Drinking Coffee Through a Straw
(Vic enjoys a piping hot cup of java with a very stiff neck. I look my best in the morning. Life is getting better. Photo http://filmmakeriq.com)
That pretty much sums up the morning. The neck is slightly better- I applaud my decision last summer to save some of the more potent painkillers in the event of another emergency. A single dose got me through the night and ready to confront the day.
I could not manage to tip the big coffee mug to my lips without going into spasms, a hazardous maneuver to conduct over the keypad to the lap top, and found the answer in a package of soda fountain straws. I could lower my upper torso down close enough to grasp the plastic tube wit my lips and suck the hot coffee up and transfer it to my upper alimentary canal.
Life was getting better. Each day a step forward. Who knows, I might get used to sucking up my Dazbog Russian-blend coffee with a straw.
But reality collided with recovery and I wasted the precious discretionary hours before work. There is some powerful stuff going on out there beyond the balcony which is bereft of paint and based on the howling wind and plummeting temperatures, appears likely to stay that way for the foreseeable future.
I don’t mind the balcony furniture piling up in the second bedroom. These days, I am pleased to have one.
So, I am going to note in passing the fact that GDP stalled in the 4th Quarter, even declining a bit. Although “surprised” (isn’t it curious that bad economic news is always “surprising” the experts?), the media explained that it was probably the weather or something.
It could not be that Sequestration is looming without any agreement and the symbiotic relationship between DoD and private industry is seriously disturbed. That is not going to be good news for the industry, which in Virginia employs a couple hundred thousand people. I am not surprised by the connection. I am surprised that the experts are surprised.
That is entirely possible. I walk around these days in a state of nearly constant surprise.
Not about some things, though. I am not surprised, for example, that the public hearing about the horror at Sandy Hook featured gun-rights people- obviously deranged and irresponsible citizens- “heckling a bereaved father.”
You probably will not be surprised to learn that the news was manufactured through the artful editing of the videotape. No matter- today’s low-information citizen got the message that was important: supporters of the Second Amendment are insensitive idiots.
That is possibly true, but it is not what happened. I was sipping cold coffee through my straw. MSNBC took the raw video of the event and cut out a long pause between the conclusion of Neil Heslin’s remarks and some members of the audience mentioning the Second Amendment.
The story, as it emerged this morning, was that Mr. Heslin was “interrupted” during his presentation as he clutched a portrait of his murdered son.
It did not happen that way, but I am not surprised that our media friends need to get the message right, even if it is not true.
These are the same helpful citizens who manufactured news through the late campaign. Some representative examples include:
1. During last year’s presidential election Andrea Mitchell was caught manufacturing a Romney gaffe where none existed.
2. During last year’s GOP primary, Ed Schultz edited video of Texas Governor Rick Perry to make him look racist.
3. In April of last year, the “Today Show” was caught editing audio of a 911 call to make George Zimmerman look racist.
4. In August of 2009, Contessa Brewer sliced and diced a photograph so it wouldn’t look like a black man attended a Tea Party carrying a firearm.
And yesterday it was Sandy Hook and a grieving father.
I am not surprised. You know who owns a 49% share of the once proud Peacock network? Of course you do. It is General Electric, whose CEO Jeffery Immelt, who also serves as the Administration’s Job Czar.
(Titan of Industry Jeffry Immelt. Photo General Electric.)
GE has had a pretty good run lately. They make the big windmills that are marching across the nation, slicing the birds and producing power only when the wind blows. Showered with TARP bail-out funds, the Administration wants to make more Federal largess available for alternative energy sources that…well, don’t work.
They might, someday, even if wind and solar require conventional back up energy for those times the wind is not blowing, or when the experts are surprised that the sun has gone down.
In 2010, Jeff’s company had a good year. GE reported worldwide profits of $14.2 billion, and indicated $5.1 billion of the total came from US operations.
GE’s American tax bill? None. Zero. Zilch.
In fact, G.E. claimed a tax benefit of $3.2 billion.
People talk with disdain about the Koch Brothers, those conservative kooks who made their own fortunes. There is a much better way. Attach yourself to the Government, and let the Feds pick the winners and losers.
Fixing the news? Shoot, there is only so much that can be sipped through the media straw, and these days, it is helpful to meter just how much. You do not want to confuse people with facts.
Somehow, I am not surprised. Are you?
Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Pain in the Neck
(Ouch. This sucks. Photo courtesy Johns Hopkins Medical Center.)
It was a quiet day on most fronts. There was an unseasonal burst of warm air and fair skies, and driving in to the office I saw my first shorts and first bare arms of 2013 interspersed with spasms of pain.
I don’t know what I did to provoke it- sleeping in the Brown Chair awkwardly? But I have one of those stiff neck things happening. This is the second major occurrence. The fall of 2011 featured an episode of the same thing. Old Jim was still drinking in those days, and regularly occupied his place at the apex of the Amen Corner at Willow. He told me I was a stiff-necked bastard anyway and shouldn’t be surprised that it manifested itself physically once in a while.
