Where have you been, where would you go?

I've been to Italy, Greece, Turkey, and Canada [edit: and the Vatican]. I've sailed the Atlantic and the Aegean.

I've visited or passed through about half of the states in the continental US, plus DC.

I'd like to go to Australia, New Zealand, Africa, Switzerland, Scotland, Ireland, Scandinavia, and Antarctica. I'd like to sail every sea and ocean, especially the Mediterranean and the Pacific. I'd like to visit Alaska, Hawaii, and the rest of the lower 48.

I'd like to travel to Luna, Mars, Europa, and Ceres, plus at least one other solar system. OK, that's more than a bit of a stretch.

How about you?

Halloween

I decided to come in 'costume' to work today.

I'm wearing an old paramedic uniform, augmented with my ham radio as well as normal accessories (trauma shears, stethescope, etc.).

Comments on this uniform led me to answer, for the 2,456,125 time, what the difference between a paramedic and an EMT is.

Technically, of course, a paramedic is an EMT, but we don't like to be called that. EMT generally refers to an Emergency Medical Technician-Basic, while we are Emergency Medical Technician-Paramedic(s).

Back when I did it in Pennsylvania, to become an EMT-B you needed to take about 100 hours of classroom training, spend about 8 hours in the field with an ambulance service, and pass a few hours of practical and written testing. To become a paramedic, you need to already be an EMT-B, usually for at least a year, take an additional 200-300 hours each of classroom time, field training, and hospital rotations. In the field you had to perform various procedures, including doing a minimum number of IV starts, intubations, interpreting patient EKGs, and so forth. Your field time had to be graded by a veteran paramedic who'd gone through additional training to be a "preceptor" and your hospital time had to be reviewed by a doctor, nurse, or tech, depending on the rotation (OR, ER, labor and delivery, psych, ICU, Cardiac ICU, burn unit, pediatrics, respiratory, among others). At the end of all that you needed to go through several days of practical and written testing.

I took my EMT-B test with a group of firemen and coal miners. Almost everyone passed.

I took my paramedic test with a group of people who ranged from professional city EMT-B's to rural volunteers, and less than half of us passed.

EMT-Bs can administer a handful of medications. Paramedics can start intravenous lines, intubate, interpret EKGs, and administer dozens of medications, including fun things like morphine.

So why do paramedics tend to get a little bit annoyed when we're called EMTs? Because we were EMTs, and now we're better than that, usually through a great deal of sweat and often some blood.

Bring the ransom in small bills...

This is just a little odd.

I went to the airport the other day, and paid for parking. Having only two $1 bills I gave the machine a $20. It gave me my change - 17 $1's.

I went to the ATM today. I asked for a hundred dollars. It gave me ten $10's.

That's twice in a row that a machine has given me smaller bills as change than I would have expected. I wonder how long this will continue?

House update

The drywall is in. I didn't get any inside photos, but here's the latest of the outside.

Rube Goldberg would be proud

This is the second-coolest Rube Goldberg device I've ever seen.

http://www.chilloutzone.de/files/player.swf?b=10&l=197&u=ILLUMllSOOAvIF//P_LxP92A42lCHCeeWCejXnHAS/c

Reflections on Firefly, Part 1: Guns 'n Hosses

No, that’s not a typo, that’s me getting into the spirit of things, dong ma?

I, like many “Browncoats”, was first exposed to Firefly in DVD form. I was lured into watching it by the promise, given by some much more rabid fans, of a sci-fi series where there was no sound in space. That taint of reality intrigued me, so I sat down to watch the pilot episode.

And then I watched Jaynestown.

And then… well, they got me off their couch eventually.

I was hooked. Not just by the witty dialogue, cute girls, and interesting villains, but by the realism of it. Not just that there was no sound in space. Not just that the future had slums in addition to its flying cars and gleaming buildings. No, I was hooked by the horses riding to the spaceship, and the cartridge firearms.

