Archive for the ‘Personal’ Category

Smart Engineering

Tuesday, October 14th, 2008

As I’ve posted before, I’m doing some home remodeling. This has required tearing out the old to make way for the new.

Photo of Stanely Super Wonder Pry BarIn the process I spent about $12 and purchased a tool that simply amazes me in how well thought out it is and how well it works. I’m referring to the Stanley 55-525 15-inch Super Wonder Bar Pry Bar.

You wouldn’t think of a pry bar as being a wonder in engineering, but this baby struts its stuff at first glance. Ingenious use of bends in the metal produce both safety and power through provision of a built in fulcrum which does not exist on other pry bars.

In actual use it has been nothing short of amazing.  The yellow end (with the 90 degree bend) works like any standard pry bar, but the normally “flat” end is where the beauty of the design shines.  With a built in fulcrum you can apply amazing amounts of power through the lever and not risk hand injury, because the 90 degree bend at the other end hits before your knuckles do.

Simple.  Elegant.  Damn effective.

It’s nice to know that some engineers out there are paying attention to true functional improvments on the old.

All Things Foul and Ugly

Saturday, September 20th, 2008

A dear friend of mine is going through some dark times at work and home these days, which has him questioning a lot of the reasoning of how things are done by his colleagues and even family. We’ve talked on the phone about his thoughts and misgivings, but his first text message to my cell phone in this conversation, got me thinking the hardest.

“It just finally sank in that you and I take for granted or as rote, what others consider forbidden, evil or sick…”

At first glance one might take this statement the wrong way, but the meaning was clear to me. He was talking about the thin veneer of “normalcy” that people in our society like to present, sticking their heads in the proverbial sand when something rears its ugly head to prove their little preconceptions of reality to be false. He was referring to the bulk of humanity in the “first world” which staggers around in their special, imaginary “harm free zones”, pretending that somehow, someway, they are immune to injury or ill – as if some guardian angel is watching over them.

Neither my friend or I suffer from this kind of delusion. Cynical as it might be, we take for granted that there are people out there who have no kind feelings toward us or our loved ones. People who at a moment’s notice, would actively cause harm – with even a sense of glee. We know they’re all around us, hiding behind that veneer, trying their best to fit in, until they can’t stand against their impulses anymore and they strike out at someone.

We also know that nature throws things at us which are dangerous and upsetting – that we can’t possibly control. Animals who decide to know what we taste like, lightning that happens to follow the charge potential to where you’re sitting, storm winds which happen to rip the roof off the house; all striking with complete dispassion.

When these things happen to those who hide behind that veneer of normalcy, the reaction is typically out of control shock and hurt surprise. When these things happen to my friend or I, the response has always been a subdued acceptance and analysis of what steps need to be taken to correct or deal with the situation – and a rapid enactment of that decision follows. The process of thought is as cold and emotionless as that of a computer, but has the advantage of remaining clear and concise.

My thoughts turned to ask why this was? How was it we had developed this sense of acceptance that many others seem incapable of facing? Was it that we had suffered too many tragedies that cynicism set in? Or was it just part of our wiring?

Frankly, I can’t remember living behind the veneer of normalcy since I was very young. I don’t recall any tragedies happening to push my mind toward cynical acceptance of the world’s horrors. I had a good childhood. No, the attitude set in the more I read history. The patterns became apparent and constant tales of woe showed nature for its unpredictability and man for his constant expression of what can only be called, evil.

Let’s face it, for all the advances mankind achieved in the twentieth century, it was also our most violent and vicious period. The tens of millions of our own kind that we killed through war and genocide are almost too staggering a number to imagine. The weapons we’ve developed to kill each other in greater numbers are almost too efficient to believe. The more I read and the more I understood what we had done through two world wars and beyond, all painted a picture I couldn’t ignore. Mankind is less noble than he would like to believe. In fact, true nobility is few and far between. I know I can’t claim it, though I have tried to be so.

The twentieth century is why I have a hard time believing we will make it as a species past the twenty first. As we dabble with genetic engineering, nano-technology and new energies – we will turn them to ill. It’s pretty much inevitable. We’ve showed none of the needed maturity to handle our technology over the last century, so we will show the same deficiencies with the new technologies we’re now pushing.

