Monday, September 15, 2008

Lord Jones

James includes the line about "Lord Jones is dead" in his list of Chestertonia below. Actually, some of the late lamented Lord Joneses in the newspaper are fascinating people, and I wish I'd heard about them sooner. Take General Hoff, for example. You'll have to wade through the whole list of obits, unfortunately, as there is no separate link to this one.
In 1958, he returned to Madison and served as a pilot in the Wisconsin Air National Guard (WI ANG) until 1989, when he retired as Air Commander of Truax Air Base and Wing Commander of the 128th Tactical Fighter Wing with more than 6000 hours flying time, including 1000 hours in the A-10 Thunderbolt II. As Commander, Hoff lead the 128th TFW back into the jet age following its near deactivation and the removal of its jets in the 1970s, giving the base its working motto, "Dedicated to Excellence." He also graduated from the U.S. Air Force Air War College in 1975 and the Industrial College of the Armed Forces in 1978. General Hoff worked regularly with Congress in the WI ANG congressional liaison program, which he initiated. Senator William Proxmire awarded General Hoff the Reverse Golden Fleece Award in 1984, for using his own money to purchase and expedite the placement of safety clips on all Air Force, ANG and Air Force Reserve A-10 pilot air hoses to prevent inadvertent disconnect at high G forces in flight. The G-suit modification, which he designed and then implemented in a test program at Truax before receiving U.S.A.F. approval to equip every A-10 unit in the military, took three months and cost \$1,100; Air Force experts had told General Hoff it would cost tens of thousands of dollars and take two years to accomplish the same result.

Mrs James

Chestertonia

How about something completely different and unoriginal?

Some quotes from G. K. Chesterton


I believe in getting into hot water; it keeps you clean.

The doctrine of human equality reposes on this: that there is no man really clever who has not found that he is stupid.

Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.

Art, like morality, consists in drawing the line somewhere.

Christianity has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and not tried.

Coincidences are spiritual puns.

I owe my success to having listened respectfully to the very best advice, and then going away and doing the exact opposite.

I regard golf as an expensive way of playing marbles.

I've searched all the parks in all the cities and found no statues of committees.

Journalism largely consists of saying Lord Jones is Dead to people who never knew that Lord Jones was alive.

Let your religion be less of a theory and more of a love affair.

One sees great things from the valley; only small things from the peak.

People generally quarrel because they cannot argue.

The Bible tells us to love our neighbors, and also to love our enemies; probably because generally they are the same people.

The object of opening the mind, as of opening the mouth, is to shut it again on something solid.

The only way to be sure of catching a train is to miss the one before it.

The traveler sees what he sees, the tourist sees what he has come to see.

Thieves respect property. They merely wish the property to become their property that they may more perfectly respect it.

Tradition means giving votes to the most obscure of all classes, our ancestors. It is the democracy of the dead. Tradition refuses to submit to that arrogant oligarchy who merely happen to be walking around.

The one really rousing thing about human history is that, whether or no the proceedings go right, at any rate, the prophecies always go wrong. The promises are never fulfilled and the threats are never fulfilled. Even when good things do happen, they are never the good things that were guaranteed. And even when bad things happen, they are never the bad things that were inevitable. You may be quite certain that, if an old pessimist says the country is going to the dogs, it will go to any other animals except the dogs; if it be to the dromedaries or even the dragons. ... It was as if one weather prophet confidently predicted blazing sunshine and the other was equally certain of blinding fog; and they were both buried in a beautiful snow-storm and lay, fortunately dead, under a clear and starry sky.

We have a suffocating sense of luxury and no sense at all of liberty. All the pleasure-hunters seem to be themselves hunted. All the children of fortune seem to be chained to the wheel. There is very little that really even pretends to be happiness in all this sort of harassed hedonism.

Customs are generally unselfish. Habits are nearly always selfish.

When giving treats to friends or children, give them what they like, emphatically not what is good for them.

My attitude toward progress has passed from antagonism to boredom. I have long ceased to argue with people who prefer Thursday to Wednesday because it is Thursday.