FOX’s execs, along with many other people, apparently were turned off by these very things. Why weren’t our sci-fi heroes using laser pistols and riding Star Wars-like speeder bikes? This is science fiction!

Well, it is science fiction. I’ll turn to Robert Heinlein’s “Starman Jones”, in which a character explains why a starship is taking horses to a colony world instead of tractors: “Horses make more horses, which is one trick that tractors have never learned.”

The bottom line is that it all depends on how we go into space.

It appears that the Alliance has a number of highly developed worlds (the Core), and a number of developing worlds. The latter appear in many cases to be at or below subsistence level, with large undeveloped areas. In such places, horses make more sense than tractors; it is a basic function of logistics.

A community with no outside support must be able to make or trade for everything it uses. Trade requires the community have a surplus of something. In the case of a colony, this has historically been raw materials traded for finished goods. If transport between the colony and the developed community making the finished goods is cheap, this can work fairly well. If not, the colony may be more or less on its own. If a tractor breaks, it could take several tries and many months to ship in spare parts. If that happens during planting or harvesting, the colony is in trouble. A horse can die, or get sick, too, of course. But it takes many more horses to work the same land. The loss of any one is a smaller impact. And while progressive failures will slowly reduce the tractors to scrap, there is no real limit to how long a large herd of horses, carefully managed, can keep working the land. Horses make more horses. All they need are food, water, and (for best results) a little human guidance to breed the desired traits. A tractor is the end result of a mass of machine tools, a complex fuel source, multiple complex materials, and a great deal of skilled labor.

We might postulate that just as an 18th century colony town had a blacksmith, so a 28th century colony town might have a machine shop. Sure. Until the milling machine breaks. Until someone loses the dial calipers. Until all your cutting heads are worn down. An 18th century master smith could, given unprocessed raw materials, MAKE a workshop and its tools. Not as good as ones from the mother country, to be sure, but good enough to get the job done. A modern master machinist, given nothing but raw materials and even a power source, would probably be unable to make a 3-axis milling machine. He could start the project, but it would be his grandchildren who would need to finish it.

Some of the same arguments apply to weapons. A cartridge firearm will last for a long time with only a tiny trickle of spare parts and maintenance. Ammunition kept in crates for fifty years can still be fired with high reliability – I’ve fire ammo twice as old as I am, with no higher failure rate than from modern manufacture. If a firearm is designed for reliability, as the Glock family of pistols, they will fire, reliably, after being immersed in sand or mud. The AK-47 is notorious, but also famous for the fact that illiterate peasants who never clean their weapons, living in a jungle or a rainforest, can still fire them after years of abuse. Can a laser pistol be designed to take the same abuse? Maybe, maybe not; electronics are more fragile than steel. But what would that make it cost? We do see handheld laser weapons in Firefly, along with stun guns, in the hands of developed group’s military and police forces, as well as rich men’s toys. But a stun gun can’t blow open a door, not even with Jayne using it, while an “old fashioned” bullet from a brass cartridge can.

But if they can maintain a spaceship, surely they can maintain a laser pistol! Now we’re getting somewhere, but the economic pinch bites us. Mal CAN’T afford to get spare parts for his ship, or the episode “Out of Gas” would have lasted about eight minutes. If he was a little better off, he’d buy parts for his ship. If he was a little better off than that, probably some real food; fresh fruit, perhaps? I won’t speculate on where replacing a perfectly workable and reliable weapon would fall on Mal’s priority list, but I don’t think it would be anywhere near the top.

That’s part of the key; weapons may be a necessity (to fight off criminals if not predators), but high-tech weapons are a luxury if low-tech ones will do the job. High-tech weapons will thus be bought from the same funds other luxuries, and a colony will only have so many luxuries. There’s also the legality issue; the Alliance may be unable or unwilling to ban weapons altogether, but that doesn’t stop it (much like ours) from restricting advanced or military-grade weapons. A rich man like Rance can buy his way around the problem, but what if Mal, one of the many times he meets face to face with the Alliance, had an illegal laser pistol?