In my own mind, it is a simple acceptance of our nature. We are apes bound by selfish instincts and jealousy, not social evolved enough to handle our inventions. Worse, the ugliest of human personalities, who crave power over others, not just their property – are drawn to the rolls of our “leaders” in society, where they scheme and play with human lives, as if playing with toy soldiers.

Many are going to read such and recoil, unable to understand how anyone could function on a day to day basis with this cold attitude about mankind. Yet, I can’t understand how anyone looking at the evidence could come to a different conclusion.

I will admit that it breeds a sense of futility. It becomes hard to motivate yourself for the common good, when you know that the impact will be fleeting at best. It’s difficult to bring yourself to contribute, when you’re pretty much convinced that it will do nothing in the larger picture.

Instead, I find myself concentrating on the care of myself and loved ones. I can do good for them which will last. I can make a difference in their lives, even if it is small in the grand scheme of things. I can do this without hurting anyone else in the process, which allows me to at least try to reach some level of nobility.

For when the world around you is filled with hatred and prejudice, you can either give in and follow suit, or hold yourself to a higher standard. Though I cannot change the world, I can change myself – and in the process bring good to at least a few around me.

Blue Print for Disaster

Wednesday, July 30th, 2008

It’s been about a month since I last wrote anything here, but there are times when the creative veins are all dried due to the press of prosaic garbage in your life. This is one of those times.

Aside from the usual work hassles and dealing with the daily Utard parade on the commute, my wife and I decided to spend a rather large chunk of money getting new windows put in the house, before we spend the other half of our vast fortune on fixing up the long neglected stucco on the outside walls. What should have been a two day job, has turned into a pissant circus of the irritating – as the contractors brought in squandered away my good will with their laziness.

The story is a boring one, let’s just resolve to saying that beyond all the screw ups on the job itself, when a contractor promises on Friday to call back the next Monday, but never picks up the phone – there are going to be problems. Worse yet the guy actually tried to claim that he did attempt to call to no answer, but my cellphone has never failed to notify me of a missed call before, so I have my doubts.

The result is that a week went by from the start of the job, with the windows unsealed and the threat of wet weather looming. Thankfully it remained dry and by the time my complaints got through to the right ears at the place where we bought the windows (who arranged the contractors for us) some ears were chewed on. Finally, the contractors returned and cheerfully finished most of the job.

That’s right, most of the job. There is still the issue of one window which was measured incorrectly (by the same contractors on the initial specs, of course,) where they displaced the X and Y measurements, leaving us with a window with the weep holes on the side. He kindly offered to cut new weep holes into the existing frame, but when I’m paying this kind of money, I expect to get the right thing, not a hack. Funny too, that a “professional” contractor would install a window with improper weep holes and not even notice it.

Overall, I’m underwhelmed. If there is but the slightest problem with weather or what have you, I think I’ll be spending the stucco money on a lawyer instead.

Which leads me to my general topic of angst for the week; what ever happened to taking pride in your work?

It’s not that I’m mechanically or construction inclined, but I’ve reached a point where I’m ready to give up on “professionals” and to do it myself instead. It will take longer, I’ll hate every minute of it – but it will be done correctly.

Sorry woodworkers and construction craftsmen, but I don’t share your love of house renovations. Just tearing the old carpeting out of the master bedroom the other week was enough to make me want to crawl into a cave and give up on houses altogether. I don’t enjoy it.  I’d rather pay someone who does enjoy it to do the job – but I’m finding that either I have the worst luck in the world with contractors, or there are no good contractors left in the world – or at least in Utah.

So, I’m faced with the do-it-yourself route and a house full of projects to do: Tearing out all the carpeting and laying down hardwood floors in the living spaces and tile in the bathrooms, re-building the entire upstairs kitchen, replacing at least one bathroom shower, replacing the same bathroom’s basin, etc, etc. Just the floors are going to be a job and half, tearing out the old and simply disgusting sub-flooring, putting new sub-floor in place and then hoping I can put down the wood flooring without building the kind of structure straight from Little Bill Daggett in “Unforgiven”.

