contract we’ve set up for ourselves. But if you are going to accept the argument that toppling the pre-war Iraqi regime was the ethically and legally wrong thing to do, then you must perforce accept the flip side of that. Which is that the ethically and legally right thing to do was leave a regime in place that slaughtered its own people, threatened its immediate neighbours, and destabilized the region. This really is an either-or situation; for the former to be the incorrect action, the latter has to be correct.

Let’s leave aside legalisms in this - while we do have a concept we call "international law," it’s nothing of the sort, and any "international lawyer" who is being honest with both himself and you will tell you that international law is whatever the strongest power says it is - and deal only with the ethical issues. Nor does it matter if you want to choose either Iraq or Afghanistan as your model, though the latter would seem to be a more clear-cut case.

In the case of Afghanistan, we know that the Taliban was a hideous regime. They executed out-of-hand anyone who did not profess their particular version of Islam. They denied education, medical care and basic human rights to females in their society. They sponsored and harboured the organization responsible for perpetrating 9/11. Through Al Qaeda, the Taliban sponsored terrorist organizations who’s sole purpose is to kill as many "infidels" - meaning anyone, including us, who don’t share their particular religious beliefs - as possible.

Is Afghanistan a case of "war is never the answer"?

Compare that to Iraq. I am not one of those people who believe that there was a connection between the pre-war regime and, say, Al Qaeda, though there certainly is an Al Qaeda presence there now (and of course there is, since they view it as just another theatre in their wider war against us anyway). But that connection was never a condition for our going into Iraq in the first place, no matter how much the anti-war folks try to revise history.

We know that Iraq, under Saddam Hussein, used chemical weapons in quantity on numerous occasions, both against its own people and against the Iranians. We know that Saddam Hussein repeatedly carried out bloody purges to eliminate both real and imagined internal opposition. We know that the Ba’ath Party brutally repressed and massacred such divergent ethnic groups within Iraq such as the Kurds and the "Marsh Arabs"; since the war, we’ve uncovered the mass graves of hundreds of thousands. We know that that regime tortured its own people. We know that the pre-war Iraqi government did, indeed, sponsor terrorist organizations and provided both money and training. We know that the pre-war Iraqi government repeatedly and flagrantly defied both the U.N. and the various agreements it pledged to abide by. We know this, because we watched it happen. We also know that it has been the policy of the U.S. since the Clinton Administration to effect "regime change" in Iraq, which is a clinical way of saying "topple Saddam Hussein and the Ba’ath Party."

Are we still in the territory of "war is never the answer"? I don’t think that anyone can argue that the pre-war Iraqi government was a particularly pleasant thing. But I also think that through the twelve years of fun and games between the end of Gulf War I in 1991 and the start of the current war in 2003, it also proved that it wasn’t going to go away absent a nice, hard shove from the outside.

I’ve heard it argued by those who oppose the war in Iraq that what a government does inside its own borders is none of our business. That is, I think, an empty argument, and one of convenience. After all, if that were indeed true, a principle that we should hold as inviolate, then we all should have kept our mouths shut about apartheid and let the South Africans do whatever they wanted. After all, that was a matter internal to South Africa and thus, according to that theory, none of our concern. I suspect, however, that the proponents of the "internal matters are none of our business" theory would object to that, and rightly so, I think. But there’s an even more sinister side to that theory. If you believe that idea to be true, then you must also accept this idea, that Hitler would have been completely acceptable had he only limited himself to killing German Jews.

Again, it may just be me, but I can’t accept either of those notions as being the ehtical choices. The mass murder of people who’s only "crime" happens to be that they exist is, I think, one of those situations that demands war, and I don’t care if that genocide is taking place in Iraq, the Balkans, Rwanda, Cambodia, Darfur or in the Germany of the Nuremburg Laws.

War is inconvenient, but we live in a fractured world, and that isn’t likely to change any time soon. It certainly won’t change so long as we continue to pretend that such things are "none of our business." It is, of course, a far easier thing to worry about Johnnie’s soccer game, Janie’s piano recital and wondering how you’re going to meet that deadline at work and still find the time to go grocery shopping and fill up the SUV while barely paying attention to the latest sound bite on the evening news about which tribal group is now killing who. You can shake your head and say, "Isn’t that a shame," and go on with your daily life. It’s easier to do nothing than it is to do something, and you can tell yourself that it’s simply none of your business. It doesn’t directly impact you, not really, so it isn’t your responsibility to do anything, right?

If so, then we’ve learned absolutely nothing from history. As Edmund Burke said, "All that it takes for evil to triumph is for men of good will to do nothing." It would seem that we would become masters of doing nothing. After all, "they" aren’t doing anything to me, so why should I care what "they" do to each other? Except that having the power to prevent something implies the responsibility to do so, does it not? Or are the people living in the Balkans, or Darfur, or Rwanda - or Iraq, for that matter - not deserving of the same "right" to life that we hold so sacred for ourselves?

War is inconvenient. War should never be the item of first recourse. War is never the answer. Except when it is.