So take me out, to the black – if I ain’t commin’ back, I’m brinin’ ma hoss and ma gun.

Improving, slowly

Well, my pink eye is fading, and while work is a real pain it beats sitting at home alone. Mostly.

I did spend some time writing up some thoughts on Firefly; I'll try to remember to post them tomorrow.

The Perfect End to a Perfect Week

Well, the week hadn't been great - all alone here in the apartment (my cat is at the vet), even more insanity and work destroyed than usual at work, and being sick with the cold/flu/whatever.

Then, yesterday evening, my eye started tearing up for no aparent reason. I thought it was a side effect of the congestion and nose-blowing I'm STILL doing, but, no. I took a look at it, and made a guess. Granted, being very glass-half-empty about it, but...

Well, today I went into the clinic, and I may have been glass-half-empty but I was also right.

I have pink eye in my left eye.

I got a perscription for antibiotic eye drops, and it should be fine within a few days (always assuming I can keep one of the most contagious infections around from spreading to my right eye).

Still. Pink eye. I've never even gotten this before. I managed to spend SEVEN YEARS hanging around C-MU's campus. I spent SEVEN YEARS as a medic. And I never got it. But now? When I'm supposed to be working 45% overtime? NOW I get it. NOW I get to sit in my apartment, with miniatures that I can't concentrate enough to paint. I can't have people over because I'll spend all my time worrying I'll give it to them, because it is, as the doctor kept reminding me, HIGHLY INFECTIOUS.

I vented to my mother when she called today. I've lost control that badly.

I'm bleeding each time I blow my nose.

I'm bleeding.

All bleeding stops eventually.

Dilbert is NOT a leadership course

What's an instructive maxim you would tell someone if you could?

Wow

I am arguably tied for the second geekiest person in the world.

Search: http://images.google.com/images?q=geeks

Currently, this picture is the second hit you get.

Now THAT's Ironic

The NTSB has issued a report on its first investigation on the crash of an unmanned aerial vehicle.

The bottom line on the cause? Pilot error.

***

An official from the FAA has announced that, in regards to space tourism: "We authorize launch and re-entry," Montgomery says. "We have no jurisdiction in orbit. Going up and coming down, that's us."

So, the FAA can tell a spacecraft in a sub-orbital trajectory not to land? 'FAA to Space Tourist Flight 7, please violate the law of gravity, you are not cleared to land.'

Sick

Well, I've got the flu. How is it that every year they manage to leave at least one flu out of the flu shot that I get exposed to? I mean, you'd think at least one year it would work out for me.

From the sounds of things at work, I'm far from alone. They say misery loves company (does that mean The Company loves misery?), but I'm not really feeling any positive vibes.

Of course, that could be the string of painful meetings this morning.

Sleepless in Seattle

Its not just a movie anymore!

So here I am, its 3AM, and I can't sleep.

I don't really know what else to say.

Zarth.

I don't even know WHY I can't sleep.

Space solar power plants?

The Toronto Star is reporting that a US government study is recommending a more detailed study of solar power plants in space to beam power down to Earth.

The article, in a burst of technical understanding surprising from today's mainstream media, raised the question of whether the resources spent creating such power plants and putting them in space would exceed the power they produce.

For comparison, I've seen studies which suggest that the total lifecycle power output of a solar power plant on Earth is negative - that it does take more power to build it, run it, and decomission it than it produces. A plant in space, of course, wouldn't need to worry about cloud cover and thus could be much smaller for the same nominal power output, and could dispense with the necessary power-storage systems a terrestrial plant must have as a bonus. To balance that, it would take considerable energy to lift the plant into space and construct the ground stations to recieve the power. What would the net effect be? Well, I have no idea, but it seems that studying the problem would be a good thing.

The article also stated that over the past 50 years the US government has spent $21 billion on research into fusion. I'm glad we're looking at that, but dissapointed that at $400 million or so a year we haven't come up with anything. Especially since a 1st-order estimate for the cost of a space elevator (which, BTW, would massively reduce the cost of setting up, say, a set of orbiting solar power stations) is only $10 billion.