Men invent new ideals because they dare not attempt old ideals. They look forward with enthusiasm, because they are afraid to look back.

Once abolish the God, and the government becomes the God.

When a politician is in opposition he is an expert on the means to some end; and when he is in office he is an expert on the obstacles to it.

There are those who hate Christianity and call their hatred an all-embracing love for all religions.

The truth is, of course, that the curtness of the Ten Commandments is an evidence, not of the gloom and narrowness of a religion, but, on the contrary, of its liberality and humanity. It is shorter to state the things forbidden than the things permitted: precisely because most things are permitted, and only a few things are forbidden.

These are the days when the Christian is expected to praise every creed except his own.

Men do not differ much about what things they will call evils; they differ enormously about what evils they will call excusable.

All men thirst to confess their crimes more than tired beasts thirst for water; but they naturally object to confessing them while other people, who have also committed the same crimes, sit by and laugh at them.

All science, even the divine science, is a sublime detective story. Only it is not set to detect why a man is dead; but the darker secret of why he is alive.

Savages and modern artists are alike strangely driven to create something uglier than themselves. But the artists find it harder.

Though the academic authorities are actually proud of conducting everything by means of Examinations, they seldom indulge in what religious people used to describe as Self-Examination. The consequence is that the modern State has educated its citizens in a series of ephemeral fads.

Religious liberty might be supposed to mean that everybody is free to discuss religion. In practice it means that hardly anybody is allowed to mention it.

The human race, to which so many of my readers belong, has been playing at children's games from the beginning, and will probably do it till the end, which is a nuisance for the few people who grow up. And one of the games which it is most attached is called, Keep tomorrow dark, and which is also named (by the rustics in Shropshire, I have no doubt) Cheat the Prophet. The players listen very carefully and respectfully to all that the clever men have to say about what is to happen in the next generation. The players then wait until all the clever men are dead, and bury them nicely. Then they go and do something else. That is all. For a race of simple tastes, however, it is great fun.

The man who says, "My critically discerning intellect can no longer credit the doctrine of the Trinity" typically means "I'm sleeping with my neighbor's wife."

Friday, September 12, 2008

Social norms

It seems like such a little thing--but it just isn't done.

I boarded the bus in front of Imperial Gardens as usual. School's in session, and the bus was pretty full. I knew there'd be more passengers boarding, so I went to the back of the bus where there were two seats left. One was open on the left, and I'm not skinny, so I asked the girl next to it "Is this yours?" pointing at the tiny "backpack" in the seat. She glanced at it, said "Yes" and faced forward again. I was a bit annoyed--I'd used the code phrase for "I want to sit down, please pick up your stuff" and she'd ignored it. So, I picked up her (1/2 pound? lighter than most purses) pack and dropped it in her lap and sat down.

A bulky and obscene fellow student of hers announced "Dude, he totally moved your stuff!" and there was general merriment for a minute or so. She ignored them, and me.

Such a little thing...

Accident

I settled down in a seat in the back left of the bus, and pulled out Hans Kung (I can see why he is not in good odor with the Vatican) and was struggling with his prose as the bus slowed down for the next pickup. There was a slight swerving, and a little noise--and suddenly everybody on the right side of the bus got excited. One fellow dashed off the bus to help as a young Chinese student stood up beside the bus. Apparently she'd been biking without watching and turned the corner into the path of the bus. I don't see how that's possible, but there she was at the edge of the sidewalk 20 feet from the corner.

She said she was unhurt, but seemed a bit dazed--not surprisingly. The driver called his supervisor who arrived after about 5 minutes, and about 5 later an ambulance came, and then a squad car 5 minutes after that. A friend of hers inspected the bike, which also seemed uninjured. While waiting she came in the bus and the driver asked her what she had been thinking of, and insisted that she wait for the supervisor and the police.

The supervisor had questions, the cop was interviewing witnesses. Nobody on the bus was a witness. Strange but true. After another 5 minutes two number 6 buses arrived and I left the group behind.