I had committed to be up in Michigan for Thanksgiving (or something) to check on the state of the Great Decline. I had no airline tickets, and was not competent to drive but did it anyway. The episode lasted a few weeks- much more intense than the usual aches and pains. I wondered if the thing had anything to do with the collisions attendant to youthful football. I suppose if we knew we would live this long we might take better care of ourselves.
This interlude of periodic shooting pain makes even the lingering pain from the leg diminish in significance.
I suppose I should go see the doc, but I do not know who that is. I relied on Military health care all my career and the TriCare For Life plan after retiring. That meant going to Bethesda Naval Hospital, but my health has always been robust and the long drive wasn’t much of an issue since I rarely had to do it.
The agony of getting myself there regularly during the 86-day post surgical recovery was instructive. Thank God for Dad’s handicapped placard. Not being able to walk convinced me to sign up for the company health plan- but now I don’t know how it works or where to go, and the last thing I want to do is sit in an ER with all the people sick from the flu. This went away by itself the last time, so maybe I will give it a day or so and see if the symptoms diminish.
Anyway, I am in one of those loops of periodic pain that precludes much attention on things beyond the limited range of motion of my shoulders, and I apologize. I need to peek at the calendar and see what is lying in wait and if there is anything for which I need to be present in person, or can cancel or defer. Sorry this is boring.
Not much else to report that even breaks the threshold for irony, humor or entertainment.
The Comcast bastard replaced the cable box, but determined that the problem was at the junction box out in the all. So the problem remains. The Mexican Ninjas were scaling the side of the building, but humidity and light rain ruled out painting, and they may stall out until March and better weather with all my balcony furniture stacked up in the second bedroom. Ugh.
Senator Kerry is going to be our newest Secretary of State. Ugh.
Well, for all that, here is Wednesday in all its glory, and I guess it is time to start to deal with it. Hope yours is better than mine- we are in for some weather as this teaser of spring gets chased out of town and we get raw and cold again. Spring is coming. I saw the bare skin that proves it.
Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Lights Out
(The lights are officially out at Big Pink. Mine may have been the last in whole building, but the guy in the house behind the white pickup truck, lower right, is still proudly illuminated at night. Photo Socotra).
Get us to February. Please.
I slept until almost seven this morning. I can’t believe it. I lurched through the first conference call of the morning in my bunny slippers, since Comcast “on demand” doesn’t work and that is the only way I watch television anymore.
So, I talked to the call center in the Philippines and they were kind enough to dispatch a technician, three to five in the afternoon yesterday. I disengaged from the office and got set up to work on a couple projects at home.
I stayed in my business togs and hoped the Comcast dude would come, swap out the cable box and I could get out and have dinner with my LTJG.
The minutes crept by, and five o’clock came and went and I was back with Metro Manila to try to find out where the hell the technician might be, and well, the call from dispatch at six said that my information never made it to the tech’s mobile device, and I called the lieutenant and said the hell with it, come over for Chinese and I will give you a check and something else in honor of your birthday, which he did.
Now the morning is hosed because the Philippines graciously rescheduled me for ten-twelve today. When I think of the time I have wasted with these monopolistic bastards…service out for nearly a month one time…I am going to strike a blow for freedom and go with FiOS, which is actually now in the building, and I have seen their workmen dragging fiber and tucking it into the races in the upper corners of the passageways.
It is not quite ready for prime time, but the instant that it is, I am gone from the evil Comcast empire, which has the efficiency and compassion of Obamacare, but don’t get me started on that. So I am tapping my bunny slippers, participating in conference calls and tapping out messages about my contracts.
(Th Mexican Ninjas claim they will mask and paint the balcony floor a prim battleship gray today. Photo Socotra).
It is a good morning to be oppressed by the implacable Cable company. The Mexican Ninjas are going to be clambering over the balcony today according to the flier that was tucked under my door yesterday afternoon. I will have to apply advanced security tradecraft to keep them at bay, like actually locking the back door.
Forty-eight hours with no foot traffic, but by February I can move the Adirondack chairs back out there and get ready for the Spring lounging season.
It is changing out there. I mentioned that the crocuses of Spring know something we don’t. They are poking their little green heads up out of the soil, responding to the increased minutes of light, or something. That certainly would not be warmth, since we got the discarded cold front from the Western Mountains and plains and really shivered for the first time this season.
The LTJG was very stern with me last night. “Take down the Christmas lights, Old Man. What are you thinking?”
“I like them, and that guy across Pershing street is still displaying his lights on the fence.”
“It is time, Old Man.”
“All right,” I sighed. “Season is over. Unplug the timer and let’s be done with it.”
The JG clambered over the intricately-carved mahogany ceremonial chair in the corner and wiggled the timer box until it popped out of the jack in the wall and the lights plunged black, leaving the window dark against the January night.
“But I am not taking the lights down. I am going to turn them on in only ten months, you know?” If I am still here, I thought. This is going to be an interesting year.