Personally, I'm inclined to favor any project that increases our presence in space - that's our future, and the sooner we learn to live and work there, the better.

Evolving or devolving?

How can anyone look at the human body and believe that we're the product of a 'survival of the fittest' process?

Sure, we're an intelligent (in theory, at least), tool-using species. Wonderful. How did we survive long enough to make tools?

It takes well over a decade for a human to reach adulthood. I'm not speaking of a legal age, here, but of reaching physical maturity; the ability to breed and work. Most species do it in well under half the time. Wolves reach maturity in two to three years, lions in three to four. Natural live births in humans are almost always singletons, and take up most of a year. So a man needs to protect a reduced-capability woman, and then a helpless child, for over a decade when he himself is inferior to his competition! We don't survive by reproducing quickly, nor by having offspring that can survive on their own and add to the ability of the group to survive in short order.

The human body is unbelievably fragile, and most of it is a 'kill zone'. This is true in regard to both trauma and environmental conditions. Sure, we can build tools to survive in almost any environment on earth, but there are only a handful of places on earth we can survive, without tools, to make those tools. Again, we can make weapons that can flatten entire cities, or kill off entire populations, but in a one-on-one fight almost any man-sized predator can defeat an unarmed human. How did we survive to make the tools?

For that matter, we must examine not only how we survived without tools, but why tool-using ability should be a positive evolutionary selection. Sure, even simple tools greatly enhance human ability, but that's starting from quite a low baseline. Does a 1st-generation weapon (made from natural materials with tools themselves made from natural materials) make a human superior to most predators? No. A wooden spear or a flint knife isn't a match for the natural armament of an alpha predator.

Granted, most alpha predators don't pick a fight with humans. However, the modern forms of these creatures are generally the descendants of those who learned that firearm-equipped humans ARE superior to most predators. That is, humans POST-gunpowder (arguably post-steel) have achieved a super-alpha predator status, which has been true for scores of generations of most alpha predators. The modern rule of thumb is that a healthy wolf won't attack a human, but a huge mythology of wolves as man-killers exists for much of recorded human history. The balance of evidence seems to indicate that many alpha predators were man-eaters, but not eating people became a positive evolutionary trait at some point. Probably about the time our fighters and hunters started wearing armor and wielding second and third generation weapons. That took centuries if not millenia. How did we survive in the meantime?

So how did evolution 'know' that eventually tool-using would lead to super-alpha status? How did we protect our helpless infants with 1st-generation tools? How did we reproduce fast enough to offset our casualties? How did we convince alpha predators that we shouldn't be part of the food chain, except at the top? Most importantly, at each step of developing tool-using and intelligence, how was that ability superior to other available mutations? Why was a bigger brain superior to a tougher skull? Sure, in ten or twenty generations the bigger brains will invent helmets, but they're inferior to the thicker skull mutation for over a hundred years. Even once they invent helmets, they're still inferior when they're not wearing them.

I'm not saying that evolution doesn't play a factor in our past, just that by itself it appears to be an insufficient explanation for our physical construction.

Deliver us!

So as I mentioned before, Boeing will be delivering the first 787 about six months late. We are still going to build planes to schedule however, we are told, which will result in a mass delivery (~30-40 airplanes) as soon as we get them certified. This will also result in a very crowded flightline. This image sparked something in my brain, and below is the result.

(To the tune of the obvious song from Prince of Egypt):

October 2008, Everett, Washington
[As rain drives down on the flight line, we see a group of 787s rolling slowly down an assembly line and around in circles. They begin to chant:]
Wings!... Tail!... Barrel!... Nose!
Wings!... and lift. Tail!... and join. Barrel!... and rivet. Nose! Faster!

[They sing]
With the gloom of the clouds on my windows,
With the weight of the ground 'neath my wheels,
FAA, let us fly! Give us type cert for the sky!
Loose our wings, say to Boeing:

Deliver us! Hear our call, deliver us!
BCA remember us, here in this pouring rain.
Deliver us! There's a route you promised us.
Deliver us, stop the airlines' pain.

