Accessorize

Yes, yes, several thousand times a minute yes. Anybody who has ever watched the movie Predator has surely thought to themselves "I may not be the beefcake that Jessie 'The Body' Ventura is, but I'd still love to pack a minigun. What to do?" The answer, naturally, is let the car carry the load for you. If American automotive management and engineers showed this sort of innovation, we would definitely all have 100 m.p.g. flying cars to take us to work.

The Worst Math Joke You May Just Laugh At

I was walking to my desk early one morning when I saw the following sketch on a coworker's markerboard:This is just my re-creation, but it's a classic. If you get it, it's at least worth a chuckle. If you don't, you should feel very good about your priorities in life right now.

Pookie Power

This little buggy, according to http://www.defensetech.org/, was a solution to a problem during the Bush War of Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe). It is known as a Pookie. The problem was that rebels were sowing mines along roads, and those roads needed to be cleared quickly to keep supplies and commercial goods flowing. This glorified go-cart uses special tires (racing slicks) to distribute the vehicle and driver weight widely and evenly, reducing the likelihood of detonating a mine under the vehicle, and if a mine did detonate, the relatively light armor was sloped to deflect the blast safely away from the drive. The assembly underneath is a mine detector, which I imagine was just an electromagnet capable of noting the metallic mines of that era. The design located many anti-vehicle mines in service, and is claimed to have never set off a pressure mine. Some were destroyed by electronically (remotely?) detonated mines, but even then only a single driver died due to one of those explosions because of the armor. Not too shabby for a cheap little buggy.



There is another insurgency underway, in case you haven't noticed. While the intensity of the war in Iraq has dropped off, a very similar problem was and is still faced by American forces. While the explosive devices placed by Iraqi insurgents were far more difficult to defeat, here is the American solution:

If that doesn't give you a warm, fuzzy, patriotic feeling I don't know what does. There is a 99% chance that the vehicle (this variant is known as a Cougar) in the picture survived the explosion. It's a mine-resistant ambush-protected vehicle, or MRAP. It's about as traditional of a solution to a tactical military problem as one will find. When the bad guys get bigger guns, upgrade your armor. The armor is now too heavy, so upgrade your suspension. The vehicle is now slow, get a bigger engine. It's a very incremental process, inching along while your opponent is also sharpening his tactics and tools. Oh, and they are horrendously expensive, difficult to maintain, and don't even fit down many streets or across some bridges.

I see a great deal of this in military ship design/building. Don't take any chances. Something that does just a little bit more but is far more expensive is preferable to something that is cheaper and almost performs as well, or is pricey and is going to be either an astronomical success or an utter failure. This mentality does make some sense when soldiers' lives are on the line, which was clearly the case when the U.S. rushed to buy MRAP's. But is it the best mindset to instill in your entire defense infrastructure? Play it safe, and don't ever worry about hitting a home run.

However, that is not the only solution. The British also have soldiers in Iraq, and in their area (which includes the urban hole of Basra), they specialized in precise raids with minimum firepower traded off for speed, speed, speed. This method is not guaranteed to be successful, but it points out that the closed-minded, single solution approach often embraced by the military and defense design establishment is faulty thinking. I watched a series of shock tests this week that brought that lesson home.

It's amazing what a 3000 pound hammer dropped onto a spring loaded fixture can prove. At hand was the question of whether a lightweight, flexible linkage could stop a tremendous load (momentarily up to 15 tons or so) at one end while being held in place by... a 3/8" roller assembly. It survived! How? The heretical use of materials the Navy often holds in disdain (titanium, precipitation hardened stainless steels...) and a willingness to take a little bit of a risk. I had the good fortune of working with the man who conceived of this and numerous other ingenious contraptions. Most involved intentionally stretching a linkage to make it work, and running numerous linkages off a single actuator, and other Swiss-watch mechanisms that others dismissed as "claptrap". Some of the designs even broke, or seized in place, or rusted away in seawater. But none failed so badly that the design couldn't be fixed, and the savings in space, money, and infrastructure compared to more traditional concepts were substantial. In the end, this particular invention of his passed the shock test and operated just fine when the dust settled. A few washers were bent, but what's a little stretching between friends?

It took the absolute mental saturation of gizmos, widgets, and mechanisms for a man to have the vision to create machines like this on a blank sheet of paper. It took the experience of working with his own hands on boats and cars and many hours of applied engineering analysis to know when intuition mattered more than numbers, and when something would just stretch or crack clean through. It took the guts for him to stand before critics and present his vision to others and overcome their stubborn resistance and fear of failure. And it took him being correct time and again before he was trusted with the reigns of multi-million dollar designs and given the chance to prove his mettle. His mind was agile, unbound by convention, and stubbornly entrenched when the Dork-meter was pegged. This is the sort of mind it takes to produce a Pookie, not an MRAP.

Where My Dogs At?

Barack Obama was not my choice for president. However, he is the man who was elected to be our president for the next 4 years, so I maintain that we need to make the most of what we've got. I already have a great possibility in mind. The First Family will, following tradition, choose a pet. This will most likely be a dog. There is one fantastic option here: One of Michael Vick's dogs! This assumes full rehabilitation and training of one of these mistreated dogs, of course, but out of the forty or so dogs taken into custody it seems certain that at least one could fit the bill. Think of what a strong message that sends about the treatment of animals! It's even the sort of rags to riches story that America prides itself in. Not to mention the ability of a majestic pit bull or other fighting dog to convey great qualities in a nation. Strength, loyalty, doggedness (forgive the pun), and, of course, ferocity towards the wicked. Does the White House need another terrier or spaniel? I think not. As an added bonus, it's one more opportunity to make the animal mistreating, gambling, tax-evading, false stament'ing Mike Vick look like a fool.

Give Thanks

I'm slowly reading the bible coast-to-coast, and I came across this tonight, of all nights, from Colossians Ch. 4:
"Devote yourselves to prayer, keeping alert in it with an attitude of thanksgiving... Let your speech always be with grace, as though seasoned with salt, so that you will know how you should respond to each person."
I wish anybody out there a good day. If there is anything in your life discouraging you, take heart, there is an enormous amount of good still to be found.

Interstew

I had to cover for my supervisor recently while he took a week of vacation. I've had quieter weeks, to be sure, but that's not the focus of this entry. Through a series of events that is not likely to happen again for some time, I ended up conducting my first job interview.

I felt badly for the young man before I even met him. The guys I sit with at work all went emphatically on the record as being quite relieved that I did not interview them before they hired in. I obliged them by making up a few sample questions like "Why do you think you're good enough to work for me... I DIDN'T SAY YOU COULD ANSWER YET!" and proposing mind games like shaking my head "no" while he answered or saying "is that all?" at the end of each of his answers. Good fun, that, but it did bring to light that I am about as scary as somebody who stands 5'10" with glasses and no tattoos can be.

I did realize that the young man seeking a job deserves a little better than that, so, lacking any support from my employer on the matter, I hit the world wide interweb (now on computers!) for a few tips on conducting interviews. That was a Godsend. I got my act together, reviewed his resume and I was ready to rock the following morning.

Then I saw his transcript. The Hindenburg was less of a wreck. Heed my words, college and pre-college students; it is folly to claim that certain areas of your studies were your favorite and that you really have a knack for them when your grades in the relevant classes were in the C to D range. It's not in your wheelhouse, it's in your five-hole.

• Another tip: If your GPA is below 2.5, don't take 5 months off and THEN start looking for a job. Unless you spent your year off with the Peace Corps or on a foreign mission, you just look desperate.


• Additional free advice: If an interviewer notifies you in advance that the following question is a no-bull, honest query, don't throw up a smokescreen answer using a lot of key words like "leadership", "diverse", "core skills", and the like. It will get sniffed out.