I’m probably going to need anesthesia to make it through sane. Can you successfully do this kind of job drunk?

Ghost Town Trash Dumps

Thursday, April 17th, 2008

Our dog, KiplingMy wife and I went out last weekend, roaming the north west of Utah in search of various ghost towns. This is the region in and around where the Golden Spike was driven, on the completion of the first intercontinental railway. The expedition was more for the plain fun of it, rather than anything serious, with the goal of having something to waste memory card space with by our digital cameras. A couple of Websites we visited talked of various buildings which could still be found, etc.

I was hoping to see a crumbling building or two, but our search for structures ended up being quite a disappointment. We only found one partially standing structure, in five towns searched – a collapsing fruit cellar.

It would appear that among the many hobbies of the resident Utards, destroying ghost towns is among them. I can’t blame outside tourists, because no one in their right mind from out of state would travel these dusty, barely maintained, mostly unmarked gravel roads, with only a handful of gunshot wounded road signs along the way. Some of the passages we took were pretty challenging, with most resorting to ATV’s to traverse them, rather than a 4×4 like we use.

A couple of piles of brick. One intact trestle. Some pottery shards. A few railroad ties. That’s all we found in roughly 400 miles of travel. Oh, I forgot to mention the piles of discarded modern beer cans, bottles and various trash, which amounted to more mass than the remnants of the towns themselves – their numbers would require scientific notation for manageable summation. Apparently the husks of dead alcohol containers are the only spirits of these once thriving little towns.

In spite of this, we did have a very good time just being out and about and our dog, Kipling, was excited most of the way. He’s a Yorkshire Terrier, but we refer to him as a “2x Yorkie”, as he’s no tea cup variety at 15 pounds and similar length in inches. (We knew he wasn’t a “show quality” dog when we got him, which was just fine by us.) He’s a smart little dog as well. Perhaps too smart at times, as he tries to circumvent the rules any chance he thinks he can get away with. The picture here is of his smiling mug, hanging off his car seat before we took to the trail again.

In any case, the trip itself was fun for the sense of exploration, with the highlight being the discovery of a coyote den under a trestle. Bones littered the surrounding ground, telling the menu of rodents, antelope and other unknown mammals.

Hopefully we’ll find more remote areas in our next search, which haven’t been ravaged by morons with sophomoric, destructive agendas.

Courting Misery

Friday, March 21st, 2008

I’m currently appearing as a witness for the defense in a case here in Utah, which for obvious reasons I won’t go into any detail about, until it’s all over and the hearings, trial and verdict have passed.

As this is my first time acting in such a capacity in a court of law, I honestly felt that I was in a completely alien environment. I don’t know all the rules, having to observe or ask. For example, I had no idea what the wording was for the oath when sworn in and had to ask, being reassured by fortune of being one of the last on the stand in the hearing procedure, that there was no oath to what I view as a fictional deity. Surprisingly to me, there was no wording involving supernatural entities at all, which I would assume to be in place in a state like Utah.

It was interesting to see the two legal teams present their cases. Both were struggling to understand the computer technology involved in the case, concerning Email and how it works (I can say this much, as it’s been covered in the local papers already) and watching them attempt to grasp the information “on the fly” as it were and make a logical argument from it was quiet fascinating to witness. (Sorry, I won’t hand out grades yet.) It was like watching a chess game in process, each trying to react to the other’s questioning of witnesses on the stand. It wasn’t a pretty chess game, with strict rules of movement in place, but it was certainly an exercise in adaptive strategy. At one point during the cross examination of me, the prosecution stopped questioning technical aspects and instead went to attempted character assassination. One can’t get angry with the lawyer for doing so, it’s their job, but it reminded me of how much of this grand drama relies on swaying opinions of people emotionally, rather than following logical process alone. I don’t fall for such ploys and I think that those like myself, who value logic over emotion in decision making, might be the lawyer’s worst nightmare if our kind were to end up on a jury.

