Magnetic Soap

The introduction of the worlds first magnetic soap caught my eye during my daily search for interesting technology. It wasn’t until after reading the conservative rebuttals to Obama’s state of the union speech that I realized oil wasn’t what this soap needs to remove. It’s bullshit.

Yes, we need a bullshit removing soap, or maybe just a bullshit filter. This is where scientists and software engineers should focus their endeavors. Wouldn’t you love a web plugin that quickly identifies bullshit as fast as a word processor identifies misspelled words? Bullshit should show up in underlined brown on the screen. And if you have one of those wonderful olfactory peripherals, it should blow the odor into your face.

I read Faux News to see what kind of shit they might be spewing after the SOTU speech. After all, if anyone’s going to call Obama on some bullshit it would be his opposition. I was highly disappointed. Faux News failed to identify anything that was truly bullshit in the speech, instead focusing on the whining of the conservatives who (of course) weren’t going to agree with anything coming from their hated arch-rival. The best they could to was point out that Obama can’t get anything done post election. What elections? The Congressional Elections, of course. You know, when Congress was pumped full of Republicans after the passage of health care reform. Ever since then, the US government has been ineffectual and anemic, not that it was robust before, but now it’s got the power of a zombie raised up by a first year necromancy student. Their arguments are valid, but point out their own lack of power as well. Instead of wanting taxes raised on the wealthy, they’d rather see tax reform as a whole. No shit. So would everyone else in America. But that’s not going to happen for the same reason on both ends – divisions between how to do it stop either side from wholesale tax reform. It just ain’t gonna happen, not with the current idiots we’ve got in power, therefore working to change the existing code to remove loopholes and increase taxes on millionaires is the only valid solution. It’s middle ground, just like healthcare reform.

And about healthcare reform. Some people seem to think it’s wrong to force them to purchase insurance. Unfortunately, the bottom line is that insurance works by spreading the cost over a large number of people. The more people in the pool, the better the cost is spread and the more effective the system is. Voluntary insurance guarantees that those who don’t need healthcare won’t volunteer to pay for it. The true solution is to force everyone to have health care, but no one can do that but the federal government, and that’s where conservatives say no. That would be, by its very nature, a socialistic healthcare system run by the government bureaucracy. OMG, we can’t have that now can we? It would be inefficient. So instead we’ll seek the middle ground using proposals from previous republican administrations, but since they’re coming from a Democrat, the conservatives will run it down and bitch about it. Once again, middle ground is getting us nowhere.

The more I watch, the more I become convinced that the solution is to annihilate the Republican party and their Tea Party lackeys.  I dislike the idea of giving the Democrats free-reign to operate unopposed, but the Republicans have become so radicalized and ridiculous that they’ve reached the point of being ineffectual. So the worm turns. It would be far better if both parties could migrate to the center, but there’s no motive for them to do so.

Doesn’t it seem like Independents should be able to thrive in this environment? I wonder if it’s all about lack of money for them, and lack of media coverage. Everyone wants to be a radical these days. We’re being forced to embrace one radical side over the other. And with the conservative radical viewpoints being utterly ludicrous, I’m left with little choice.

Political Viewpoints 2011 – still stands pretty much as is. I can’t help but thinking our government might work better if they were all on psilocybin.

Snow Days

Weather in my neck of the woods has gone rather insane of late. Over a foot of snow has fallen on my domain, thus restricting me from my daily commute. School cancellation has further ensured that the screaming of my progeny perforates my eardrums on a regular basis, greatly decreasing my ability to concentrate on the work I am attempting to accomplish. Today, at last, I have returned to my work place and find solace in silence once more. Three days at home is more than enough to instill appreciation for isolation.

In that regard, I find myself wondering if I am at all suited for human companionship. Rather than communicate verbally with others, I prefer seclusion. It is the effort to relate to my wife and children that brings this conception home. The anger, the fighting, weighs heavily on my. I prefer harmony to contention, and those I live with seem to thrive on fury. I find myself reminding those seeking to argue with me that they are continuing their arguments. Rather than confront the issues they are bringing forth, instead I say, “you’re still on the same subject. I will not fight with you.” This requires repetition. If at any point I lose focus and allow myself to discuss the point of their contention, then the flames of their fury are instantly fueled.