• Kicking a dead horse: If the interviewer says "Not everybody can be a leader in their first few years of team projects in a field as specialized as maritime defense engineering, so what other roles do you feel you play as a member of a team?", do not present an answer that even sounds remotely like "I am the leader". Bad move.

Hopefully, the next interview I am required to conduct will go more smoothly, especially for the prospective employee. And it will ideally occur far, far in the future.

Did Somebody Leave The Parking Brake On?

I recently completed the second and final run of the 2008 I Tell You What race circuit. The EBAC Fall Challenge provided a little bit more challenge than the previous weekend's Tarzan Brown run. While the course was shorter, I had a stomach ache so did not eat much breakfast. Also, I am optimized for cold weather running, so low 60's and humid causes me to struggle a little bit. As a result, my pace was notceably slower (6:57 per mile) than the previous weekend. It was still a very nice outing for the family, as the girls were able to play by the beach and were gracious enough to cheer for me as I sputtered my way across the finish line. My time was still OK, better than any year I've participated in the Fall Challenge. Having Wifey prepare me breakfast and being consistent with my training runs (with a 22 year old to pace me) certainly helped. Now that I've had time to recover and rest, my overworked knees are feeling much better, to boot. Here are a few photographs of the morning:

A little time with my ladeez
Relaxed/fatalistic beforehand

My fans, minus Wifey

Gratuitous submarine picture from race morning at Ocean Beach, because that's how we get down on I Tell You What

Wheezing my way across the finish line, ending the 2008 race season

My Brain Hurts (bumped for comments)

My man Matty commented on one of my recent posts, and it provoked a good bit of thought on my part. The topic was abortion, and the crux (very briefly) of his discussion, as I read it, is as follows:

• There are ethical grey areas on abortion regardless of how stridently you oppose or support it
• There will be abortions regardless of the laws in place and the severity of the punishment

Both points could not be more true. I have considered both at length, because their implications are significant in a society where morality, law, and science have an intricately interwoven relationship. However, I still conclude that neither one justifies the practice or legalization of abortion. Let's address the lower bullet first, because it's relatively easy, by writing it this way:

• There will be (murder/pedophilia/gambling/blackmail/theft) regardless of the laws in place and the severity of the punishment

So, we can see that the simple existence of something should not preclude efforts to eliminate, or at least curb, that something by legislation and vigorous enforcement. So that one is put to bed on a fundamental, philosophical level. Prohibition does not necessarily preclude, but can suppress. Yet, that first bullet continues to bedevil me and anybody else who thinks seriously about abortion.

The first bullet is typically broken into two basic scenarios. 1) A woman is pregnant or in labor, and is in a situation where either she OR the baby can survive, but not both; and 2) A woman is raped and found to be impregnated by her assailant. Wow. You almost can imagine that God would write down an answer to this, erase it, and write it again repeatedly before getting it right. From this point on there are two primary factors driving the decision process. They are how you set moral boundaries and how you could ever write a clear, concise, and enforceable law to affect your policy. Put in other words, how do you define the issue morally, and how do you make it work in a nation of over 300 million citizens. And many millions of non citizens.

As I hope I have shown in past posts, I represent the evangelical Christian moral viewpoint. In the case of mother or baby but not both survive, the overwhelming principle is value of life. Well, there are two lives involved, either one could die tomorrow even if they are chosen to survive the trauma of childbirth, and for all we know either one could cure cancer or waste their lives in trivial pursuits. Not the board game, I mean... never mind. So, this is a rare instance where I think we need to look exclusively at the "how do we write effective law" aspect. Personally, I take the approach of treating it as an organ donor situation. Somebody who is alive at a key moment, although facing imminent death, can save another life by sacrificing their own body. What do you need to make such a sacrifice? Well, donor consent is essential. So, the mother, if conscious, should legally have the right at any time to sacrifice herself for the sake of the child without any other input. Fair enough. As for the child, there are two legal guardians, the mother and father. Therefore, if BOTH mother and father consent to sacrificing the baby for sake of the mother's survival, legally you would have to let it happen (again, using organ donor logic). What if the father is estranged or on work travel or in no state of mind to make any sort of decision (which is very likely)? I cannot say, but that is the issue you would have to reconcile to write effective law.

As for the case of impregnation through rape (let's say "impregnato via enrapo", to feel Latin-y and feel legal), that is the trickiest of all. Wifey has done a bit of research on this topic, and has come up with a solution superior to anything I have thus far. When a woman claims rape, it would be totally justifiable to perform a procedure that cleanses her reproductive organs while obtaining DNA to find and use against the accused offender. Knowing that it takes at least a matter of hours for an egg to implant, it would have no hospitable place to land, so thus is passed along with no consequence. Therefore, effective law should require that any woman should report rape to the proper authorities within 24 hours, and moral issues can be cut to almost none. What this woman waits to report the crime, say for a period to exceed a few days? Well, most likely that is because it is acquaintance rape. Ugh. Note that the unborn baby still has done nothing wrong to deserve death. I think our legal system has actually headed in the right direction by establishing that murdering a pregnant women results in two murder charges. Perhaps to follow that course logically, while maintaining the baby's right to exist, the rapist is charged for his crime twice. He is an immediate repeat offender. Yes, this leaves a woman responsible for dealing with the crime of another, a victim in probably every sense. However, she should receive the full support of the government to assist her. This follows Matty's path to enacting government policies to reduce abortions. This could come in the form of social security payments to the child as though its father had died, in addition to child support to be paid by the rapist.

Whew, that was a long-winded post. In summary: laws to prevent abortion are not fundamentally unsound, babies should be considered for abortion when the mother is in jeopardy only when consistent legal and medical principles are applied (I chose the organ donor scenario), and the baby has still committed no crime in the case of impregnation by rape so the government should double-prosecute the rapist and provide the full weight of society's support for the mother and child who remain.

Comments > Free Time

I've had good comments to my last post, I regret that I have not yet had time to digest and reply. I leave you tonight with something I saw at work recently in an engineer's cubicle. Know first that CuNi is copper-nickel alloy, and NiCu is nickel-copper alloy, which is stronger. The note said:

NiCu > CuNi > pumperNi

Seriously, if you laughed and snorted, you are a geek. Welcome to the revolution.

The Pain Train

This week has been tough at work. My supervisor is on vacation, so that requires me to field an awful lot of questions from the other engineers in our group. I basically just try to keep the wheels spinning until the boss gets back, which is very different from actually being in charge.
While the long days have been tough, they have not been nearly so painful as Sunday's second annual (for me) running of the Tarzan Brown Mystic River Run. The weather was gorgeous, and Wifey and Sweetness accompanied me to the starting area to cheer for me at both ends of the race. I even knew a few people who were running as well. Talking while running is not the most efficient way to conduct oneself during a race, but those who know me know that I have been blessed with the gift of gab, so I chat with those I recognize. And a few I don't.
After a gradual start, I picked up the pace a bit to keep stride with my coworker Nick. At mile 1 I heard the watch holder call 7 minutes, which was not bad. After 3 miles I was around 20 minutes 30 seconds, which was even better and made me realize I should coast for a little bit. Sure enough, after cruising to mile 5 I heard that watch holder call just shy of 35 minutes. That was good, because my goal was to beat 40 minutes (7:14/mile pace). It was also a bit agonizing, because I was starting to feel bad. Actually, awful. Actually, thinking death might be a sweet release. I mean, I'm kind of a tractor when it comes to running, a big load, full diesel, pouring out black smoke on the hills, all that jazz. Nonetheless, as I approached the last corner, there was a small group of runners about 20 yards ahead that I just knew I could pass. So I poured it on, black smoke and all, and ripped right by them! No joke, they were actually cursing me as I went by. And then... I realized it wasn't the last corner, and I had about 3 blocks to go. I did make it to the finish line, but my mis-estimation was written all over my face in discomfort, according to Wifey. It was great to see her and Sweetness waving and cheering, but I needed a minute to regain my strength and focus on not puking and stuff.
After that passed I was able to enjoy the fact that I beat my goal. Five and a half miles in 37 minutes, 24 seconds, for a 6:48/mile pace. Huzzah! I've never beaten 7:00 in a race before, so that was nice. Strangely, having handily beaten the goal I set for myself, and facing long hours this week at work, I have not so much as put running shoes on my feet in preparation of next week's EBAC Fall Challenge. I figure my body needs the rest, and let the 4.75 mile chips fall where they may.