No mention in the paper, so I guess she really was unhurt.

Tuesday, September 09, 2008

Opera

Downstairs Youngest Daughter is watching Lucy in the castle with sharp stuff. It is overdue at the library, so now's the time. She seems to have a fascination with tragic heroines, preferably with daggers (Carmen, Tosca, Lucia, etc). Parsifal didn't seem to get her very excited: perhaps Kundry's problems weren't clear enough.

LHC is ready: What to worry about?

At about 2am my time the LHC turns on.

I propose to worry about whether Japanese trawlers will accidentally snag and awaken Godzilla.

OK, actually I am worried about the LHC: I worry that the readout I'm responsible for will glitch again, and I wonder when we'll be allowed to turn the magnet back on after the Castor near-disaster.

Sunday, September 07, 2008

Clone Wars

Youngest son and I went to the movie for his birthday.

It is a cartoon instead of live action, and is constrained by having to fit carefully inside the movie sequence, without the possibility of huge character changes. They managed a little of that anyway, which was gratifying.

It won't displace Casablanca in the list of great movies, but it was competent, which was a refreshing change from recent offerings. Without the monkey of special effects on their backs, they dedicated a little more effort to dialog and plot. Yes, there were some unrealistic notes, but it was fun anyway.

If you saw the other Star Wars prequels, go ahead and see this one.

Out of luck

In front of the Wisconsin Cheeseman factory:

Need tailgating supplies?

Closed today

Saturday, September 06, 2008

Bang the chest!

Wired news has a story about how loud cars are a turn-on for women. The title says "Exotic" but that's "high performance" in the body of the story, which describes how testosterone levels (a measure of arousal) varied in men and women listening to car sounds. Women had especially high levels after listening to the sounds of a Maserati (Harleys were not tested, apparently). Men's reactions were similar but more muted. "As for the Volkswagen Polo? Everyone had less testosterone after listening to it."

Little kids put playing cards in the spokes of their tricycles to get a good wild sound. Not that they're trying to attract the ladies--not yet. But ...

Friday, September 05, 2008

From Mrs. James: I am old enough to remember when the political conventions involved horse trading, debates, real speeches instead of mantras, ballots, second ballots, and drama.

For the last 30 years, the conventions have morphed into coronation ceremonies.

At least, McCain has picked somebody interesting. Obama selected the champion bloviator of the senate.

Unvetted?

I'm not a Republican, and don't consider it part of my duties or amusements to try to develop their strategies for them. I didn't seek out or bother studying the analyses of best Veep choices. But even I heard the name of Palin, and read it many months ago and on several short lists. I didn't know who she was (I said I didn't pay much attention to these things), but I kept running across the name.

So I was a little surprised at the choice, but not flabbergasted. What is flabbergasting is the parroting of the "unvetted" and "spur of the moment decision" lines. Even I know better, and I'm no political pundit. Do these people do any research at all?

Monday, September 01, 2008

Vacating

Updated by Mrs James.

We spent most of the week at Peninsula State Park. Luckily the bronchial problems were subsiding, so those of us afflicted could actually enjoy getting out and about.

It is nice to get away from the phone and radio, though unfortunately I had some obligations in Switzerland I had to attend to--the local library let me use my memory stick to run puTTY and check that things were going correctly. The only interruptions were mosquitoes and the rock of doom. No ads, no baseball, no need to ignore the convention (of course I haven't paid them any mind in 24 years ...); just birds and buoys and powerboats. And bugs, though not frantically too many.

Oddities on the way: a banner for a short term storage firm on the side of a decrepit barn--maybe not the best ambiance for the ad? Funny how many more cars were driving away from the park than toward it--Sunday afternoon back-to-Illinois traffic.

The campsites were mostly empty, the water spigot was nearby, the showers were close and not upwind, and we broke an unholy number of plastic tent stakes. Next time I'll try steel. The campsite was fringed with poison ivy, but we successfully evaded it.