Silence. Seclusion. These are gifts I can no longer take for granted. Attempting to draft content from the kitchen table was an exercise in futility. Interruptions occurred continuously. My wife’s frustration with being forced to remain in the house lowered her tolerance for my need to work. I became the sounding board for her ire, and made it known that this was not appreciated.

Now I see that my interaction with others must be limited. It is not simply a matter of focus, it is a visceral need, a requirement for my own mental health. I must be given time to write. I must be given time to create. Without that portal, without that time to focus, I begin to lose coherency. And, once again, I am faced with the thought that I am well suited for extensive deployment to isolated arctic regions of the world, perhaps manning a weather station somewhere far from civilization. Technology permitting, I would happily volunteer for a solo deep space mission to explore the Oort cloud.

Preventing Marine Urination

Combat Diaper Prototype X1

Marines love to urinate on things. They urinate on vehicles, buildings, animals, and each other. Only until recently after being caught urinating on dead enemy combatants has this been an issue. Realistically, though, there is nothing Marines love to urinate on more than a fresh corpse, particularly if it’s someone who’s been trying to kill them.

Of course, to non-Marines, this behavior is shocking. Most people don’t piss on anything, and the idea of pissing on a corpse just seems wrong. It’s hard to say how they would feel if that corpse belonged to someone who had recently been trying to blow them up with a bomb, or shoot them in the back with a rifle, but it doesn’t matter because most people don’t have the level of imagination required to put themselves in that situation. Do you really know how you’d feel about the body of a guy who’d just tried to kill you? Would you piss on it? Probably not, but you’d certainly be glad the fucker was dead and not you. Maybe you’d be so relieved by that fact that you’d want to relieve yourself too, but most of us would probably head for a toilet. For Marines, the world is a toilet.

The best hope for the Marine Corps to curtail this type of activity is the combat diaper – a product recently developed by the Boeing Corporation to prevent unwanted leakage during stressful situations. For the Marine Corps, the combat diaper has been modified with a secured locking system that prevents removal of the diaper. The steel mesh also ensures it stays on though anything short of a direct application of C4. Cipher keys are given to commanding officers to allow the removal of the diaper after patrols. Thusly equipped, Jarheads won’t be capable of urinating on anything except themselves. In addition, this should also prevent those troublesome battlefield rapes from being such an issue. Such is the future of combat operations, so piss while you can boys, because it won’t be long before you’ll be sporting a shiny new hyper-absorbent chain-mesh combat diaper. And, as a bonus, the filtered water can be used to fill your canteens!

For Love of Corona

I haven’t had a good Corona with lime in a while. I was thinking about this on the way in from work, remembering my time in Okinawa. While on deployment there during my time in the USMC, we only had two types of beer available to us: Miller and Schlitz.

Miller is an interesting beer. If you’ve ever drank too much beer and had to throw up, that taste you have in your mouth after vomiting is exactly identical to Miller. For this reason, I do not drink Miller beer. It is, (to me), vomit. Of course one could easily say that this is a specific mental response associated with the memory of an incident where one has gone through a particularly distasteful incident with that particular substance, but I don’t agree. As I recall, the first time I drank Miller, my thought was immediately the same – as in “this tastes like puke!” It wasn’t that I got sick on Miller, it’s that it reminded me of getting sick previously. Hence forth, I have always perceived Miller beer as tasting like puke.

For me, the only option was to get used to Schlitz. I should add that this was also the first time in my experience where vending machines actually sold beer. You don’t see this much in the States, but in Japan beer vending machines (along with all sorts of other objects) were commonplace. But, while I did get used to the taste of Schlitz malt liqueur beer, (and it does still bring back fond memories), I prefer light somewhat skunky Mexican beers more. Why? I suppose that’s a memory as well.