Vote John McClane

Wait, you mean streetwise cop John McClane is not the Republican candidate for president? This is a bit of a disappointment. I mean, who wouldn't want a president who had single handedly put the blunt object of justice upside the head of international crime on multiple occasions? Nonetheless, I will go to the polls tomorrow morning and cast my vote for another high profile Irishman, John McCain. I admit that he is an underwhelming candidate, and is not likely to be victorious. However, he is far preferable to Barack Obama, a windbag with little substance and a viciously liberal candidate. Abortion is important to me, as is defense, and I see little merit for Obama on either topic. Along with what will likely be two compliant houses of legislature, I fear the results by the time we reach 2012.
However you feel, GO AND VOTE! I certainly don't know everybody who reads this blog, I don't even have any idea how many people check it out. I can say with certainty, though, that every one of you has complained about the state of our nation, or even the American state that you live in. If are over 18 years of age and you don't vote tomorrow, then consider that you have no right whatsoever to complain about our leadership, no matter how vile of an act those leaders may perpetrate. The Founding Fathers would have disagreed with many of the cogs of government that have been added in the last 230 years, but they would still, to a man, insist that the populace must vote for our representative republic to thrive.
Get on it!

A'Maize & Blue

On October 18, I had the fantastic opportunity to watch some Big Ten (11) college football in State College, PA. For this year only, the Penn State football stadium is the largest in the nation, with a capacity over 110,000. After this season, the University of Michigan's home field will be restored to its usual place as America's largest football stadium. Which is coincidental, because the reason I put special emphasis on this particular game is that Penn State was hosting Michigan. To those who are not familiar, Michigan is in the middle of the most precipitous drop in prestige of any college football program in the 25 years that I have been watching the sport. This is at the hands of the slimy new coach, Rich (C'mon & get ethical, ethical!) Rodriguez. Nonetheless, you don't just bail on your team because of the coach. Disclaimer: I do also cheer for Michigan State, but when UM and MSU meet I root for the Wolverines. On the drive to the game, we saw an early morning hot air balloon.

There were, ummm, how do you say, a LOT of people there. This is the pregame student section, all in white.

Let us not forget a fundamental point: F-18 Hornets are always cool.

The band and cheerleaders flanked the Nittany Lions' route onto the field, lest they get confused and wander.

Michigan promptly located Penn State's ass and commenced kicking it. Driving in for an early touchdown.

YEAH, THAT'S RIGHT!

Michigan ran off to a 17-7 lead and was up 17-14 at halftime. Joe, who graciously provided my ticket and was a kicker for Penn State, felt like this:

All of Penn State's fans were terrified of Michigan. Despite UM's poor record, they have always had Penn State's number, so the PSU fans were like an already kicked puppy. I lived up the first half while I could, knowing that Michigan's control of the game was likely to fade. In fact, while cheering loudly and putting an entire section of PSU fans through agony, I was acknowledging the whole time that Michigan was not likely to hold up. Therefore, I didn't get it too bad from the fans around me when the tables turned. Penn State won soundly by the end of the game. What a show, either way!

Free Association Friday

• I was in a meeting where a well-meaning engineer used the words "erroneous modes". I felt a little bit naughty.
• (OK, so the phrase really just refers to a computer model falsely showing how a part bends under loading, which I am well aware of... stop judging me!)
• At work, I also saw a recently made presentation advertising the construction of the Astute Class submarines in the U.K. It featured this little computer image of a guy in coveralls and a hard hat strutting his way through the gigantic hangar containing the shipbuilding ways while (no joke) 1000 ton hull cylinders zip by at about 50 m.p.h. as a nuclear submarine is constructed in fast-forward. It was OK, as far as these things go. The coup de grace, though, was the fact that Hall and Oates's Maneater was the soundtrack. And you thought early '80's music was dead! The best part is imagining the this-is-so-HOT smirk of the guy dubbing the soundtrack in.
• I'm preparing for the annual 5.5 mile run, which is fast approaching at Nov. 2. I clocked in around 7min. 45 sec. a mile for about 5 miles this morning in a practice trial, which I feel good about since it was 6:00 A.M., cold, and dark. And part of it is up a hill I like to call "El Capitan".
• Bravo to the Detroit Lions for getting a dime on the nickel for offloading a disgruntled Roy Williams for 3 draft picks next year. Apparently Matt Millen really is gone.
• Me: "Sweetness, you are the most beautiful girl in God's creation." Sweetness: "Daddy, you smell like coleslaw."
• Wifey prepared steak, squash w/ brown sugar & honey, coleslaw (see above bullet), sauteed onions/mushrooms, and battered fried onions that were 100% awesome for dinner tonight.
• Oh, how my co-workers howled when I shifted 1/4 of my 401(k) portfolio to fixed income about a year ago. At least something I have is still making money.

...and They Cry Themselves To Sleep

As one of the only experienced engineers left in our group, I am tasked with checking a lot of calculations completed by the other engineers. Their work ranges from respectable to awful, but each man gets better with each attempt. I am known for being excruciatingly thorough and rather glib in my written comments against these calculations. My "to the point" can be taken by those whose work is being evaluated as "blackest evil". Two engineers in our group were discussing this with me recently along with the whole idea of what it means to reach the point of having learned to be an engineer. One said to the other "you haven't become an engineer until you've had Stew check one of you calculations... and you cried yourself to sleep every night for weeks." So true! It's unpleasant to have every last aspect of something you've done overturned and scrutinized, every assumption questioned and probed for accuracy. I've endured the process myself and continue to each time I submit my own work to superiors. And this is strictly applied to work and engineering analysis. So much more so when we are forced to actually examine ourselves and question our own actions and motives in things that truly matter, like marriage and parenting and faith.
I was planning on writing the paragraph above for a few days before I finally got around to it today. Prior to that, I came into work this morning to discover this fictional "to-do" item on a sticky note left at the desk of an engineer whose calculation I am currently checking. I love it.

What Will They Think Of Next?

I recently opened the refrigerator to discover Heaven In A Bucket. OK, first I owe a clarification regarding the word "discover", as Wifey had already informed me that Heaven In A Bucket was in the refrigerator and I promptly forgot, so perhaps "rediscover" is a more appropriate term. Heaven In A Bucket refers to 5 lbs, 4 ozs of Pillsbury chocolate chip cookie dough in a single bucket. This is sufficient cookie dough to reach an apocalyptic critical mass of eating-straight-from-the-bucket-until-you-see-bare-plastic-at-the-bottom-and-hate-yourself. As I said, Heaven In A Bucket. I Tell You What, cookie dough ought to be considered a meal in and of itself. Pillsbury is really overachieving with this offering, I'm talking on the order of Nobel Prize overachieving. I applaud them, and hope to see them continue this new tradition of excellence by offering 5 lbs buckets of similar and equally awesome products:

• Youth
• Low-Calorie Cookie Dough
• Mirth
• Wisdom
• Success At Work
• Contentment

I'll be waiting, Pillsbury. I know you won't let me down.