How we came to the dousing of the colored lights was a little curious. I like to go to Willow on Monday nights and drown the last dregs of the weekend with some crisp happy hour white and catch up on what everyone else did to amuse themselves. Liz-with-an-S had announced that the cooling off period was about done and she would be back with that winsome way of hers as a civilian, and I sent her an email during the working day to inquire if she was ready for re-emergence.
“Next week,” she announced, and I made an entry on the calendar. It will be February then, and Spring comes in March.
(The Ninjas at work. They are much more punctual than the Comcast bastards. Photo Socotra)
Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Continuing Crisis: Odds and Ends
(Clark Bros Gun Shop, EZ-on, EZ-off from Virginia Rt 29 in rustic Opal, VA. Photo Clark Bros.)
Surprise! It is Monday, snuck right up on me, and I am far behind already. I hate the first day of the working week as it is, since the industry as a whole is very agitated for all the obvious reasons, and some of the individuals in it are frankly off the chart.
Plus, I have noticed of late that I am plagued with friends who have retired, have plenty of time for mischief, get up early and start thinking about things that bug them.
One pal sent the full text of SB-150 (Sen Feinstein’s gun bill) and we got off on a prolonged discussion about the astonishing and frankly bizarre provisions contained therein. The “purpose” statement of the bill is clear, and clearly stated right after the title:
“To regulate assault weapons, to ensure that the right to keep and bear arms is not unlimited, and for other purposes.”
Bolding is mine, and I thought it was sort of interesting. The right to keep and bear arms, I read somewhere, “shall not be infringed,” so as Diane set about crafting a long bit of legislation to do exactly that, I think we have entered into terra incognita, where the real words of the document that is the real foundation of the nation are- well, not unlimited, you know?
There is room for vigorous debate, of course. I am not sure I need a rocket launcher, or crew-served weapons, but of course the Framers didn’t know about them. They might well have thought that the “well regulated militia,” composed of the people as a whole, might have a use for them.
I know, I know. I have a pal in Mexico who I respect greatly, and she thinks I am nuts. She might be right, but times being what they are, I will err on the side of caution.
There was an incidental reason to interact with the Bill of Rights on Saturday. I had Jigg’s Ruger .22LR target pistol, which was not functioning as designed. He got it in a pawn shop (after a background check to which he did not object) and asked me to drop it with the gunsmith at Clark’s, since it is a reputable and scrupulously compliant institution, and right on Rt. 29 on the way to the farm.
“Have them fix it,” he said, handing it to me, and I agreed to do it, since I go by the place at least once a week.
I dread having to stop because the parking lot is jammed, which means that the guys at the counters inside are swamped with people trying to fill out all the existing paperwork. There was a media crew interviewing an African American gentleman cradling an AR-15 semi-automatic rifle in the parking lot when I pulled in. inside, after waiting in line for thirty minutes to get to the counter, I saw a shotgun that sort of summed everything up:
Terra incognita, man.
Another pal wrote about weather, and climate change, which provoked a heated (hahaha) exchange on the difference between weather, climate, orbital mechanics, solar activity and the rising level of a harmless trace gas in the atmosphere. No conclusions. It is a degree or two warmer than it was a century ago. What do we do about it? Anything we can do that won’t jack the cost of energy through the roof and fall disproportionately on those least able to afford it?
Yet a third pal wrote a contemplative piece on the role of physical gold in a thoughtfully managed portfolio, and how to acquire it in amounts low enough to avoid government scrutiny. The Feds have confiscated gold before, back when FDR thought it was inconvenient to the New Deal, so I take his caution as only being prudent.
It was all thoroughly policy-wonk crap, which has the power to get me worked up, since policy actually matters, even if no one understands it.
It would have been nice if someone wrote about sex, so I could characterize the morning as having had the whole spectrum of bizarre human conduct, but no such luck.
Anyway, I would have tried something more upbeat and fun, but I don’t think the week is going to work out that way. I hope yours is better. I would have been lyrical about the weekend and the joy of not having to be anywhere in particular, or the way the cheery light of the fire played on the walls of the Great Room at the farm in the evening, and the fact that the crocuses are poking their little green heads above the soil.
Ah.
Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Disturbance in the Force
(This flag represented a group of about one hundred minutemen from Culpeper, Virginia. The group formed part of Colonel Patrick Henry’s First Virginia Regiment of 1775. Their unusual dress alarmed the people as they marched through the country. The word “LIBERTY OR DEATH” were in large white letters on the breast of their hunting shirts. They had bucks’ tails in their hats and tomahawks and scalping knives in their belts.)
I slept in this morning. The Farm does that to me. No football beckons this afternoon, so I will putter until I know whether I am going to have to make a stop at a specialty store in Opal on the way back up north to Arlington. I liked the pre-dawn. We got down below freezing in the night, but this is only going to be jacket weather today.
The Russkies were over last night for wine and dinner- tasty local produce, slow-cooked, and one of those delicious crusty loaves from Croftburn Farms. So much simpler here- though the local paper suggests otherwise.