The area is part of the "Niagara escarpment," a ridge of sedimentary rock that marks the extent of some glaciers. North of it was ground down, south of it is hilly, and the boundary is a ridge in places. Not just the ground underfoot but the forest changes as you go up the trails. The cliff rocks crack in horizontal and vertical layers, like huge gray Lego bricks--that sometimes fall out and leave shallow caves. Trees that cling to the treacherous cracks sometimes wind up at the bottom.

One beach is deep (at least two inches, I didn't dig farther) in empty zebra mussel shells, another is rocky with distorted fossils, another is shallow and sandy.

The concession stand carried something no sporting goods store in Madison carries anymore--air mattress repair kits. The salesmen I talked to didn't understand why the kits had gone missing, since they generally sold like hotcakes--but the stores weren't getting any more.

Youngest Daughter says she's more of a city person and grumped about the hikes and the chores and having to set up her tent all by herself. Youngest Son claimed a sore throat when chores came around: he was more interested in exploring. He went out on the lake on a bike-paddle boat by himself and seemed to have a grand old time climbing the observation tower (went back a second time). Each of them had to start a campfire themselves, and Youngest Son got a kick out of hatcheting firewood into kindling. When out hiking, Youngest Daughter glommed a pair of binoculars and released them only reluctantly. (Luckily we brought 2.)

Better Half and Youngest Daughter went to Sturgeon Bay to see a museum, and she and Youngest Son went to an art gallery that specialized in kinetic sculptures, and she and I went to a cafe with WiFi (to discover that I'd forgotten the WiFi card).

Mrs. James reports: Sturgeon Bay's maritime museum gives a history of the shipping trade in the area beginning with a video on how to make a birchbark canoe. Sturgeon Bay boasted 4 shipyards into the 1940s, and the town doubled in size during WWII, when the 4 companies had contracts to make various smaller boats. They made sub chasers and submarine tenders, cargo ships and oilers small enough to go through the Welland Canal of that day, destroyer escorts and corvettes. There were detailed video interviews, circa 1985, of people who worked to build the boats, including a lot of women welders, who were all very proud of what they accomplished.

Now, Sturgeon Bay bristles with yacht masts. Newer cabin cruisers look like something from Star Wars. Huge and sleek and high tech. All they need is grey hulls and tractor beams.

The huge tugboat Purves doesn't hold tours on Wednesday. However, when Youngest Daughter and I asked questions of the volunteer leaving the boat with his toolkit, he gave us an impromptu tour. He was the chief engineer on this boat for 25 years. He went to a different boat when his company sold the Purves, and the ensuing years weren't kind to her. He said they cleaned layers and layers of gunk and old oil off the equipment when the museum bought her.

The engine room was huge, and there was an open space amidships where the exhaust pipes from the engine room vented out. Bob said that the men hung their laundry in there to dry. Most cabins were utilitarian, with a bunk, a dresser, and room to turn around. Two cabins were not exactly private; people had to walk through them to get to the galley. The galley was restored to 1957, when Bob first came aboard. Back to James.

In the park we wandered the trails and went to the boat launch to watch the stars at night and told stories around the fire. No smores this time (but we did have fish and shrimp cocktail on our last evening). Breakfast was summer sausage and cold hard-boiled eggs and cheese and fruit and fruit juice and a couple of Oreos. (The raccoons didn't get any this time, though they nearly got the bread.)

We toured the lighthouse too. Better Half covets a "summer kitchen," but I'd feel a little cramped living in the tiny quarters of the lighthouse. It was funny to see just how much smaller the new light is than the old--and it includes spare bulbs that automatically rotate into position, and a solar panel to charge the battery that runs it. The old one was a 2 1/2 size: the lens looked to be only about 18 inches across (we weren't allowed to get close).

The Rock of Doom: I discovered that using a chunk of dolostone to keep the kindling out of the ash is not altogether without risk--40 minutes into the fire time a loud bang put the fire out for a couple of seconds and threw burning embers onto a chair. Reactions varied from "Cool, I wonder if it will do that again" (guilty) to "Never do that again." Since we lacked some heavy mesh to keep embers out of our hair, the latter voice won.