Super Mega Garden Monsters

The sprawling I Tell You What estate includes a small garden. This not only provides some fresh produce, but also allows Sweetness to learn a bit about the world around her. I Tell You What, every kid should have a chance to be around plants to understand where so much of our food comes from. This year, we all learned a little bit about some garden monsters. This is in addition to the ongoing Great Wasp War.

I apologize for the poor quality of the photo above, but this picture of a tobacco hornworm is the only one I took that provided any sort of perspective. What a juggernaut! The thing was fierce some, it looks as though my daughter's hand is in jeopardy. Fortunately, hornworms are harmless. I was very surprised to discover that the white things on its back are not the eggs of a parasitic wasp, but the coccoons of wasp larvae that had already done their damage. Indeed, the hornworm hung on that branch for a few days before croaking. Not that I felt bad for the beast. It consumed an entire branch (almost 2 feet long) of our enormous cherry tomato plant, and at least a half of a large beefsteak tomato. This is the equivalent to Sarah Joy eating an entire giant pumpkin.
Last week I had a much more rewarding insect encounter. While mowing the lawn I saw an adult praying mantis running for the cover of our hydrangea bush. What a fascinating critter! Sweetness was enthralled by the hefty insectivore, but was a little intimidated. The praying mantis was a great study. She (I think it was a female) moved around a bit on our deck, but mostly hung out and cleaned her arms (equipped with iron maiden grip!) After a short while, we released her into one of our large blueberry bushes. Maybe she will lay an egg sack, and next year we can have a few more of these auspicious critters around.

These were great experiences for the children and adults of our family alike. I Tell You What, though, if I see these guys mixing it up in our back yard, I'm moving back to Michigan:

The Good Life

The Good Life, as illustrated above, is having that biscuit and never havin' to risk it. The intriguing Hunter S. Thompson once wrote that you can turn your back on a person, but that you can never turn your back on a drug. If by "drug" he meant "fat baby within 18 inches of a cheddar biscuit", he was right on. Sarah really thought she was getting away with something by nabbing the unattended baked goods straight off the table, as Wifey turned her back for an instant to address some need of our other daughter. A few brief seconds and two bites later, you can see all that remains in the picture. I suppose the cheddar biscuit tastes so much better when you think you're a rebel.

Look at that picture. Could anybody possibly think that she needs to steal food to get her daily nutrition?

Free Association Friday

Have you ever checked or reviewed a 700 page engineering calculation package? Neither have I, but hopefully in a few months I'll be able to say I have finished doing just that. I'm just over 300 pages into the job. A lot of the pages are repeats of previous sections, but with just a few changes that can devilishly throw your answer off. Are these vectors really perpendicular? Are these dimensions correct for the position of the mechanism? Does this negative sign need to be changed on page 65, when it was definitely positive on page 15? The real shame is, after I certify each page with my initials, and we finally send the thing to the Navy for their review, I will have missed something. Hopefully something small, but I will inevitably make an error. All this gives you a lot of time to think, and your consciousness sort of oozes all over as the pages blend together. Thus, we begin with some Morphine:

My whole brain was out of tune I don't know how to tune a brain, do you? Went into a brain shop
They said they'd have to rebuild the whole head
I said "Well, do what you gotta do"
I don't know how to fix a brain, do you?
When I got my brain back, it didn't work right
Didn't have as many good ideas
Haven't really had a good idea since I got it fixed...

I always loved Morphine. Perpetually underrated. Not by me, apparently.

• Here's somebody who strikes me as a genius, but not in a math sort of way. Seriously, that's impressive. Now would somebody please tell the guy to breathe!
• For those who are more into the whole "math" thing. Scientists really don't know what's going on. Hey, neither do I. But I recognize that fact, and allow God all the room He needs to fill in the gaps.
• To the two kids who wanted to join my coworkers and I in our ongoing game of football at the park the other day: I appreciate your commitment to the great sport of football, and your confidence in asserting you could add value to our game of two hand touch. However, you couldn't have been a day over 12 years old, and we'd already had some accidental full speed collisions. Nothing that damages adult 185 pound bodies, but I'm pretty sure all the king's horses and all the king's men would have been unable to get you back in the game if you were accidentally steamrolled. Finally, while I think a man should welcome the opportunity to act kindly to the young, we all knew you were really just trying to play to impress the 3 girls who were standing 10 feet behind you.

Cause For War

This was a classic I Tell You What weekend. Sunny skies, light breezes, high temperatures in the 60's. Saturday I did a bit of work outside, preparing the fire pit for an evening marshmallow roast and clearing the corners of our 1/4 acre lot (or the back 0.05, as I like to call it) of vines and such. As I tugged on the very last vine, its roots gave way surprisingly easy, so easily that a cloud of loose dirt was tossed up in my face as the leaf pile above the vine roots was tossed like a salad. This caused me to remove my glasses and wipe my face. I heard buzzing, and looked down to see a bunch of flies coming out of the leaf pile cruising around my knees. Wait a second, those aren't flies...

THOSE ARE YELLOW JACKETS! THEY'RE MAD AND THEY'RE STING-CRAZY! FIREARMS ARE USELESS AGAINST THEM! SAVE YOURSELVES!

I beat a retreat that was beyond hasty. The phrase "asses and elbows" comes to mind. I was stung twice, in the back and on the ear. That being said, I was very fortunate. I had decided to wear blue jeans instead of shorts. I had hiking boots instead of sneakers. I had kept my shirt on through the laborious effort. I picked a bunch of yellow jackets off my pants that could easily have stung me had I worn shorts.

This is why today's entry is under "What's The Good Word". Today's phrase is casus belli. It is a key event that justifies war. It's one of those neat Latin phrases, and fit just that neatly into my frame of mind at the moment. I had all the justification I needed.

Oh, and one other thing turned out in my favor. I had TWO cans of hornet spray in my backyard shed. I got to roll back in, heavy, with twin cannons. Many hornets fell, and I figured I got the entrance to they're little hornet Hades inside my leaf pile pretty good. Nonetheless, I was forced to beat a hasty retreat a few more times due to the hostile vigilance of the beefed up security perimeter.
I backed off from the wasptropolis and finished the rest of my outdoor chores and let the angry insects simmer down a bit. After about an hour, I returned (only one can of insecticide, the other was newly empty) and shook a stick into the leaf pile. A beautiful column of yellow jackets, one after the other, began erupting from the hole in the pile. And they met a sublimely foamy stream of invertebrate death sentence in midair, every last one of them. I must have dropped 50 of those suckers during that little skirmish. It was our Turkey Shoot to the preceding and more close-run Midway, if you will.
I am not foolish. They survive, perhaps even survive under that leaf pile. They may even bee (get it?) subterranean. I could have left them alone, but this aggression will not stand. In the bleak darkness of winter, I will scatter that leaf pile into nothingness when it is so cold that their blood runs like motor oil. They will die, separated, alone, and frozen into little waspbergs of ice. And my heart will be just as bitter.
"...and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, AND SUBDUE IT: and have DOMINION over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth." -Genesis 1:28
Dominioning complete.

iNDIAn Summer

I recently had the rare opportunity of attending a major military-industrial-congressional complex conference. An ironic type would have noted the projector screen background with the header "STRENGTH THROUGH INDUSTRY AND TECHNOLOGY" looking like it was stamped into steel. It was quite a scene to take in, something straight out of Vonnegut (I'm thinking Player Piano) {as a further aside, can you believe that this particular Vonnegut society allowed engineers to be elevated to the uppermost levels of society? Herbert Hoover and Jimmy Carter showed how that little fantasy ends}). The hosting organization was the NDIA (get it? iNDIAn Summer!) which acts as sort of a lubricant between the military and its suppliers, the better for the wheels of the m-i-c complex to turn smoothly.
It was a fascinating experience. The people-watching opportunities were priceless. The admirals cut through the crowds in scythe-like fashion, polite but unconcerned and accustomed to deference. Captains swirled about the admirals like pilot fish or remoras. Industry executives flittered about, landing on whatever flower offered potential for self-endorsement or improved networking. The scientists lingered on the fringes, disheveled and confused by their inability to penetrate the culture of "normal people". The engineers paraded around in uncoordinated outfits and hammered, simply hammered the free food. There was a dinner the first night that featured so much meat that I think my kidneys and liver have accumulated protein crystals that they don't know how to dispose of. In order to NewEngland the bejesus out of the festivities, dinner was:

• clam chowder
• steamers (a small clam)
• shrimp
• 3/4 pound of spicy sausage
• 1 1/2 pound lobster

Seriously. I didn't even bother with dessert, and I only had 3 beers. That's right only 3 FREE beers. That, I think, conveys what happens when you feast on crustaceans until you hate yourself. Let's move on.