Corona with lime reminds me of Tijuana and the semi-fun times we had there. It also reminds me of San Diego and the beach at Coronado. The sun, the sand, the surf. The bowling! We spent a lot of time at the bowling alley in Coronado drinking Coronas. I’m an unpredictable bowler. I never know what I’m going to get when I throw a ball. About fifty percent of the time I can hit a strike. The rest of the time the ball goes wild. We also drank Coronas on the San Onofre and San Clemente beaches. Those are wonderful places to hang out and relax. Just the smell of a Corona with lime reminds me of the beach. We didn’t drink Schlitz at the beach if we could help it. No, the beach is for lighter beers with that lime taste. Schlitz is more like an indoor beer for when you’re trapped somewhere you don’t want to be.

Weird how the taste of certain things gets associated with specific places and specific things. I suppose it’s a scent memory. But now, when I’m stuck inside and its raining and miserable like it is now, I can have a Corona and remember better times.

The Year of Illumination

It’s been a weird year. That is how I would describe 2011 – the year of weirdness. 2011 has seen the death of Osama Bin Laden, Gaddafi, and Kim Jong Il. Thus we have witnessed the passing of the leader of Al Qaeda, the leader of Libya, and the leader of North Korea. These three individuals have plagued the world in one way or another for long periods of time, and in one way or another their passing will affect multiple outcomes in our current timeline. They have altered our reality, and in so doing altered our future and our history. The story has moved on, but the weirdness continues.

Fractured economically, the chaotic turmoil we see in the world around us is not a harbinger of change but rather the change itself. We have reached critical mass. We have hit the tipping point. Ecologically, economically, emotionally, and intellectually, our greatest minds struggle to find meaning from the seething soup of the constantly rotating variables in our environment and associate them to calculations that will enable us to assign sense to some of these events. They have not succeeded. Simulations based on observation show the alterations of the past like rings in a tree. 2012 is but another ring, but the tree itself is unhealthy. Something has to give.

Through all of this we continue our daily lives. Very little of it seems to affect us individually. We are not major pieces in this game. Most of us are filler, marking time on this world day-by-day in a rhythmic march. Fragments of our world come together and drift apart. But this is how it has always been is it not? History, when read from perspective, seems frozen. History, when observed in the present, seems liquid. Future past fits in patterns of change that seem predictable when taken after the fact. It is simple to look back and know what to expect. It is difficult to look forward and assign new outcomes based on previous changes.

2012 has a flavor of newness to it. Like crisp clean snow covering a frozen pile of rotting mud in an ancient graveyard, 2012 is a blank white surface polluted from the darkness below. If you chose to make a snowball out of it, then don’t go too deep. How long will it remain clean before some animal leaves their mark on it? Not long I suspect. If you want to taste 2012, do it on the 1^st while the snow is still clean and pure. Wait until the 2^nd and you’ll likely taste piss.

I expect isolated pockets of resistance to open up this year. Areas where the light hasn’t shined will be illuminated. That’s what this coming year is, the year of illumination. Science is on the edge of multiple discoveries, many of which will change our understanding of the universe we live in and some which will change our understanding of ourselves. Others will threaten our entire species. I expect the ignorant to come forth and enlighten us all with their lack of belief in the foundations of our understanding. The year of illumination will focus laser light on their logic, exposing their twisted beliefs to most of us, and converting those who wish to drink of that ignorance for the bliss that it brings. It will be a bumpy ride for many of us. I expect turmoil in the form of social and cultural alteration. It is time for that – long past time – and the educated minds of the newest and most unemployed generation will have their say. Their voice is only beginning to be heard. They are only now finding it. What have we taught them? Did we teach them well?