The little fits that erupted during breaks were even more interesting to see. A couple of supposed victims in this case refused to shake the hand of the defense attorney during introductions before the hearing started, as if doing so they would be touching evil itself. At one point during the break just after I had testified, one of the prosecution’s team made a disparaging comment over the quality of the witnesses the defense was calling. Since I was the only witness specifically for the defense, it didn’t take any guesswork to figure out who she was talking about, in a loud enough voice to ensure I heard It from across the room. I just smiled at her. Sorry girl, but you’re going to have to try a lot harder than that. I worked for years in telephone technical support. I’d suggest hanging around street gangs and drunkard perverts to get a good grasp of ugly language, couple that with intense study of Dennis Miller’s barbing wit, and aim the vicious diatribe at my wife – then you might get a dirty look from me.

I was shocked during the whole process on just how exacting and attentive the judge involved was. To say that I was impressed would be an understatement. While others in the court were trying hard not to fall asleep, she was on top of every point with utmost tenacity. I don’t know if this is normal among judges, having seen few of them in action, but she seemed much more attuned than the few other judges I’ve witnessed.

I also came to have a greater respect for the poor bailiff. I say “poor” here not to disparage him, but in light of what that man (in this case) has to endure. With very little to do during the course of the proceedings, he had to somehow keep his sanity and attention on the court during over 8 hours of this dry and grueling process. I don’t know how these people do it. I think I’d loose my mind about day three.

Overall, I find the legal process to be one of long, extracted misery. It is vitally important to the structure of our government and society, but I can’t claim to enjoy any of it in action. Much like the old saying that those who enjoy politics and sausage should not watch either being made, I wouldn’t recommend viewing the court process if you are currently enamored with it. It’s not pretty, elegant or concise. It’s unattractive, slow and dreadfully boring. If you have romantic notions of the courts, I’d suggest sticking with nighttime court drama television.

Happy Halloween!

Wednesday, October 31st, 2007

It’s time once again for my favorite holiday. I’m not sure what hit me about Halloween that simply stirred my blood as a child. It certainly wasn’t the candy and treats. I really didn’t care. Where my younger brother would end up with a stomach ache on day one, that he wouldn’t let go of for the three days his stash would last, I would sometimes have tidbits left over around Christmas. I certainly did enjoy role playing, which extended into a hobby of D&D, Call of Cthulhu, and various other role playing games in my teens and early twenties. (A pleasure I abandoned for some time, until my teen aged boys took an interest in D&D and wanted me to run a campaign for them and their friends.) Not even that was the main draw for me. I think I simply liked having an excuse to scare people.

Probably the most fun I had on any Halloween was the year I was 12, where I certainly had no interest in walking door to door, but instead had our next door neighbor help dress me up as a rather stereotypical movie vampire, complete with white face makeup, cape and slicked down hair. I spent the entire evening hiding behind bushes, up in trees to drop down on unsuspecting munchkins and adults alike, spreading the cape and hissing. I’m pleased to report that I even startled a few adults.

I’ve done my share of Halloween acting for the kids who come to the door every year, but I’m saddened to say that things simply aren’t the same. I can’t work up the energy anymore, when the turnout is so dull.

Let me explain. The Mormons, among other things, have simply ruined the holiday. Theses days they hold Trunk or Treats. A few years ago the concerned parents of the Mormon church out here in the Salt Lake valley (which seems like most of the population), where almost nothing bad ever happens, decided that the safest way to hold the holiday was to gather in the local ward parking lot and have the little tykes be bussed in via their parent’s cars, to walk around from vehicle to vehicle through the parking lot to collect candy from each parked car. If you think that sounds lame, it is. It’s the K-Mart blue light special of Halloween activities.

There still are some hold-outs who go house to house, but the numbers seem to dwindle every year. So it just doesn’t pay to put on a show around here. Hopefully, the rest of America is not following this pathetic trend of laziness dressed in Safety-Nazi attire.

We decorate a little outside the house and do our yearly Jack O’Lantern carving, but we don’t do the kinds of things we used to. I guess the holiday geared around the day where the boundary between the living and the dead is supposed to be the thinnest, fell through that thin barrier and died.

Oh, well. At least I still get to carve up some Jack O’Lanterns.