Mrs James again: Driving down the lake shore route instead of the interstate, coming home. The old lake ports are doing their best to attract summer visitors, now that the boats are too big for the harbors. Manitowoc is still big enough for the carferry Badger, between Manitowoc and Ludington, and for 500 foot cargo ships to come in. The Saginaw was unloading grain into a Budweiser elevator across the river from the museum.

Manitowoc's maritime museum has the USS Cobia, a Gato Class WWII sub, of the same type built at Manitowoc. Manitowoc built 10 Gatos and 18 newer subs. They had to be launched sideways into the Manitowoc River, instead of endways as done in the ocean yards, and they heeled almost 80 degrees over when they went in.. They took their sea trials in Lake Michigan, then went down to Chicago and the canal to the Illinois River and Mississippi. The subs were armed at New Orleans and sent out.

Manitowoc has the Manitowoc museum; Sturgeon Bay's has Door County Maritime Museum.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

City Assessor

It was time for the city assessor to come by to inspect the house and review the assessment. Camera, clipboard, laser measuring device, questions and questions. For some reason I feel like King Hezekiah with the Babylonian ambassadors.

Saturday, August 16, 2008

Garage Sales

There's a "city-wide garage sale" this weekend, and lots of people have goods out on the driveway. Our next-door neighbor put out a nice selection of children's toys, but had no takers. This isn't the rich side of town, so maybe fewer buyers come through.

Some folks put out colorful signs; others put a valuable-looking item at the street end to catch attention (one on Bird Street put out a plasma TV!), and others make sure the tables are colorfully laden. One sale on Windsor Street sported a couple of busty young ladies dancing on a table. They can't have been doing that all day, though, so maybe it was a coincidence.

We tried to run a garage sale once, and after considering the hours of work we put in and the minuscule return, we decided that in the future we'd give stuff away.

Friday, August 15, 2008

Edwards scandal

I was a little curious what kind of man Edwards was, and this seemed like a test--what does he do when his misdeeds are uncovered? Ok, now I know. I already knew that he had done shameful things--he's a human like the rest of us.

The cover up had several parts, and right now there's some digging around the campaign and the newspapers--who covered up what and when? I'm not terribly interested. Reporters don't go digging as hard for dirt on people they like: not exactly a stop-the-presses story. Whether they didn't dig because they liked Edwards or felt sorry for his wife I don't know.

Perhaps more interesting is the meta-question: are these scandals, whether real or fabricated (NYTimes McCain story), important news? Do they tell us anything important?

All in favor of flogging reporters who ask "Boxers or briefs?" say aye.

Always dress well

A tuxedo is always impressive, and can sometimes win the wearer some unexpected honors. "Call me sir when you speak to me!"

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Flying Cr-p

It is no secret, except to the artistic "elite", that degrading art degrades the culture and degrades the soul. Evidently it can also damage the neighborhood.

Did you read the shirt before you put it on?

In a Walmart, a short Hispanic woman with jet-black hair sported a t-shirt that read "Blondes do it better."

I could see wearing something like that at the laudromat when it is the last clean shirt in the house, but I'd wear it inside out.

Swimming at Olympics

In the IHT: Swimming records fall: Is there something in the water?. I don't know, but it is probably easier to breathe than the air. It isn't due to lower gravity because of elevation... Maybe it is the suits and the pool.

Saturday, August 09, 2008

Wars and Rumors of War

So Georgia overreached and Russia imagined a pretext and you and I probably won't know what's really going on for another day or so. I gather that the invasion route is easily defended (some of the discussion is useful here), but Russia is apt to rule the skies unless they kill some American advisors. I wonder what the Turks will do.

Apparently the Russian army involved is the same one that worked over Chechnya. If they follow through this is going to be a mess.

It seems possible that this has to do with control of the Caspian oil pipeline...

That's blindingly obvious by now (a week later) ...