I am burned out on trying to write gently ironic stories about the lunacy in Washington, and I am sure you are as tired about reading them. The Farm is a good antidote to the relentless fixation on things a single citizen can do little about. I did write the three elected officials (two Senators and that boob from Arlington) to whom I report a bilious morning note, and felt a little better.
So the local news is kind of a trip. There is a disturbance in the Police Force and something is going on down here. I mentioned that the Culpeper Clarion-Bugle is issued only once a week, mostly for advertising, but also for local activities. There have been some mind boggling ones, and as I slid the Panzer up next to the mailbox to collect the week’s refinancing solicitations and fliers my eyes widened at the headlines.
There are two crusading reporters down here- Anita Sherman and Ray Finefrock. Anita was all over the start of the trial of a former Culpeper town cop who shot an unarmed woman to death last summer. The former officer was on the stand this week, and Anita reported that he broke down in tears, after noting that the woman had been aloof and “off-putting,” which are new grounds for homicide. We wouldn’t even notice back in Arlington.
Ray, on the other hand, was deep into the scandal that has been swirling at town hall. The City manager got canned this week. Now, his story was below the fold on the front page, under the notification that the Ruritans are really going ahead with Culpeper Days festivities this May, settling a bitter controversy over parking with the Council.
The council has had a busy week, maybe busier than the Senate Foreign Affairs Committee and Secretary Clinton. They got together and in a 5-2 vote after more than an hour of deliberations, fired the city manager, a determined young woman who had been on the job for only 17 months. She apparently got crosswise with the people who actually run things when she had the Sherriff investigated for some ugly conflicts of interest.
I don’t know why the Mayor and a councilman who used to be police chief sat out the vote. The Chity Information Officer who had abruptly resigned last week was swiftly re-instated in a coup de department.
Is there something going on? Is this related to the accusations against the former police Captain? Is the murder of an unarmed citizen the action of a rogue cop or is there more here than meets the eye?
I am going to rely on Anita and Ray to dig in to this. I will rely on them to unravel this story like Woodward and Bernstein. It is sort of cool to see crusading journalism in action. We haven’t seen much of that back up in Washington, where everything appears to be just fine.
Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Fifty Shades of Whatever
(Book One of the Fifty Shades trilogy. This is weird. Or maybe it is the new normal. The tie is used…oh, hell, I can’t do it. Photo E.L. James)
‘Alice felt there was no denying that. ‘Of course it would be all the better,’ she said: ‘but it wouldn’t be all the better his being punished.’
‘You’re wrong there, at any rate,’ said the Queen. ‘Were you ever punished?’
‘Only for faults,’ said Alice.
‘And you were all the better for it, I know!’ the Queen said triumphantly.”
– Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
I was just waking up in my brown chair around Midnight, and was no longer competent to do anything except relocate to the eiderdown. It was a good night, with snow.
I had intended to be at Willow, but my son cancelled on me. I would have liked to have seen him, but he had additional ambitious plans for the evening, and I was in comfortable clothes, since I had come home mid-afternoon, frustrated with the office back-up computer’s inability to process email.
It was much easier to work at home, and I changed into something comfortable to do it.
I would have been happy to go out again, but on the other hand, it was snowing and there was a great temptation to just sit down, watch the snow fall and finish an adventure in popular culture- “The Fifty Shades of Gray.”
I was curious about the minor sensation the book had caused in the publishing world, and bought Book One of the trilogy to see what the stir was about.
I was astonished by the whole thing, which appears to be an attempt to mainstream the whole bondage-fetish thing. A best seller, I thought, in fact a number one bestseller on some charts, and as I read, the words that complete the phrase “WTF” flashed periodically before my eyes.
I understand this is in the realm of the bodice-ripper school of literature, targeted to the over-30 female demographic, like the ones that have Fabio on the cover.
I barely understand my own sexuality, much less that of the stronger gender, but this was amazing. Apparently it also resonated to a major degree, selling more than 60 million copies worldwide, and which displaced Harry Potter’s author J.K. Rowling as the fastest seller in some accounts.
As a scribbler myself, it is sort of inspirational, since “Shades” started out as an ebook with no agents, publishers or other traditional support and it has made the author very wealthy indeed. As a reader, I am appalled by the whole thing. Violence is bad, no one likes pain- I think- or maybe I am wrong about that. The lead dominant character in the narrative, Mr. Christian Gray, claims to be “fifty shades of F**ked up,” and I have to go with his assessment.
There is a lot of that going around, and so much to be appalled about that I will just let this one go, celebrating the First Amendment right of author E.L. James to write whatever she wants. Though of course she is a British citizen, but never mind.
I put that aside as a social phenomenon that I don’t understand, but decided to incorporate it as part of my standard morning routine to believe six impossible things before breakfast, I attempted to comprehend the court ruling about overturning the President’s Recess Appointments. That was the big news flash late yesterday afternoon, and the talking heads were talking, even as presidential press spokesman Jay Carney was attempting to downplay the significance of the ruling.