My own generation seems weak to me. Raised on change, brought up in both worlds, we adopted and adapted to technological advances almost as a function. It’s as if we were created as catalysts for future reaction, but not the primary reagent. That was left to our children, and they are now learning what has been left to them. They do not want the world of our parents. They are not interested as we have been in straddling both worlds. They want the dream, but they haven’t figured out what it is yet. We didn’t give them one, we thought it best if they determined it for themselves. They only know that life should be better than it is, and they are right. For my generation there will be two sides to choose from – the uncertainty of the future and the nostalgia of the past. The strength of both sides will be astounding, and we will fragment to one end or the other as we always have because we are weak but versatile. Our flexibility is our strength, but we can only bend so far before we break. If we cannot straddle both sides, we must choose. No matter which side we choose, we will weep for the other.

Change is never easy. Neither is looking at the truth. Be ready to do both.

A Christmas Gift for Dood

In answer to my wife’s question, “what do you want for Christmas,” I had no answer. Yes, I do want a new cell phone – I’m still using a BlackBerry (I think I’m the last one in my office still using a BlackBerry), but I’ll wait until my contract comes due so I can get a free phone. Because I’m cheap that way. Still, I hate my BlackBerry. It has no touch screen and it’s slower than the ants in my kids ant farm after he put them in the freezer for a week. (I was kind of surprised to find it there).

Anyway, in addition to everything going on in my life, I’ve now got this new stress to deal with – what I want for Christmas. It’s not as if I need this kind of stress. It really pisses me off to have to wrangle with a question of this magnitude during the holidays. It’s bad enough that I have to figure out what other people want without having to figure out what I want. Why does this question always come up at this time of year? No one bothers asking me in July what I want for Christmas, it’s always got to be in December.

Realistically, the answer should probably be money. Gift cards are wonderful, but they restrict me to a certain store or a certain restaurant, and I guarantee you that no matter how hard you try to find the right one, I’m probably not going to like it. Do I have to eat at Applebees? Is there a reason for this? Just give me some cash, that’s a better option. If you want to be fancy about it, then go to the bank and ask for some new crisp bills. That’s the kind of fancy I can deal with.

When I was a kid, my Dad always asked for socks and underwear. I don’t know what he was thinking, I suspect he was just being cheap. Actually, that gives me an idea. This year I think I’ll get him some socks and underwear – just for nostalgia. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. Usually I just give him a card to Applebees along with a nature video. Last year I gave him one I thought looked good but it turned out to be a bunch of animals having sex. Later he called me up and asked me if I’d watched it. I told him no. I thought the title sounded interesting, and the cover had animals on it. I don’t screen them for inappropriate material. I said, “well you like animals don’t you? There you go.”

I don’t know what I want for Christmas. And I don’t know what I’m going to do about it. I’ve looked online for possible solutions, but when my wife buys something for me, it’s my money she’s spending, so really I’m buying myself something right? I should just give myself some money. That’s it! I’m going to put some money in an envelope and seal it, then give that to my wife and tell her it’s a Christmas gift to me from her. She can just set it next to the tree. PERFECT!

Man. I feel so much better to have that off my plate.

Happy Thanksgiving 2010

My Thanksgiving this year was not what I would call “successful.” We traveled to a far off corner of the state to visit my mother in law who can no longer speak and lives in a retirement home for individuals that may or may not be fully functional. We spent the day sitting in a ninety degree room (she cranks the heat) with nothing to do but watch television. We ate dinner at a restaurant that served the most disgusting turkey dinner I’ve ever seen in my life. My wife was stressed out, my kids fought with each other constantly, we spent three nights in a cheap motel, and I had to kennel my dog.

When it was over and we finally returned home, I spent the day doing my laundry, cleaning up the yard, getting the spyware from the hotel’s wifi off my PC, and shaving three days of stubble off my face with a dull razor. On the up side, I got to spend a few hours playing video games. It felt good to slaughter some orcs and aliens. I really needed the distraction.

Now I feel like shit. I’ve got some kind of cold. One of my teeth is bothering me, and I’m behind on my writing. I suppose it could be worse. I could have spent the entire time in bed with the flu on a vomit soaked mattress watching iron chef reruns and running to the can. My son immediately plugged his brain into Minecraft, and my daughter returned to YouTube. My wife cooked the turkey we would have had if we’d been at home. It was simply not a good Thanksgiving.