[A large cargo freighter speaks as she unloads a barrel section]
My child, there is nothing I can do
But to pray there's space for you
For I must fly away, I hope they will

[The chorus of 787s breaks in]
Deliver us! Hear our call, Deliver us!
After all these months of waiting, crowded nose to tail
Deliver us! There's a route you promised us!
Deliver us! Certified and light
Deliver us! For a magic flight!

[The LCF sings softly]
Hush now, my barrel, wait calmly for me
Don't let the rain melt your glue
I'll soon return, with a Section Four-Three
Wait and FAD will get to you

Everett! Oh Everett! Clear runways for me!
Such precious cargo I bear!
Store all the barrels, the wings and the tails
Soon they will fly everywhere

[The 787s sing softly]
Deliver us! Send inspectors to inspect us!
Deliver us! To the world's airlines.

Deliver us!

I think I've finally gone completely 'round the bend.

Fears

Prompted by a post on randomgirl's blog. This is part of the monthly write-away contest, viewable here: http://scribbit.blogspot.com/2007/10/octobers-write-away-contest.html

What do I fear? Many, many things.

I'll start off with an easy one. I have a mild/moderate case of arachnophobia. It isn't reasoned, nor is it something I can easily control.

I have all the usual "rational" fears, of course - generally easily controllable. Heights, fire, etc.

For several years I feared flying - I blame the Mech E professor who kept bringing in broken turbine blades and talking about how the factor of safety for commercial aircraft is close to one (!). Working in the industry has mitigated this slightly, though I still tend to grip the armrests on takeoff and landing - mostly because my brain is running through a long, long list of everything that could possibly go wrong. It is still nearly impossible for me to fall asleep on a plane; the best I can usually do is a trance.

I frequently approach social situations with some amount of fear. I think that's because I'm not very good in social situations, I know it, and I'm afraid of making myself look like an idiot, or a jerk, etc.

I fear losing my job, though based on my performance reviews I really have no grounds for that right now.

I think the thing I fear most of all is failing someone who needs me. Sometimes I've been there when people needed me; I've even got one clear "save" to my credit. Other times... I haven't been there. I've also got "losses" in my past. Luckily none of them are recent (or at least none I know about are), but they still haunt me. How many can I lose before it breaks me? If I lose more than I save, can my life possibly have any positive meaning? Another aspect that bothers me is the people who know me, and that I could help, but who don't ask for it, even when they need it. What if I lose one of them?

Wow, three posts today.

What happens to a Dreamliner deferred?

Well, it is now official. After stating yesterday that the first 787 would deliver on time, Boeing today announced that first delivery will slide from May '08 to November/December '08. First flight is now sliding to first quarter '08.

I can't say I'm surprised, except that its taken this long for company officials to admit what industry analysts have been saying for months.

Hopefully our senior executives haven't been selling their company stock lately, or we'll be copying Airbus in yet another negative fashion.

Strange dream

Last night I dreamed that I was involved in a gang war. I remember hastily loading a rifle in order to join in the gun battle happening out in the street.

Now where did that come from?

What do you do?

What do you do when someone you care about is upset, and they don't even know what they're upset about? How do you help them?

Promotion

I was notified today that my promotion went through - I am now an Engineer 2. So now I'm doing work that is only one pay grade above my level. :-}

As of the end of work today, I will have worked exactly 5,000 hours for Boeing (not counting 416 hours of paid time off, but including 840 hours of overtime).

From the Training Field: Rapier Jam

Saturday I went up to Bellingham (Shire of Shittimwoode) for a multi-barony/shire rapier practice. It was nice to fence with some new people. In particular, for the first time, I fenced with two people who I was measurably better than; I actually am getting better and gaining experience. :-)

Afterward we went out for food, and I experienced a potato burrito - it was surprisingly good, going well with cheese and pinto beans.