As I understand the judicial reasoning, recess appointments can be made without Senate consent only when the Congress is not in session. The case was brought by the Chamber of Commerce due to the fact that the Senate was- technically- still working and there was no recess.
The business conducted by the World’s Greatest Deliberative Body was largely pro-forma, and clearly intended only to deny the President the window to make the appointments that were blocked by a Senate in session. The work being done was only a few minutes of procedural action taken before an empty chamber, but the principle was clear: the Senate will determine when it is in session, not the Executive Branch.
I am fascinated by the ruling and its implications. Mr. Obama is only the latest of the last three Chiefs who have maneuvered the recess appointment thing. It is more than a bit like A-not-A, a phrase that bit us on the butt back in the 1990s.
“Authorized but not appropriated” was what the phrase meant. It caused gridlock one crazy budget year- back when Congress still considered its duty to actually produce the operating budget of the United States. They don’t, any more, and from this distance, the whole A-not-A struggle seems a bit quaint.
Anyway, you recall that the Appropriators nailed the Authorizers to the wall in the next cycle and reminded them that the Committees of jurisdiction over the purse strings had the real power. Money talks and BS walks, as the saying goes. The Appropriators included a simple phrase in their bills: “all appropriations are considered to be authorized,” and the matter went away.
The routine business of Presidents waiting until the Senate leaves town to install controversial appointees was addressed through the same sort of legislative slight of hand. Recess appointments have been going on for a long time. The more egregious examples of late, targeting the National Labor Relations Board, provoked the same sort of answer that A-not-A did.
The Senate simply decided to stay “in session” by having a couple of the local Senators come in to the office in the morning and declare that they were open for business. The President called their bluff, and made his appointments. The NLRB has issued hundreds of decisions since then, and now the courts have said the appointments were unconstitutional. What that really means is open to speculation.
I will be interested to see how it goes, and don’t know how it will turn out. It certainly seems to be part of a larger continuing Constitutional crisis. From the Second Amendment to the basic separation of powers, the government has wrapped itself in a pretzel attempting to do either the right or wrong thing in fifty shades of legality, depending on your perspective.
I might be in favor of a new Constitutional convention to talk about our rights and the nature of our Republic, since nothing seems to be working anymore.
The problem is that we might just get something that we cannot live with, and on the whole, the founding documents have served us pretty well for more than two hundred years.
Some people seem to want fundamental change, and a lot of other people don’t.
This is just the tip of the iceberg, of course. The Constitutional Crisis goes on. Jeeze. There is so much craziness that it is becoming normal to wonder what our elected idiots are doing from day to day. It is at least fifty shades of lunacy.
Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Assisted Living
(The Madison. Photo MRIS 2001).
The Madison Retirement Condos in the heart of Ballston * Perfect for seniors 55+, seeking elegant lifestyle that includes delicious meals, housekeeping, transportation, diverse program of events and activities, terrific community * Monthly service fee (not optional) of $2640 covers these amenities and much more. Call for appointment to see this move-in condition residence at The Madison. *
Raven and Big Mama needed help in the last year and a half of their lives. It was becoming inevitable, but that moment when we had to act was a long time coming. The weekends when the phone was off the hook and we had to call around from Alaska and Arizona and Virginia to find out if they were OK.
We tried setting up surveillance cameras to enable us to see the dining room via internet, feeling queasy about whether to put one in the inner sanctum where they retreated to their bed. Annook was there one time, nearing the end, and heard a bumping sound. When she came up from the basement apartment, she found Big Mama trying to lift Raven from where he had fallen as she was seated on a chair. Each time she tried to lift him, his head hit the edge of the chair and down he would go again.
Thump. Pause. Thump. Pause. Thump.
That experience resulted directly in the decision to relocate them to Potemkin Village, an “independent living facility” across town.
It was nothing of the sort- their independence was effectively over, and we started down the mercifully brief slippery slope.
That was not the case with Mac. He made his decision to leave the family home in North Arlington and bought a condo at The Madison. That was the key difference between his path and that of Raven and Big Mama. They were renters. Mac was an owner in the assisted-living facility, and that was a point of pride for him.
He did not need the help, though the prepared meals (he commented that the quality went down over time, though on the occasions we joined him seemed fine) and having a concierge was useful. He had family in town, he had his sleek Jag, and he had a wide circle of friends.
I went over with David the other evening to document the car and the condo, the last remaining issues at The Madison. I stopped at Willow first, of course, and the proximity of the restaurant to the assisted living complex was one of the premium features of the place.
He had a two-bedroom, two bath unit with a balcony. After looking at the car, David and I took the elevator up to the 17th floor and walked around the corridor to his unit.
I was stunned. When Mac was alive, he had a couple work-stations set up. One was just inside the door, and had clippings and books that he poured through. The obits were the first priority for him in the Washington Post. It was a sort of validation to the idea that he was here and they weren’t. The second bedroom was the office, with his computer and framed prints and shadow box with his military decorations.