RIP Anne McCaffrey

Anne McCaffrey died on Monday of a stroke. She was 85. She was without a doubt one of my favorite authors.

She was best known for the Dragon Riders of Pern, but to me the Crystal Singer series and the Ship Who Sang series were the best of the lot. She combined SF with Fantasy in a very good way. Her advice to new authors:

“Follow (Robert) Heinlein’s rules for getting published,” she said, referring to the legendary science fiction author of Stranger in a Strange Land. “Write it. Finish it. Send it out. Keep sending it out until someone sends you a check. There are variations on that, but that’s basically what works.”

In terms of her legacy, I’d have to put her up there with Card, Herbert and Heinlein. She was that good. Her stories mixed romance with action and frequently used SF elements in interesting and unique ways. But where she really shined was her characterization. She lent her characters an identity and a feel that anyone reading her works quickly feel into. Both Helva and Killashandra Ree were wonderful characters to follow.

Her influence,  particularly in regard to dragons and their relationship with people, has been picked up by a variety of authors. You can see McCaffrey in many other published works – her echoes. I believe that influence will be her greatest legacy. If you enjoy SF or Fantasy and you haven’t yet had the pleasure, then I certainly recommend picking up a few of her novels. It’s not all action. It’s a combination of romance, suspense, mystery and (of course) the delightful weirdness associated with the genre.

RIP Anne. I’ll re-read a few in your memory.

 

NaNoWriMo WIP

The staff here at Sargastic Irrevalence would like to apologize for the lack of activity on this site. The majority of our staff has recently engaged in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This occurs ever year at this time, and generally requires those who chose to participate to generate 50,000 words of content in a one month period. This is the second year in a row that our staff has elected to participate and we are pleased to announce that the goal was achieved on the 16th of November. However, just because the required word count has been completed doesn’t mean the contest is over. Our intrepid staff has always maintained a personal goal of 100,000 words by the end of the month, and because our staff is wordy and types like a meth-addict, this goal is certainly within reach.

During this time, not a lot of blog posting will occur. To make up for the complete lack of Sargastic drivel usually provided by our staff, we would like to offer you the following advice. First, do not under any circumstances watch “The Tree of Life” by Brad Pitt without first establishing a suitable level of inebriation. It is without a doubt one of the worst movies ever made, and may be on par with Battlefield Earth for the worst move ever. Second, don’t go commando while wearing a kilt, especially during a job interview.

And now I offer you a story about what life would be like for the Norse Gods if their genders were suddenly swapped and they were given new jobs different from what the previously had. This was a question posed on the Fantasy forums at NaNo, and I felt compelled to answer for some reason. I focused on two: Thorette and Hemi.

Thorette

The God of Thunder, once called Thor and now called Thorette, used to take care of all the lightning with his massive hammer mjolnir. After the ‘transition’ his hammer was taken from him and he was given a corset of silence and given the job of establishing peace over the land by showing up at gatherings and telling pithy stories. Now Thorette didn’t much care for this transition, as she had lived her previous life reveling in battle and glory. Because of this, her stories weren’t usually peaceful and had very bad endings. Those gatherings where she appeared to tell her tales were frequently depressing, and she became known to the people as the Goddess of Depression.

It was some years after the transition of duties that Thorette encountered Mongo. Mongo was a warrior with an incredibly upbeat personality. Nothing bothered Mongo. He always saw the best in everything, and was quite manic in every way. Thorette met Mongo at a dinner party in a great hall belonging to King Glurdang Johaanisson who had invited Mongo from his home in Blenderheim where the drinks are always frosty and well mixed. Seeing that Thorette had arrived to drop a wet steaming blanket on his party, King Glurdang challenged Thorette to tell a story so depressing that it would make even Mongo weep. Thus began the great depression.

Hemi

Heimdallr used to possess the resounding horn Gjallarhorn and own the golden-maned horse Gulltoppr. He guarded the burning rainbow Bifrost bridge, keeping watch for Ragnarök, drinking mead, and generally just sitting around most of the time. After the transition, Heimdallr became known as “Hemi” and his horn and horse were taken away.