The first day was all a "plenary" session, which is Latin for "let everybody sit in one lecture hall so that we all feel important in the presence of greatness". It was basically a round robin of peacocks for the powers that be. We met at a local hotel to ride onto the Navy base, and I discovered, to my chagrin, that my khakis and tie were trumped by the full business suit of EVERYBODY ELSE ON THE BUS. The situation once we arrived was a little more business casual (just like we were told it was supposed to be), but you get the idea. Anyway, after that first day and the following dinner, the admirals and executives found more important places to be, and the geeks got down to business. The highlights:

• This country has many very stupid people, but some of the presentations I saw convinced me that the extremely smart people just maybe balance out the many dumb ones. "Wicket smat", in the local vernacular. I was really humbled.
• My approach of not being overly focused on career advancement and being oblivious to other people's feelings leaves me the perfect person for networking at these affairs. I don't think most of the people I met with really cared about me, but they will definitely remember me, because I always speak with nothing to lose.
• The Chinese are evil. Well, except for Jackie Chan, I Tell You What
• Newport News Shipbuilding is evil. No exceptions.
• Ever read The Hunt For Red October or Red Storm Rising? Our Navy is way, way, way past the technology you read about in those books. The funny part, from my perspective, is that all the new technology is being added to platforms (the boats themselves) that are little changed from 40 years ago.
• The best presentation by far was an innovative use of the trash disposal unit. Existing hardware packaged to gain additional capability at very low cost. Bravo.
• I love presentations on war gaming. I would really like to challenge some of the Navy guys, just to see how I'd do
• Who new weather and current simulation were so important?
• If somebody with a 30 minute presentation on computer networks can't make it, and you are selected to do the presentation in their stead, do us all a favor and be either very entertaining/charismatic or a fast reader
• The enlisted personnel I encountered on the Navy base were an absolute pleasure to deal with. Very encouraging to see that our society can still produce 20 year-old men and women with dignity.

The Money Maker

So, how do you hedge against complete failure in a technical field? Look the role, talk the role, live the role. Once you are a consumate dork, They (the global "They", who run everything) will have no choice but to cast you with a brief role in a recruiting video. Have patience, it takes a while to load. I guess my Hollywood destiny was cut short almost 30 years ago with a face that just wasn't Tombradyish enough, but my corporate film roll lived on because I never boxed enough to mash my face. That and the fact that the company apparently feels no obligation to pay me an additional cent for my cameo. That was filmed about 2 years ago with the purpose of being shown at trade shows and conferences and the like for a project we were working on. Instead, every new hire the company brings in will vaguely recognize me... until the lightbulb goes on and WHAMMO!

I KNOW YOU! YOU'RE THE GUY FROM THE RECRUITING VIDEO! I WANT TO BE YOUR DEAR FRIEND...

I'm going to see it coming from a mile away, but I don't know how to respond or, better still, cut off the inevitable "I know and understand you because I've seen your face before." Any thoughts out there?

Incomplete Sentience

Sarah Joy has made remarkable strides in development in the past few weeks. She is pulling up to a standing position, making attempts to speak, and making waving and clapping hand gestures. This is exciting stuff, from a parenting perspective. She is also, as pictured above, showing a trait fundamental to the ability to reason intelligently: being drawn to the game of football. Of course, her path to awareness is not complete, because she hasn't figured out that she can't hold the ball that far from her body for very long without fumbling. I'm excited, as usual, for the start of football this year. As I write, most NFL games from the season's first Sunday have been completed, and NCAA football is 2 weeks into its season. This season holds less promise for me personally for the following reasons:

• The University of Michigan offense is about as consistent as coach Rich Rodriguez's sense of ethics. All I can say to this point is that we are 2 games closer to the end of his tenure.
• The Detroit Lions. In general. Pick your reason. I will cheer because I am beholden by honor, but I am not deceived.

In the meantime, there is a Sunday night game about to get going. I need to watch.

Doints

A continuation of the previous post. A few things I observed from reading Running Critical based on the technical discussions, history, and corporate struggles presented:

• The slapdash manner in which modern weapon systems is designed has not gotten any better, but isn't much worse, either. In the 1970's Adm. Rickover's manic obsession with the nuclear reactor lead to it dominating the boat, all for a few precious knots of speed. In setting the specifications for the new fast attack submarine (now the 688 class), he ended up with a boat that was not very fast, couldn't dive very deep, was heavy because the nuclear reactor had poor power density, and was not as quiet as it could have been. But that was not a big deal, because it was expensive! His power grab in the submarine design community occurred at a time when the last vestiges of WWII combat experience were fading. That knowledge base is now gone, and we can only rely on best guesses as to what will be most critical in the next real naval battle. Submarines have evolved into such complicated monsters that nobody can realistically set specifications and know what it's going to cost to actually attain them. Throw in some feudal spats between segments of the Navy with opposing interests, and what the author accurately termed "ad hocism" reigns. I've seen this firsthand, where answers like, "we're not sure how much Option 1 or Option 2 will cost, but the one with fewer parts should be cheaper" run rampant. This may be unchanged from the beginning of industrialized weaponry (I'm thinking about those beautiful but not entirely useful battleships built in the 1930's), but it is galling to observe.
• I tell you what, those shipyards used to be nasty places. While things have been cleaned up, for the better in my estimation, maritime construction is still hardly a place for those who can't make do with the best the shipfitters can give them. I actually had a request today to install a 20" lever backwards because "it looks like it will work". That was a rare case where I told the shipyard to scrap the part. It is still interesting, though, to work in a place unique enough to have a book written that recognizably describes the buildings, smells, and behaviors of your workplace.
• One of the contributing factors to cost overruns in the late 1970's was an increase in the fundamental costs of doing business. Metals and energy both became significantly more expensive in a very short period of time. Just like 2006-2008!
• Some of the characters that have careers ruined are probably not so bad. In fact, many of the men who were ground into a fine dust while working as shipyard managers or accountants were very intelligent, and had decades of experience to inform their decisions. But that was not enough to save them from external forces (labor unions, politics, bad executive management...) that were overwhelming. This is why, to me, it seems foolish to make many decisions based on how they will affect career advancement. There are just too many men who are willing to go to just about any length to get a leg up on the next promotion, and too many external forces playing a role, to make it worth committing my life to that. As the book showed, even when you get to "the top" you may find yourself miserable. Work hard, show everybody how capable you are, and let the chips fall where they may.