Exhausted, sick, and tense

Well, this week has really kicked my butt and it isn't even over yet.

I'm actually feeling lightheaded, despite being adequately hydrated and fed. Partially being sick most of the week, partially getting very little sleep last night, possibly partially due to the unexplained anxiety - I've never knowingly had an anxiety attack, but I think I came close last night, and I don't know why.

I watched Grey's Anatomy last night - been a fan since the second season, and so far I'm enjoying this one, though I'd like a little more medicine and a little less soap opera.

We were informed at work this week that we are "strongly encouraged" to work 45% overtime for the next month and a half, possibly longer. I'm still over 30% so far this year, so this is a step up.

Not really capable of putting together a coherent post today...

From the Front Lines: Banner War

This weekend was Banner War; I've never felt so conflicted about an event.

Well, we'll get there. Banner War is a mostly intramural competition between the various households of Aquaterra (and whatever allies and mercenaries they can assemble) in a wide variety of competitions, ranging from the inevitable heavy fighting to dance.

The site is large geographically, but most of it is covered in trees, and the large open areas are needed for things like archery and erics, so tents get shoehorned into whatever space is left - which in my case meant being camped on top of a bunch of rocks. On the plus side, I was close to everything, including being fairly close to the permanent bathrooms.

Saturday I went to court, where the households declared their intent and I agreed to 'fight' for house Medelstede. House Redstone and the Red Plauge were also up, Redstone launching an all-out offensive to claim the title in honor of a fallen member of their household to end their year of mourning him. Next for me was rapier. I thought I did very well - fought cleanly and got complimented, for Azel's sake! I managed to pin down some fighters much better than I in melee, and for once got almost as many kills as deaths. Medelstede came away from rapier with two of the three available war points.

After rest and lunch (trying out my new Esbit stove) came Dance. I learned to brawl. I'm sure that's not how its spelled, but that is how it is pronounced, and I can't pass that up, now can I? Sadly Redstone came in force, and outnumbered five to one Medelstede was defeated for the dance war point.

Another court (with rice crispy treats!), dinner over the Esbit again, and hanging out with various folks followed. I got another mental conflict here - found out something about someone, or rather probably about someone - this is really bad writing, but the point is it was something that I didn't suspect at all, and which rather bothers me.

In the evening was a three-point bardic competition. I made it about halfway through pass the rhyme (first round free-form, second round partially in context, third round fully in context, and after I was eliminated a coherent story was required). Next came "performance under pressure" - do your piece while being beat on with pool noodles, or standing on one foot (mine). I got through mine, got a good vibe from the crowd, but fell victim to sequence again - I was the first to complete their performance under pressure, and by the time the crowd was polled for judging they'd forgotten me. I'm not saying I should have one, but given the comparative audience reactions during and immediatly after our performances, I should have polled much higher. The third and final contest was "crack the noble"; we had to make the Baron laugh in under a minute. Most people were unable to do this, but three of us pulled it off. I cracked him in twenty seconds, using only one word (jelly). :-) The Baron was then asked which of the successful crackers had entertained him the most, and wisely chose the guy who had explained his new heraldic device (featuring a flamingo, and asking for advice on whether it should be rampant, counterchanged, etc.), even though he did take 35 seconds. While I give myself credit for art and speed, I must say that if I'd been polled on entertainment value, I would have voted for him too.

After some more socializing and a little more open-form bardic, I returned to discover that while the rain fly on my tent may be waterproof, the doors apparently are not. Being set down on an irregular surface worked for me - very little gear got wet, all things considered. I had left the remaining tent stakes in my car, parked quite a ways away, so I got the rain fly partially reset over the door, but still took on more water during the night. Hopefully this was due to the defective setup, not a defective tent.

Sunday was all about packing up gear in the rain, trying to dry things once home, and feeling somewhat sick. This morning I'm feeling somewhat worse - perhaps something I ate?

Overall it was an event that should have been very good for me, but leaves a poor aftertaste.