Hemi was given the task of being the Goddess of Food Preperation (typically referred to as the Kitchen Goddess). And Fridlydipp, the previous Goddess of the Kitchen was transformed into Fradaho, God of the Bifrost. This change of duties was difficult for both of them. For one thing, Hemi didn’t know jack squat about how to cook. And for another, Fradaho didn’t know anything about kicking ass or watching for Ragnarök. They both had a massive learning curve to address.

Chefs and Cooks throughout the lands soon learned that praying to Hemi for assistance in the kitchen was a bad idea. When Hemi did respond to a supplication to do something, like make a pot boil faster or make the feathers of a chicken come out easier, what they typically got was mead. This appeared to be the best Hemi could do. It was the only thing she knew how to make. Thus began the great mead fest, better known as “The Kitchen Drunk” Hemi became known as the “Goddess of Mead” also referred to as “The Hangover Goddess.” For the first ten years after the transition, food in the dining halls was BAD. Drunk Chefs produced mead flavored pies, mead flavored roasts, mead flavored everything. Everyone got so sick of mead, no one would drink it anymore except the cooks who had no choice since they had to taste their food.

Then, one day Odette (Previously Odin) decided he’d had enough of this shit, and summoned the greatest chefs in the land to teach Hemi how to cook. To find the best chefs, a competition was initiated called “Iron Chef.” From all over the land, the best chefs were summoned to compete. The winner would be gifted with the magic golden spatula of non-sticking and an all-expenses paid trip to beautiful uptown Asgard where they would be bathed in honey and given the duty of teaching Hemi the techniques she required.

Forgetting Your Age

Have you ever forgotten how old you are? This happened to me just last week. I was engaged in a Parent-Child soccer match. We do this every year at the end of the soccer season – our last practice. All the parents play against the kids. It’s a boy team, and they’re all around ten in age.

Obviously, we are not.

The problem with not being ten and playing against ten year olds is that they don’t get tired. They don’t get sore. They can turn very quickly without tearing tendons or ripping muscles. They’re also cocky little turds, who talk smack as they’re coming in. And, I think in general, they can see better in the dark than older humans such as myself.

Ignoring these factors, we engaged the youth with foreknowledge of the fact that the next day there was a high percentage chance we’d all be suffering. Those of us with planning skills probably notified our personal physicians ahead of time. Those of us, like myself, who prefer to harbor the illusion of youth simply jumped in and got busy.

Did I mention they all have shin guards and cleats while we’re equipped only with tennis shoes? Did I mention the field was a muddy mess from a week of rain, and that the game took place at dusk? Oh, but I should definitely mention those things.

In the end, it was a tie. But only because at the end we couldn’t see the balls coming at us. I will admit that at least one of those goals was my fault. I tried to stop it, but the blurry ball that zipped by me could have been in any of four possible locations. I had to guess. It was a gamble that I lost. The score ended three to three.

During the course of the game, I only fell twice, and I only knocked down one of the children a couple of times. Not intentionally of course (in either case). They ran into me and bounced off. Uninjured and undaunted (but perplexed by the impact) the kids got right back up. The subject of the impact was the largest kid on the team, who was used to knocking down opponents as his weight has allowed him this advantage. He was not used to slamming into someone weighing three times his own mass. After the second time trying to knock me down, he gave up.

Covered in mud, I draped towels over my car seat for the ride home. The aftermath didn’t come until the next day and mainly focused in my hamstrings and inner thighs. Fortunately it wasn’t my back. Despite working out frequently, my body was not used to this level of abuse. Obviously I need to join an adult soccer team. The exercise was fantastic and intense. I loved it, despite the pain. And my son praised my efforts, saying I hadn’t done bad for an old guy. (Feh!).

Next year, they’ll be eleven. I’ll need to crank it up a notch. Cleats, night vision goggles, and some decent body armor may give me a chance. I’m also thinking about putting rocks in their shoes.