Rick-rolled

As mentioned in a previous post, I plowed through Patrick Tyler's Running Critical. It took almost 2 weeks, which in the life of a parent of 2 young children is a scorching pace. Anyway, the book is probably only marginally interesting to those who neither work in engineering, submarines, the Navy, or other defense contractors. That's still a pretty narrow audience, but the corporate ethical lessons alone are important for college business majors to study. If, that is, they read. The focus of this nonfiction is the struggle between 3 men for domination of the lucrative submarine design and construction industrial base from 1970-1985. This struggle had obvious implications for the national defense and the men who manned those ships as well.

Hyman Rickover (get it? Rick-rolled!) was a technocrat who controlled (by title or force of will) the atomic energy commission and all aspects of nuclear power within the U.S. Navy. It can be hard to judge somebody from a different era using our own generational perspective, but this individual used his clout to manipulate levers far beyond his notional control. And that clout was considerable, as Rickover's agency oversaw the successful design, construction, and service of the USS Nautilus, the first atomic powered warship. His intuition for both the technical, political, and fiscal aspects of nuclear powerplants was amazing. However, he also picked up and discarded men at all levels of the command chain at his whim with no consideration for them. His expansion and consolidation of power actually consumed other men's careers, and rather than gain allies, Rickover's moves were always at the expense of gaining enemies.

Dave Lewis represented every corporate suit you've ever seen in the movies. He gained a lot of attention for himself at an aerospace firm (I think it was McDonnell Douglas), then leveraged that to gain presidency of General Dynamics. At the time, GD was the largest defense contractor in the nation, so this was no small deal. Lewis was always looking over his shoulder, worried about who was after his job or at least looking to undercut him to make themselves look better. This insecurity no doubt has some sound logic behind it, but tends to hinder leadership and forward vision. He also had a focus on one thing: the next upcoming annual financial report. Never once in the book was there an example of long-term decision making, but always the expedient fix that most effectively avoided short-term pain. Of course, when what you are doing is by most definitions "illegal", that philosophy tends to make more sense.

Takis Veliotis was an immigrant shipyard manager who understood his business phenomenally well. He brought Old Word autocracy to mix with New World capitalism. This ultimately resulted in his flight from the United States to avoid federal charges for taking kickbacks. Isn't that the sort of thing a king should be entitled to do? Having acknowledged that, he may have been the only man with the knowledge, strength, and manic devotion to save the Quncy and Groton shipyards from closure.

All 3 of these men abused power, crossed legal and ethical lines, then spent the rest of their otherwise accomplished careers trying to cover their errors in judgement. All 3 put themselves above the rules. They lived only for themselves and their reputations, with no focus other than their own glory. Even the salvation of Electric Boat was simply a feather in the cap for Veliotis, not something he did to help the workers or shareholders or community. In the end, Lewis was disgraced in front of congress, Veliotis was on the run, and Rickover lost his job. They were all extremely competent at what they did, they were all committed beyond reason to achievement, they each had a number of crossroads where they could have changed course, yet they could not defeat their own weaknesses in the end.

The biggest lessons I could pull from this: relying only on yourself (as the 3 subjects of this book) and focusing only on career achievement (as many of those crushed by the main characters) are both roads to personal downfall. There are too many outside factors beyond any one man's control, and two of those factors are his own greed and pride.

I will follow up shortly with another, briefer post on the more interesting doints (dork-points) I gained from the historical and technical aspects of this book.

Missed Chan(ce)

I watched much of the Beijing Olympics in disgust. Not just because diving and beach volleyball are not even on the top 10 list of most watchable international sports. But because these olympic games were missing something so real, so attainable, so AWESOME. China, for all its storied history and legacy, particularly in science, that has contributed greatly to Western Civilization, does not have much in the way of an ambassador to the world. You know, a diplomat recognized the world over for his good will, winning smile, charisma, and intellect (or gumption, if not intellect). The man Who Could (nay, Should) Have Been the Beijing Olympic ambassador, the je ne sais quoi that was missing in '08, is Jackie Chan. FULL DISCLOSURE: I am aware Mr. Chan was born in Hong Kong, which was not part of China per se at the time, but as of '97 Hong Kong the British gave it to the Chinese as part of the British effort to be the Empire On Which The Sun Has Set).
Imagine the mileage one could get out of Jackie Chan as your ambassador! In addition to the usual photo ops and VIP treatment during ceremonial moments, think about the shenanigans Mr. Chan would be up to. In the middle of the fencing tournament, Jackie bursts in, 3 hoodlums in hot pursuit. A fencing squad attempts to diffuse the situation, and a melee ensues. A three-way battle between Jackie, hoodlums, and fencers breaks out, Jackie being armed with a table leg and a turkey leg. During archery, Jackie swings on a rope across the range to rescue a damsel who has been covered by a large paper target, only to realize the rope is on fire just before the rope snaps and he and damsel are deposited unceremoniously 15 feet down onto a few bales of hay. And, of course, the Chinese Communist Party Leadership insists that Jackie be prominently featured busting up a sinister plot for world domination by the evil falun gong. Everybody goes home a winner, by any measure.
And that is the olympic games as they should have been. Just like John Wayne would darned well have been the ambassador of the 1984 Los Angeles games if only he had been with us a few more years. Rest well, Duke.
Hopefully I'll have a review of Running Critical in a few days.

Deficient Deficiencies

One of the members of our engineering group recently went to work for the government bureau that oversees shipbuilding. He basically walked from a desk in one building to another one a few hundred yards away. Some of the benefits offered by the government, particularly the retirement pension plan, are attractive, so I can't blame him for that. No hard feelings. I then became solely responsible for a lot of the work he had been doing. Some pretty significant problems popped up almost immediately after he left, so I had to take care of them. Taking care of them means figuring out what we were going to do, selling the idea to the Powers That Be in the Navy, and submitting the right paperwork.
The guy who left is now responsible for approving the documents I submit for the system he used to work on. This is standard practice in the military-industrial-congressional complex. At every step, though, on documentation for 7 separate ships, he has approved our submittal but noted a "technical deficiency". The only rationale provided is a comment: "Shipbuilder shall perform work as described in report". So, saying that we are supposed to do exactly what we said we were going to do is a technical deficiency? And now I have to answer to my superiors (who have been very understanding, fortunately) why I'm receiving "technical deficiencies" from the government. At this point, it seems as though the man is just cruelly casting stones at those who are doing his old job, getting a power trip out of being able to turn the screws down on people he used to know who have to do the work he would be doing if he hadn't bailed out.
This is enough to upset a man. But then I sit down, loosen my tie, relax a little bit, and let the music carry away my frustrations...

Summer Recess

I Tell You What, I have not had a lot of time for posting lately. I've been trying to finish a book that I find particularly interesting, Running Critical by Patrick Tyler. Among the other unique things that keep me interested in my job, there are actually books written about the shipyard. This one is not particularly flattering. To be completely honest, the place seemed like Hellville, USA, during the 1970's. The old timers tell all kinds of great stories about how things used to work, but I don't think all the changes in the past 30 years have been so bad. Despite all the cosmetic changes to the shipyard and Navy, the dynamic interaction has hardly changed a whit, by my reckoning. I'll be sure to do a more extensive write-up when I've finished the book. I'm also trying to squeeze out some time to e-mail old friends. I acknowledge that e-mail is about the least personal and least satisfying way to stay in touch, but it only takes 10 minutes and still shows you care. In lieu of writing a lengthy post, I challenge you to do two things I'm doing this week with the time you would normally spend surfing the Web

• Write, call, or visit somebody you haven't heard from in at least 6 months
• Read a book

Reason #548 To Love The Internet

Just go here. Right now. And remember the glory that was the 1990's.