The couch was in the main room, across from the television. I never saw him use the balcony.
“Dave,” I said, “this is beautiful, but there is nothing left of his.”
Dave made a sweeping gesture. “It is all fake. Well, not fake, it is set up to look its best. None of the furniture or art is ours. It belongs to the listing agency.”
“So, this is just for show?”
Dave nodded. “Yep. Looks good, though, doesn’t it?”
I agreed and started snapping pictures.
(This was here Mac clipped the obits and kept files ready to go.)
(Kitchen. He always had a bottle of crisp white wine for our Tuesday meetings.)
(Plenty of space in the Walk In Closet).
(Master bath with assisting hand rails.)
(You don’t have to do your own laundry at The Madison, but you can.)
It is assisted living at its finest. I am happy to note that there was no sadness in the place. Maybe the rented furniture helped. It certainly helped me- he really is gone.
Closure.
Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Extreme Weather
(The view from the balcony at Big Pink this snowy January morning. Not extreme, but messy. Photo Socotra).
It was not an extreme weather event in Arlington last night, which is to say that it did snow, which is unusual for this winter, and it is colder than crap. I wondered if we really were going to get snow this year, which sometimes we don’t. And sometimes we get smacked hard, like two years ago in Snowmageddon.
It is mornings like this when I aspire to be a snowbird and go “where the weather suits my clothes.” For example, I got a note from a pal in the Keys and decided I would prefer to be headed down to Sloppy Joes in Key West rather than slipping on the sidewalk in front of my office.
I was going to take you on a tour of Mac’s condo, which the family is getting ready to sell. I have to be at The Agency for a meeting at 0800 tomorrow, so I think I will hold off on that for a day. Given the fact that it is going to be slippery on the roads for the next few days, it means a very early departure, and it will be useful to have something in the can.
Weather. Extreme or not, it rules our lives. I had a discussion with a pal who was dubious about my claim- and the graphic- that 2012 was not a particularly extreme year. Looking back now through this remarkably didactic note, I apologize. But I really dislike being told to believe impossible things, particularly when they will be very expensive and quite disruptive to the way we live.
My pal was dubious about the data and how it is arrayed. There is a lot to be dubious about. There are a lot of people these days who have vested interest in long-term multi-decadal climate predictions, and that isn’t working out so well. The UK Met Office had to admit a few weeks ago that they had completely missed their short-term seasonal forecast of only three months. Instead of warm and dry, they got rain and snow and chill. They said it was complicated and difficult.
I have no idea why events a few weeks away should be so difficult to predict and then asked to believe that events few dozen years away should be so accurate. But the Brits believe, and are much further along than we are in terms of limiting their carbon footprints.
That in itself is curious, since CO2 is not carbon, but never mind. Her Majesty’s government mandates use of alternative (and much more expensive) energy sources to reduce its national footprint. It is a regressive policy that impacts the poor and elderly dramatically.
I mentioned the President’s soaring rhetoric in his inaugural address. It was great- vintage Obama, and he was taking the gloves off on a bunch of initiatives that probably will not happen, thank goodness.
The climate initiative was particularly troubling. It was a straight recitation of the accepted narrative of “settled science” as told by people like Michael Mann (PSU) and James Hanson (NASA). That is, in shorthand, that carbon dioxide gas concentration in the atmosphere is building a greenhouse effect and warming the planet.
Soon, according to the narrative, this trace gas will force the planet’s temperature to spiral out of control and we will all die unless we shut down all the coal-fired power plants and other fossil fuel energy sources.
That is the basis of the carbon control scheme, and the center point of the Cap-and-Trade legislation that could not get through the Democratic-controlled House and Senate in the first two years of the Obama Administration.
That was the age of Global Warming, remember? The slight problem with that is that the three internationally accepted global temperature databases show that the increase in temperature over the last sixteen years (it varies on either side due to differing methodologies in the data bases) is within the margin of error, or actually cooling.
That was why the narrative had to change. If it is not actually getting warmer by any significant degree, the emphasis had to change to Climate Change, then Ocean Acidification, and finally today’s accepted line on Extreme Weather events. It is Doom.
The problem, as demonstrated in the chart assembled from NOAA data, is that even accounting for better sensor information (more events detected, rather than more of them) the weather is just what it is. It changes. It can be intense. There is no trend, regardless of how you slice and dice it.
21012 was a warm year in the Continental US, but it was not a warm year elsewhere. Nor, even with Sandy and the fires out west, was it a particularly extreme weather year for the whole US.
We often hear today’s climate described as “post-normal”, but what was so normal about climate 50 or 100 years ago?
Based on NOAA regional data, the chart depicts each year since 1910 is assigned a ranking for each category, hot, cold rainy, dry, with “1” being the least extreme, and “103” most extreme. The four individual rankings are then averaged together, to give the overall ranking.