The Planet's Least Stressful Place

My cousin Madeleine recently visited my branch of the family on the East Coast. When I say "branch", I mean from a towering family tree, our parents were adjacent brother and sister in a line of 16 siblings. She is 14, which provided Wifey and I a remarkable window into what is to come. When your child is 3 years old, they only have as much control as you give them. Admittedly, in American culture even the strictest parents cede much of their authority to their children, but it's a voluntary transfer of power at that age. A teenager has valid thoughts and ideas of their own. They may be right, they may be wrong, but they're not going to be persuaded by blunt authority. Fear not, there were no conflicts in the I Tell You What household during my cousin's visit, but I was startled by how much more of a peer relationship the parent/child dynamic has become at that age versus when the child hasn't even entered school yet. In case you're still wondering, she's pretty smart.

One of the week's high points was to head to the local zoo. I love that place, the children are a convenient excuse for me to go stare at exotic animals and read every last word on the exhibit plaques. The icing on the cake was an enclosed butterfly garden. It was well worth the few extra bucks for admission to that. I am scarcely poetic enough to do the scene justice, but the comic laureate Brian Regan explains it well. Anyway, closely examine a sample of the photos below, and feel your blood pressure slowly drop as you drift into a state of drowsy contentment. If we could have locked Osama bin Laden, Dick Cheney, Saddam Hussein, and the entire Board of Directors from Weyland-Yutani, into this blissful place for a day, the world we live in would be a more serene place.

Engineering Jobs Keep Dorks Away From The General Public

I need to pass along a transcript of the dorkiest conversation I have ever witnessed or participated in, but first a few key terms:

breech: the end of a launch tube (or gun, for instance) that the ordnance enters

land: a rail or bumper that guides said ordnance on its way out

Now the so dorky it's good part:

I Tell You What: "Alex, is this part actually stowed in the breech land?"

Alex: "Yup"

Ryan, the brand new guy: (cracking up)

I Tell You What: "What's so funny?"

Ryan: (cracking up)

Alex: "Are you all right"

Ryan: (gathering himself enough to speak, barely) "Breechland! It sounds like a magical place."

(All engineers laugh to the point of tears, fade to black)

Maybe you had to be there, maybe not. Suffice to say that our cubicle now has a banner with the names of the occupants and the heading Breechland.

Only at a Monolithic Corporation...

I recently had to pull up stakes and move to another desk about 50 feet away. This was expected, as worker turnover left me sitting alone in a large cubicle meant to comfortably fit 3 people. I got to be king of the hill for a few months, but I finally got my moving orders. I threw away useless documents from my old desk. I threw away useless documents at my new desk from the previous occupants. I was singlehandedly responsible for the destruction or recycling of well over my own body weight in paper from as long as 15 years ago. This, I suppose, is the fleeting value of so many of our efforts. Some engineer toiled to create letters, calculations, arrangements, sketches, material information, or what have you. He (yes, all these documents were from men) may have even worked the weekend or late at night to create them. Maybe he even got a pat on his back from the boss (less likely). And it was sheer vanity. Very few people even remember the names on the documents, let alone who they were or why they or their work is "important". But I digress... I carried my personal possessions, computer, and work stuff over to the new desk. It's much more crowded there, but the company is fine. On Monday, the phone guys finally reassigned my phone number to the outlet at my desk, which was the last step for me to be officially moved in. Probably 20 hours of total work to get relocated, and I can now call it "home away from home". And on Tuesday I was informed that I will be moving again in less than two months, this time to another building. To likely be followed by another move to a different desk on the same floor before the end of the year. Remarkable. I'm sure somebody knows how it makes sense.

What is one way for a wife to show she's awesome? I'll tell you how my Wifey did: watch Predator (on VHS!). Without complaint. Without making snide remarks. Without eye rolling. Well, except for when I would quote TOTALLY RIDICULOUSLY AWESOME lines from the movie. And I'm telling you, there are plenty, such as

"If it bleeds, we can kill it"

If that doesn't make for the best movie 1987 had to offer, then I don't know what does. It features a super lethal alien hunter (I'm with you), Arnold at his vein-popping apex (interesting), Carl Weathers not wearing an Uncle Sam outfit (getting warmer), Jessie "The Body" Ventura (I like it), and a scene where a MINIGUN IS USED TO CUT DOWN TREES (where do I sign up?!?!?!?!?!?). I got all that, and Wifey patiently watching the movie by my side. What more could a man ask for?

How Do You Scold Your Grandfather?

The process of learning, on a fundamental level, can generally be broken into two styles:

• The easy way
• The hard way

I have always been a big fan, philosophically, of the first, but tend to head naturally towards the latter as my "go-to" learning method. Nonetheless, I do try to heed the experiential wisdom of those that have stood at whatever fork in the road that I may be facing. This has paid off especially well in the field of marine engineering. There are too many obscure lessons, too many tricks of the trade, too many shipyard maneuvers that simply cannot be calculated by knowledge accumulated from texts. I like to think that having respect or reverence for the advice of my elders has been one of the keys to a (thus far) reasonably successful and enjoyable career of 7 years.

This approach does not work when you are asked to take the lead. There may be nobody who has done what you are trying to do. Alternately, if things hit the fan and you are in charge, it is your responsibility regardless of who's suggestion the bad idea was. The worst instance of conflict here, though, is when you are asked to check/correct an elder engineer's calculation.

You flip through the pages of the document. It's a wreck. It's crap. The numbers are right, but the approach is crude, the references vague, and all the explanations/assumptions/background details have apparently been compiled using Mad Libs. If a rookie put this on your desk you would just draw giant 'X's across each page with a note saying "do over, and please think this time". But this is no rookie. It is a 68 year old engineer, a former U.S. Marine with over 40 years of engineering experience. He HAS to know what he's talking about, right? The problem can't be with him, you must just not be focusing hard enough. So you dig through his references, dig up extra references he's not using, make leaps of logic, make leaps of faith, and somehow convince yourself that, aside from a few typos (surely that explains all the incomplete sentences), this isn't half bad. Just a little polishing up and this piece of work will be ready to publish. But then your supervisor sees this rose your growing from the pile of manure. And he really does find it to be a piece of something. Back to the drawing board you go.

I was able to explain myself reasonably well in this instance, and I'll work through it. But how does one manage it? How does one develop an on/off switch for RESPECT? How can you hold somebody's advice in high regard and then evaluate their work by assuming none of it is right until explicitly proven otherwise? How do you scold somebody with an established record of performance and could be your grandfather? I clearly haven't figured it out yet.

Co-ed Conundrum

A recent article in Time Magazine discussed a change in tactics for insurgents in Iraq. Incidentally, can we quit calling them terrorists? I want to see us win that war/conflict as badly as Dick Cheney himself, but when somebody lives their entire life in one city, and then fights a foreign army in that city, "terrorist" is the wrong word for him. Alas, I digress. The new tactic is the growing use of females as one-way bombers. Different news outlets say "homicide" or "suicide" bombers, but I think we can agree that the mission is one-way only. This is a startling occurrence in a culture that doesn't even want women to really be seen in public. Of course, women have an easier time penetrating a security screen that forbids males from touching females, and has a stigma against hiring female guards as well. However, I think that this is the sort of thing that the United States needs to win this war. While tactically savvy, this switch by the insurgents is strategically foolish. If confiscating people's personal possessions, forbidding alcohol, and shooting people for things like having the wrong haircut wasn't going to erode Iraqi support for the insurgency in areas of its control, this will. Arab muslims don't even like for their women to have to hold jobs, so does anybody out there suppose having them volunteer to be blown into chunks of parboiled flesh will build support? No, this is a desperate move, and is the sort of thing that will actually make the U.S. and the elected government actually look like a good option to the average Iraqi. Let's hope this is a true sign of the tide turning in our favor.

Confessions of a Bad Person

• I recently was pulling giant vine roots up from our backyard when the time came to go inside and bathe the children. Wifey was out on an errand, and it's normally a fun time for everybody, so this was a good thing. I was pretty dirty from my outdoor labors. I washed my hands, but upon inspection they weren't really "clean" in the literal sense. Should I continue to scrub vigorously so that my precious children have clean hands bathing them? The decision: there is soap involved, so just toss the kids in the tub and we'll all scrub clean together. Not like the kids care, judging by the things of questionable nutritional value that they try to eat when outside.
• I play basketball sometimes with the boy across the street. Matt is about 12 years old, and not particularly good at basketball. He constantly asks me to play, and I do like to oblige sometimes because his own father is pretty sick and definitely is not going to play any basketball any time soon. Normally, I let Matt hang in there, or even get a lead, before "squeaking" out a close victory. The other day, though, he got pretty cocky, and jacked me in the face while I was driving to the hoop. The hit was accidental, for the record, but it's happened a few times before. Now fully motivated, I ripped off about 8 straight points (game to 13 by 1's) and finished the game with a dunk. Of course, this was possible because Matt often lowers his roadside hoop to 7-8 feet from the regulation 10 feet. Still, I dribbled by him, had a clear path to the hoop, and put down a double-clutch, two-handed, thundering, nasty, this-is-how-75-pounds-of-bodyweight-and-10-inches-of-height-bigger-than-you-gets-down. I've never gotten to do that in any sort of game, so it was fun. And Matt got to play basketball, which was good. And he was pretty tired, so I really think he wanted the game to be done. Still, I think my apartment in heaven may have gotten knocked down from a 1 bedroom to a studio for the evil way that I enjoyed winning that game

CSI-Tell-You-What

I arose at 6:00 for a 3 mile run before work this morning, and things were proceeding normally. Feet hitting the pavement at 6:10. About a half-mile from my house, I noticed some awfully strange marks on the sidewalk. Awfully, indeed, as it turns out. I shook it off and kept running, thinking it was just the incomplete light of morning. On the return trip about 15 minutes later, though, it was pretty clear. There were about 15 bloody footprints on the sidewalk. Barefoot footprints of fully dried blood. Not just like somebody had sliced their foot on glass like Bruce Willis in Die Hard, because there were some pretty big splatters, too. It was bad enough that I called the police as soon as I got back to the house. The dispatcher thanked me and said they were actively working the case. I was glad that they were already on it, and that I hadn't just left somebody bleeding in the bushes for an extra 15 minutes while I finished my run, but I also wonder if "actively working" means they haven't caught the perpetrator in our area.
The lesson, as always: Snitches get cut.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

2200 miles on the road concentrated over 4 days of driving, highlighted by a 700+ mile voyage back from Port Huron, Michigan. As the highly esteemed Lonesome George once said Riding my rig about 95 Rockin' and a rollin' into overdrive My heart is beatin' like a sledgehammer Dont' you get in the way of this gearjammer We had an MP3 player that had hours and hours of tunes, but if I had just put that one song on a continuous loop I'm certain the cruise would have slowly crept up as we drove and would have shaved a few hours off the trip. I did all the driving on this trip, which worked out great because Wifey is better with the kids, anyway. I brought earplugs in case things got out of hand. No joke. Fortunately, the kids did fantabulous, all things considered. We were all ready to return to our beds when we got back to the Coast. The time we spent in the Great Lakes States was very un-East Coast. We went to a wedding in Pennsylvania. Admittedly, they have weddings in New England, also, but there was line dancing at this one. We also spent a great deal of time at my mother's house, where she has retired to after ending her nursing career.

It was a remarkable setting, 20 acres of pastoral countryside adjacent to the Manistee National Forest. You could step out the door and hear... the breeze and nothing else. Occasionally horses or roosters at an adjacent farm. I ran a 3 mile loop one time, including stretches on main roads, and didn't see a single car or person. There were plenty of chickens at my mothers, 20 to be precise, but they are still juveniles so there are no crowing roosters yet. Sweetness absolutely adored the chickens, so we spent a lot of time catching grasshoppers and other bugs to toss to the chickens. I did not pushing being interested in creepy-crawlies on my daughter, but she sure loves chasing snakes, bugs, frogs, and the like. I even got to spend a little time helping Grandpa Paul erect the coop that the chickens will ultimately call home. Well, except for the surplus male chickens. They're destined for somebody's belly. I'd love to post pictures, but we just got an "update" to Kodak Easyshare software that is making it difficult to upload files. Perhaps I can follow up later.

Every Time I Get Wicket

Played shortstop again in our church softball league a few days ago. Everybody was feeling the full swelt of the sweltering late afternoon air. The opposing team's shortstop was flawless, which definitely made my light shine a bit duller, but shine on it did. I have a mediocre arm but a good glove, and both were on display. I made some nice grabs, and put what zip I had into my throws. Of course, my arm now feels like it's going to fall off at the elbow any minute. I mean really, even playing well I could barely keep pace with him. Until... I let a sharply hit ball go by me. This happens on poorly maintained infields, but there was no excuse for a ball to go through the wickets. If you don't know, it means you let a ball go right... between... your legs. It's the worst thing possible for a fielder. Just ask Bill Buckner. You can over or under run a ball in the outfield, or have it ricochet off your body in the infield, or have it go off your glove anywhere and people will have some sympathy for you. But there is no redemption for the guy who gets five-holed and has to turn around to watch the ball hop into the outfield. Maybe next time.

Mistakes

Spending a little time traveling, visiting family in bucolic Northern Michigan. The drive will be tough with two children, but the time in the woods will be good for all. I"m not likely to post for over a week, in the meantime. On with blogging:
On a recent Sunday, Wifey stayed home from church with Sarah Joy, who was sick. I stopped at Subway to grab some sandwiches for lunch on the way home with Sweetness. As I stood in line, I realized that I had forgotten my wallet. I turned on my heels and headed back to the car. Sweetness asked "Why are we leaving?"
What an opportunity! I could explain the principle of human fallibility here, even my own. I gently explained to her that I made a mistake, and that when we make mistakes we just have to do the best we can to find a solution.
The next morning, Wifey went in to see Sweetness and get her out of bed, only to discover that our daughter had wet her pull-up (thankfully, we are now done with that entirely). When asked what happened, because she had been staying dry overnight, Sweetness replied
"Sometimes, I like to make mistakes, just like daddy does." Sigh.
A few minutes later, as I headed out the door to work, I heard Sweetness shout "Don't forget your wallet, daddy." Evidently, it is I who have a great deal to learn.

Divers Garments

Spent more quality weekend time with the divers. One in particular is a bit, er, robust in build. Let's just say that his cohorts offer him (in only the kindest fashion, as one might expect) Vaseline to help squeeze into his wetsuit. And rather than the lithe gait of the other divers, he kind of jiggles his way about. We'll call him Wally, as short for Walrus. As we stood on the pier waiting for the guys to get cleared to dive, one of the divers starts fighting to restrain laughter and pointing excitedly at Wally behind his back. Sure enough, Wally has one of his gloves (compliments of Velcro wrist straps) stuck to the rump of his suit. About two minutes later, Wally is finishing gearing up and starts moving things around the divers' station, doing 360's scanning for something. We know what it is.
"Where did my glove go? Did anybody see my glove?"
Well, with the glove being Velcroed to his backside, you can imagine where his fellow divers suggested he look for it. Wally just took this as the usual treatment, scoffed at them and kept searching. Finally, the glove shook loose and fell to the concrete with a wet flop sound right between his feet. With great maturity, subtlety, and tact, as you can imagine, the other divers found great amusement in the appearance of the glove tumbling from his bum and landing in a pile between his feet. The lesson as always: when even the engineer is laughing at you, you're having a rough day.