2012 finishes with a ranking of 54th, making it an unremarkable 46th most extreme, out of 103. The individual rankings are:
I believe in weather, and I believe the climate changes. I believe that since the beginning of the industrial age in 1840, global temperatures (a tricky thing to measure, considering the crappy sensor siting in most of the developing world and lack of sensors of any kind on the vast world ocean) appear to have risen by .8 (point eight) degrees Celsius in 180 years.
Even that number is suspect, since a thermometer that a century ago was in the green country may now be located adjacent to an asphalt runway, or surrounded by urban sprawl.
The thing about the chart, taken with the fact that things have not gotten measurably warmer in what is now close to twenty years, is that the “settled science” that states that increasing levels of CO2 will force a dramatic increase in temperatures doesn’t seem to be true,
If the linkage between temperature and CO2 is wrong, then the bottom falls out of the argument that human activity is causing warming.
Here is the deal: the sophisticated computer models are based on assumptions. If you assume that CO2 is the cause, then that is precisely what the results will show. The models do not incorporate orbital mechanics of the planet, nor the dramatic effects of the fiery ball of our sun, which appears to be entering into a quiet phase after being quite active in the latter half of the 20th Century.
There is something going on that we do not understand on the solar front, and if that uncertainty is not entered into the assumptions that govern the models, of course they will be inaccurate. It might be useful to look at the actual record of measured data, rather than digital models subject to “garbage in-garbage out.”
If the weather is not really more extreme than it used to be (it always has been) and if there is no relation between CO2 and temperature, then the imperative to transform the economy just isn’t there.
Don’t look at me like I am crazy. Is our environment better with less pollution? Of course. The Cuyahoga River has not caught fire in decades. Don’t litter. It is wasteful and ugly.
But really, what is there to get hysterical about? We ought to do what we can to keep things tidy because that is the right thing to do as stewards of the earth.
But a massive transformation of society does not seem called for. The government-funded scientists (remember these people survive on taxpayer grants, and Doom sells) have a vested interest in the prediction of disaster.
I am not funded by Big Oil or Coal. Nor am I funded by Big Government.
Oh well. It is snowy in Arlington today, and cold. I would prefer to be in Florida.
Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Last Jag Standing
ABSOLUTELY MINT 2004 Jaguar XJ8, perfect champagne paint, like-new factory fresh example inside and out, fully serviced with 4 new tires, none nicer, runs like a dream!! Personally driven by National Treasure RADM Donald “Mac” Showers from his home at The Madison across the street to the Willow Restaurant. Fully optioned with all the luxury appointments, heated leather seating, side airbags, rain-sensing wipers, premium sound, power pedals, vehicle stability assist, traction control, power tilt telescopic wheel, xenon headlights, and so much more. Carfax Certified for your protection!!*
$8,500 OBO. Do not miss this opportunity to drive a piece of American History- the personal auto of the last of the Station Hypo Code-breakers! Act now!
I looked at the keyboard. Hell, why wasn’t I buying the Jag myself? I have too many quirky vehicles as it is, but it sure tempting and a real deal. I have a personal involvement with the car- the second estate Jag I have known.
The first one was a curiosity. Uncle Jim showed up in Fairfax on the car train from Florida years ago with a RAF sky-blue V-12-powered monster that had been left to him by a deceased pal in Florida.
Jim looked good in that beauty, though I do not know if he ever got a real chance to enjoy the rocket-like beast. The Jaguar V-12 XJS sedan had one of the premier power plants of the 1970s, and was only the venerable marque’s second engine design to go into production in the history of the company. The all-alloy block was fitted with removable wet liners and had a Single Overhead Cams driving the two-valve alloy head with flat combustion chambers.
(Legendary V-12 engine of the Jag XJS. Photo Ford Motor Company).
As an aeronautical engineer, the power plant of the sleek roadster was of more interest to Jim than the bodywork, but it was a sleek son-of-a-gun. Weird that the vehicle came to him as one of those “last man standing” deals, that began in the Great War. With the passing of PFC Button last year, that generation is completely gone. But the tradition of “the Last Man” continued through Jim and Mac’s war.
That generation is dwindling fast, though there are several ancient bottles of liquor out there that remain to be awarded. Perhaps the most notable is the bottle of Hennessy Very Special Cognac that Jimmy Doolittle bequeathed to the last two living Raiders.
We are getting close to the time that the cognac will be awarded as that generation leaves us. Mac did not have a plan for his Jag, and like the Raiders, he gave up hard liquor a while ago. So whoever the Last Two are, the sweet fire of the Hennessy will probably be appreciated more for the fumes than the way General Doolittle liked, neat, in a fine silver goblet commemorating the first aerial attack on the Japanese Empire.
Mac was working at Station Hypo when Doolittle’s B-25’s launched from the deck of USS Hornet (CV-12) in April of 1942. Doolittle’s Raiders did essentially no military damage, but they caused the militarist regime to lose face. Not knowing the origin of the raid, some on the Japanese Imperial Staff suspected the B-25s had come from Midway atoll. That lead directly to the plan that was decrypted by Mac and the others- and the bold decision of Admiral Chester Nimitz to throw everything including the kitchen sink at the IJN armada.
That produced the most significant naval victory of the war, and the tide that began to ebb with the symbolic attack on the homeland by the Raiders was followed by a draw at the Battle of the Coral Sea, victory at Midway, and then not one defeat on the way to eventual triumph.
Mac was there for all of it. Then, he was driving an old Ford sedan with a Chevy engine. Naval officers are long on pride and tradition but cash poor. If circumstances permitted around the wars of the latter 20th Century, he determined that he would drive a really cool car.
Here it is:
Damn, Mac drove me home on more than one occasion in that beauty when I ventured out after surgery on my leg and could not navigate safely. The rich leather still has the new car smell. Never smoked in, not that I didn’t think about it. Damn!
Mac’s daughter Donna and her husband Tom were down here to get Mac’s condo ready for showing (and attend the black-tie Michigan Inaugural Ball), and to deal with the sleek sedan in the basement garage. All of Mac’s stuff is gone, and the place is looking good for a speedy sale to some couple ready to transition to independent living in a place where assistance is available should you need it. More about that tomorrow, though, as some of you- you know who you are- may be closer to needing that than you might imagine.
Mac knew. He was prepared.
Mac’s world never got that much smaller. In his last weeks on this earth he limited himself to his unit, but right to the last bout with prostate cancer he was driving himself to the Arlington Hospital complex to volunteer at the cancer support center.
This is a beautiful car. This is a bit of history. It could be yours for $8,500. Drive into a world where America is strong, well-led and her future is bright.
Interested? Contact Socotra House Publishing and our courteous, helpful staff will hook you up with the estate.
Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
*While every reasonable effort is made to ensure the accuracy of this data, like the information in all these stories, we are not responsible for any errors or omissions contained therein. Please verify all information with an estate sales representative.
Public Service Announcement
Alert reader Heidi saved me this morning, and God bless her for it. Saved YOU, too! hahaha, if I may be permitted internet-speak.
In real life, I was reacting to the inaugural festival here in town. It was quite an extraordinary performance. Mr. Obama’s words soared as he outlined all the great stuff we are going to do together in the next four years. Curiously, he started with the Constitution, and then went on to outline how more collective action will cement our personal liberties, and how two enormous bankrupt programs (Social Security and Medicare) actually make us stronger.
It actually sounded sort of- well, I don’t know. Orwellian?
Then there was that climate change thing. I scratched my head on that. NOAA released an extreme weather chart the other day- here it is:
If there is a trend hiding in there that requires dramatic action, I can’t quite find it. The 1930s were something, weren’t they? But I am not a politician, or a government-funded scientist, so what do I know?
Anyway, it was a great address, vintage Obama on the campaign stump, though for the life of me I don’t know what he was campaigning for. I thought that was over.
So that is why I was so excited to see something that had nothing to do with politics. As you know, there is a movement called “Wreaths Across America” that places seasonal decorations on the graves of those who are interred in National Cemeteries.
It is a touching tribute, and requires a lot of coordination to get all the privately-donated wreaths to the graves, and then, when the season is done, pick them up again with respect.
I missed the opportunity to volunteer to put them out. It is not, I discovered, too late to help pick them up.
For those of us here in DC, the clean-up of wreaths at Arlington National Cemetery (ANC) will happen on Saturday, January 26, 2013. There is no rain/snow date alternative. This is going to get done, inclement weather or not.
Heidi reminded me that the ANC Welcome Center Parking Lot will open at 0700 and will have free parking until 1:00pm. ANC is encouraging the use of Metro to get there if at all possible.
The pedestrian gates will open at 0800 this Saturday, the 26th of January.
For us here in town, that means (clockwise from the north end of the cemetery) the Ord-Weitzel gate (near the Iwo Jima Memorial and Rosslyn Metro), the main cemetery and the Visitors Center gates (nearest Arlington Cemetery Metro), the south Maintenance Complex gate (nearest Pentagon and Pentagon City Metro), the South Gate next to the Joint Base Myer-Henderson Hall main gate, and the Fort Myer Old Post Chapel gate.
That last one is the one I use with my cemetery pass, since I can get access to Fort Myer without inspection.
They say parking within the Cemetery is restricted to those vehicles with ANC Family Passes and those with valid Handicap Permits. All Vehicles with ANC Family Passes and Handicap Permits arriving before the cemetery’s opening at 0800 will be required to enter and park at the Welcome Center Parking Lot Upper Level. Once the Cemetery opens at 0800, the early arrivals will then be allowed to enter the Cemetery proper via the gate adjacent to the parking lot and be directed to park along Patton Drive.
Those with Handicap Permits will again be allowed to park in the Administrative/Employee Parking Lot, and since I am driving around with Raven’s, that is just what I think I might do.
Anyway, my thanks to Heidi. If I did not have a public Service Announcement to send you today I would have had to think about politics again.
Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra