Internet Exploder

by the Night Writer

I lovingly rebuilt my sidebars Thursday night to feature my blogrolls and other site information and it all looked really spiffy…on Firefox, which is my web browser of choice.

At times, however, I only have access to Microsoft’s Internet Explorer browser, or “Internet Exploder” as I call it given it’s susceptibility to bugs and aggravating quirks, and on IE the sidebars look like a blind man in a dark room at midnight trying to find a black cat that may not be there (to repeat a line I heard David Feherty use recently). I don’t know why this is happening, but I’ll try to find out and fix it.

UPDATE: I think I figured out what the problem was with displaying the sidebars in IE. I looked at the last line of code in the text box for the MOB blogroll and there was an extra /div marker. I took that out, opened IE, and — Woot – sidebars restored!

A plethora of pythons?

by the Night Writer

In his never-ending vigilance and quest for news of animal jihad threats, KingDavid (and believe me, you want men like him on that wall), citing an article on Fox, warns of an emerging threat; pythons, right here in America:

The fast-growing population of snakes has been invading southern Florida’s ecosystem since 1992, when scientists speculate a bevy of Burmese pythons was released into the wild after Hurricane Andrew shattered many pet shop terrariums.

While we’re likely a long way yet from Snakes on the Plains, if gangs of pythons start becoming common we’ll need a better way to refer to a collective of them than “bevy”, which is commonly used to describe quail. Think of it, Python-Quail really don’t go together. If we were to borrow a term from the bird kingdom then crows — as in “a murder of crows” — might be a better choice. A “murder of pythons” certainly has a more sinister ring, but it doesn’t quite trip off the tongue.

I consulted Fun With Words to review how animal collectives are described to get some clues on how we might approach this for large snakes that bite and choke (you, not themselves).  Some collectives are alliterative, e.g., an army of ants, a horde of hamsters, a lounge of lizards. Others use descriptors referring to characteristics of the animals in question, ala a prickle of hedgehogs, a sneak of weasels or an exaltation of larks. Others are both alliterative and descriptive, e.g., a  glint of goldfish,  a scurry of squirrels or a dunce of democrats.

Okay, I made that last one up. But since I’m feeling creative today here is my top-ten list of possible names for a python collective; let me know your favorite or if you have other suggestions. If we come to a consensus I’ll forward the results onto the Department of Homeland Security. This last part should be pretty easy; I’m sure I saw Janet Napolitano nervously checking out the bumper of my truck just the other day.  Anyway, here are my  suggestions:

  1. A passel of pythons
  2. A pod of pythons
  3. A pounce of pythons
  4. A clutch of pythons
  5. A hiss of pythons
  6. A strike of pythons
  7. A squeeze of pythons
  8. A plague of pythons
  9. A temptation of pythons (getting biblical)
  10. A boot of pythons (turning the tables on them)

Oh, wait … I can go to eleven! Here’s my favorite: A monty of pythons!

The rain keeps its own sweet time

by the Night Writer

My grandfather was born at home on his family farm and the life there was soon ground into him like the loam on his bare feet. He worked the fields and the stock as he grew up and though he ultimately made his living in a suit and a tie, farming was always a part of him. One time I bought him a Stan Rogers CD that featured a song entitled “The Field Behind the Plow”. Rogers had a remarkable talent for getting into the heart of people’s lives and stories and his stoic portrayal of the farmer’s life resonated with my grandfather. He and my grandmother took a car trip out west with my parents shortly after he received that CD and he just about wore them and the CD out, wanting to listen to that song over and over. Part of the song goes:

Watch the field behind the plow turn to straight, dark rows
Feel the trickle in your clothes, blow the dust cake from your nose
Hear the tractor’s steady roar, Oh you can’t stop now

There’s a quarter section more or less to go

And it figures that the rain keeps its own sweet time
You can watch it come for miles, but you guess you’ve got a while
So ease the throttle out a hair, every rod’s a gain
And there’s victory in every quarter mile

The song, and memories of my grandfather, kept going through my head Sunday afternoon as I carved rows of my own across  my lawn while my tractor roared. The sky had been overcast and the clouds lowering before I started mowing, threatening an encore of the rains from earlier in the week that had already left my lawn on the verge of verdant rebellion.  I had measured the sky with my eyes before mounting up and knew it was an iffy proposition as to whether I could finish before the rain, but I had to try or else the neighbors were likely to start losing small dogs and children in my front yard. The rain was on its way, but every rod was a gain.

I stayed dry as I finished the front yard (I call it the “north 40”) and the side yards, and as I turned into the backyard with yet another look at the sky I thought I just might finish in time.  It wasn’t 10 minutes later, though, before the first, fat drops began to pattern the dust on the tractor hood and find the inside of my collar. I still had half-a-dozen passes to make, so I eased the throttle up a little higher and adjusted my hat, thinking of how much my grandfather would have welcomed the rain.

In an hour, maybe more, you’ll be wet clear through
The air is cooler now, pull your hat brim further down
And watch the field behind the plow turn to straight dark rows
Put another season’s promise in the ground

I certainly didn’t have (or need) an hour, and I finished just as the rain started to pick up, turning into the dry darkness of the shed just as my shirt was starting to stick to me. After I turned the tractor off I stood for a moment , breathing in the smell of dried grass, old oil and the earthy moisture riding the breeze before I  trotted along the walk to the back door of the garage. The main door there was also open, framing a wide-screen picture of the front yard like a 300-inch plasma screen as the rain really began to pour. I felt a shiver of satisfaction even in the humidity as I stood just under the big door to  appreciate the perfect moment.

For some reason, my garage has always smelled just like my grandfather’s garage did when I was a little boy. No other garage at any place I’ve lived has ever had that same scent, but I noticed it when we moved in twelve years ago. Standing there, breathing in the garage and the smell of the rain, I could imagine Pawpaw standing behind me, watching as the grass turned even greener in the dimming light, admiring the straight tracks the tractor had left on the lawn and the silvery shimmer of sheets of rain waving toward the house, absorbing the white noise of water pounding the shingles, clattering through the gutters and babbling out of the downspout at the corner.

For the good times come and go, but at least there’s rain
So this won’t be barren ground when September rolls around
So watch the field behind the plow turn to straight dark rows
Put another season’s promise in the ground

Photo by D-32

Photo by D-32

FYI: Stan Rogers died in 1983 but it is almost eerie how much his son Nathan looks and sounds like him today. You can listen to Nathan singing “The Field Behind the Plow” in this video:

Welcome, and pardon our dust

by the Night Writer

NW on train w-rivetsThe Rev. Mother does fine work, doesn’t she? It must be the inspiration.

It was a productive weekend and we finally got the new blog home up and running. I’m telling you, it was exhausting watching Kevin hammer at my keyboard for most of the afternoon Saturday as he managed to route nearly 1500 posts (and 3 hours worth of images) from Powerblogs, via Movable Type, to WordPress. Good thing he works for Schlitz and pizza.

Almost everything made it over from the old site to here, except for the categories and, for some reason, the appropriate author tags.  I spent a good chunk of Sunday trying to fill in the blanks and playing around with the new features and widgets. There’s still a lot to be done, but at least we’re posting. The biggest thing I’ve yet to figure out is how to get the super-coolio new logo the Reverend Mother created for me up in the header where it belongs. Just about everything else in WordPress is pretty intuitive but I can’t get the image to appear yet or add the quote of the week. I’ve actually had to resort to reading the directions, but so far I haven’t come across the magic code (expertise glady accepted). Other things on the “to do” list include getting my blogrolls into the appropriate sidebar.  That will be the first priority after the logo, then I’ll start going back through more than four years worth of posts to re-establish categories and authors.

Speaking of authors, we’ve officially added The Son@Night (aka Ben) to the family blog. I think he was concerned that Sly the Family Rat would  get official author status before he did, but the editorial committee retroactively approved his application after the Diva carelessly gave him the password to the admin page of the old site.

Additional posting might be light here today as the team gets used to the new tool, but I hope everyone (including the Diva) will soon be back in force (which, come to think of it, is the only way Tiger Lilly does anything).

At any rate, it’s time to celebrate: everybody dance

(HT: TechnoChitlins – what a great house-warming gift!)

The week that was

by the Night Writer

It’s been a busy week and it’s affected my blogging mojo a bit. Fortunately other family members (including new ones) have taken up some of the slack. Earlier this week I wrestled down all but the smallest remaining details for our trip to Spain; specifically how we are going to get from Madrid to Barcelona and back. Amazingly, to go by high-speed rail costs twice as much as flying, though both take about the same amount of time when you factor in transit from the airport to the city centers. Renting a car is a bit cheaper than flying, but adding the cost of gas and the hassle of driving in strange cities it’s almost a push. Not to mention that going by car takes 6 to 8 hours as opposed to one and a half. So that was educational.

Last night and tonight, though, I’ve been working on my message for Inside Outfitters this weekend. Years ago the Mall Diva bought me a tee-shirt for Fathers’ Day that read, “This is what a cool dad looks like.” I’m going to wear that shirt and start my message roughlywhere the group left off in March as we talk about how men who grew up without a father have a harder time grasping the concept of a “Father God”, especially when it comes to receiving blessings and correction. Put another way, they have a harder time receiving love.

Usually when I speak to this group (which includes a number of guys in various stages of rehab) I teach on faith with an eye toward creating a sense or picture of hope. My objective this week will be to describe the characteristics of the Father, hopefully in a way that we can easily grasp it. Of course, there is no way to do this without demonstrating — or at least trying to describe — love. We were able to demonstrate it a little in March; now as I try to describe the relationship between faith, hope and love I come across (yet again) the words of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, this time from one of his sermons (emphasis mine):

Faith and hope remain. Let us not think that we can have love without faith and without hope! Love without faith is like a river without a source. That would mean we could have love without Christ. Faith alone justifies us before God. Hope directs our attention to the end. Love perfects.

Yes, a very educational week, indeed.

Breaking news

by the Night Writer

The big news for us is that Faith and Ben finally got back from their honeymoon yesterday. Of course, there are other things going on in the headlines, but it’s hard not to see everything in terms of the kids being back. For example, I’m so happy I’m thinking about turning over some police cars and setting small trees on fire. Nothing shows the world how happy you are like wanton property damage and abuse of authority, I guess. To follow the lead of the Laker fans I suppose we should have rampaged through our neighborhood immediately after the wedding three weeks ago, but I was just too tired.

With a couple fewer mouths to feed the last couple of weeks we’ve had quite a few leftovers piling up in the refrigerator. This, of course, is just another way Americans are killing the planet with our wastrel ways through excess food accumulating in landfills and producing methane gas that’s 20 TIMES WORSE THAN CARBON DIOXIDE! I thought the problem for years has been Americans eat too much, leading to an obesity epidemic, now we’re criticized for not cleaning our plates? Oh, if only we didn’t live in a functioning economy (for the moment) with an effective infrastructure that efficiently and cost-effectively delivers food to us on a daily basis! Don’t worry, I’m sure that within a few years the government will take care of this oversight while also mandating how much and what kinds of food we can buy. I mean, once the goverment takes over health care and we still die too expensively it’s only logical they regulate consumption for our own good. Or maybe they’ll just let the natural results of their policies run their course: whatever flaws the Soviet Union had, they certainly were never known for letting their wasted food pile up into methane-producing heaps.

Anyway, now that Ben’s back there is sure to be fewer left-overs, and the cattle industry can breathe a sigh of relief after demand took a brief dip in June. To be honest, though, I don’t know how much our household is actually contributing to the food piles in the landfill. I don’t recall ever throwing out any pizza or half a bag of Fritos. Our policy is simply that we will never throw good food away. We merely wrap it and put it in the refrigerator until it becomes bad food, and then we throw it away.

As for the riots in Iran, I guess they’re just upset that Faith and Ben decided not to visit there as part of their world-wide, whirlwind honeymmoon tour.

Postcards from Spain Socialism

by the Night Writer

Along with planning for our trip I’m also trying to get up to speed on the news and politics in Spain before we go over there. The New York Times maintains an on-line news page on the country that is a handy reference. Allow me to excerpt three of the top stories for your consideration; I’ve bold-faced some words for emphasis, but this post is just snapshots, not analyses. I don’t have the time or the historical context to attempt an analyses at this point, but I do have enough intellect and curiosity to file these under, “Things that make you go, ‘Hmmmm.'”

The first article summarizes the March, 2008 electoral victory of the Socialist Party and PM José Luis Zapatero, which was first elected in 2004:

Spain’s governing Socialists triumphed in elections held in March 2008, giving Prime Minister José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero a fresh mandate to pursue his agenda of sweeping social, cultural and political liberalization.

Despite a bitterly fought campaign, the outcome seemed to endorse some of Mr. Zapatero’s boldest decisions, including the withdrawal of Spain’s troops from Iraq, the granting of more autonomy to Spain’s rebellious regions, simplified divorce and the legalization of homosexual marriage.

Among the bold decisions includes a head-on conflict with the Catholic Church on abortion.

Spain Steps Into Battle With Itself on Abortion
By VICTORIA BURNETT
MADRID — One day last month, Sister María Victoria Vindel gave her 15-year-old students a shockingly graphic lecture on reproductive health: PowerPoint slides of dismembered and disfigured fetuses interspersed with biblical quotations and pictures of a grinning José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero, Spain’s prime minister.

“They laugh while many innocent children will die,” one of the captions read. The presentation ended with the message, “No to abortion, yes to life!”

Sister Vindel’s class at Purísima Concepción y Santa María Micaela, a parochial school in Logroño in northern Spain, is the most controversial episode yet in an increasingly contentious debate about Mr. Zapatero’s plans to ease Spain’s restrictive abortion law.

The class was described by the mother of a student, who spoke on the condition of anonymity because of possible repercussions for her child, and by Inmaculada Ortega, a Socialist lawmaker who spoke to several students and their parents.

The school, where Sister Vindel is headmistress, refused to comment on the slide show, which appeared to be downloaded from the Internet. The regional government, run by the opposition Popular Party, sent inspectors to the school, a Catholic institution that is financed partly by the state and partly by the parents. The government called the presentation “inappropriate” and said that it could constitute “moral aggression.”

Since he became prime minister in 2004, Mr. Zapatero has pushed an ambitious series of reforms, prying the social fabric of Spain from the centuries-old grip of the Roman Catholic Church. The Socialist government has legalized gay marriage, eased divorce law and expanded the rights of transsexuals.

I’m not up on my history of the Catholic Church’s prior relationship with the Socialists or Zapatero, but in Central and South America the Church has been known to support and endorse Socialist uprisings and candidates. I wonder if it has been happy with the resulting social conditions? Something to look into.

Leaving aside the spiritual, it appears that Zapatero may also have some issues with the temporal:

Spain’s Falling Prices Fuel Deflation Fears in Europe
By NELSON D. SCHWARTZ

VALENCIA, Spain — Faced with plunging orders, merchants across this recession-wracked country are starting to do something that many of them have never done: cut retail prices.

Prices dipped everywhere, from restaurants and fashion retailers to pharmacies and supermarkets in March. Hoping to increase sales, Fernando Maestre reduced prices by a third on the video intercoms his company makes for homes and apartment buildings. But that has not helped, so, along with many other Spanish employers, he is continuing to fire workers.

The nation’s jobless rate, already a painful 15.5 percent, could soon reach 20 percent, a troubling number for a major industrialized country. (Ya think? Later on the article also includes this stat: The jobless rate for those under 25 is at a Depression-like level of 31.8 percent, the highest among the 27 nations of the European Union. NW)

With the combination of rising unemployment and falling prices, economists fear Spain may be in the early grip of deflation, a hallmark of both the Great Depression and Japan’s lost decade of the 1990s, and a major concern since the financial crisis went global last year.

Deflation can result in a downward spiral that can be difficult to reverse. As unemployment rises sharply and consumers cut spending, companies cut prices. But if sales do not pick up, then revenue can decline further, forcing more cuts in workers or wages. Mr. Maestre is already contemplating additional job and wage cuts for his 250 employees.

Nowhere is this cycle more evident than in Spain. Last month, it became the first of the 16 nations that use the euro to record a negative inflation rate. The drop, though just 0.1 percent, had not happened since the government began tracking inflation in 1961, and Spanish officials have said prices could keep dropping through the summer.

Some of the decline came as volatile food prices sank; the cost of fish fell 6.2 percent, and sugar was down 5.7 percent. But even prices in normally stable sectors like drugs and medical treatments fell 0.7 percent in March, and there were slight declines in footwear, clothing and prices for household electronics.

“Alarm bells are going off,” said Lorenzo Amor, president of the Association of Autonomous Workers, which represents small businesses and self-employed people. “Economies can recover from deceleration, but it’s harder to recover from a deflationary situation. This could be a catastrophe for the Spanish economy.”

I’m sure we’ll try our best to stimulate that economy!

The Running of the Ninja Cows?

by the Night Writer

I’m spending my free (and some of my not-so-free) time trying to plot out our itinerary and lodgings in Spain after we finish the one-week Pueblo Ingles program I wrote about earlier. One of the things I’ve realized is that we’ll be there during the annual San Fermin Bull Run in Pamplona. Now I no longer have the legs for it (though I might make a Taco Run), and the Reverend Mother has never had the inclination, but Tiger Lilly on the other hand…

Photo from the About.com Gallery Pamplona Bull Run 2006

Hmmm. Well apparently the Doom Steak will have to wait because the rules say you have to be at least 18 years old in order to run, and she’s not old enough. Also, while I don’t see any rules expressly limiting the running to men, I also don’t see any photos of women among the runners. You know, it strikes me that this is just the kind of stupid event that would appeal to guys and that women simply know better. Nevertheless, if you think you’d like to try it, you should check out these handy, um, tips.

Turn around, wise guys

by the Night Writer

Ok, Mitch posted this earlier today but the firewall at work kept me from watching the video, which is just as well because it really wouldn’t do for me to be rolling around on the floor with tears streaming from my eyes right now. People might get the wrong idea.

I guarantee that as you watch this, every now and then you’ll fall apart.

Honestly, I thought some of the scenes in the video had to have been added somehow because they were so bizarre, but trust me, the only alterations have been to the vocals. (Ninjas? Yes, ninjas!). And the part in there about having to pee? That looks pretty darn authentic, too, based on what I’ve seen around my house.

If you lived through the 80s you can consider this video your own personal catharsis.

The rule of law and the law of the jungle

by the Night Writer

I was eating my Pop Tarts and reading a story in the Strib this morning when a thought popped into my head about the similarity between a violent, capital crime and violence against capital.

In the story a 17-year-old accused murderer has had charges against him dismissed because the witnesses are afraid to testify against him; one even left the state. Both the accused killer, Ramadan Abdi Shiekh Osman, and the victim, Ahmed Nur Ali, are members of the Somali community; Ali was an Augsburg student volunteering at the community center where the murder took place.

Now witness intimidation and the old self-preservation instinct are nothing new and certainly not unique to a particular ethnic group; it is the foundation of mob rule in any era or community. There’s nothing especially unique about this particular story, either: justice is denied, the rule of law is flouted and a likely killer walks the streets. All of this because witnesses have learned a painful lesson and don’t believe that law enforcement can protect them from reprisals and have therefore made themselves scarce or recanted their testimony. What may ultimately happen to the community as a result?

Now a neighborhood thug and the bankruptcies of Chrysler and GM — where the senior investors lost their legal standing for recovery by executive fiat — may look as if they are worlds apart, but I started to think about the “lessons” learned by the neighborhood witnesses, and if investors weren’t learning the same lessons. That is, you have to depend on your own instincts and resources if you can’t depend on the rule of law to look after you and preserve your community (or capital) when the prevailing gang gets to decide right and wrong and reward its friends and abuse its enemies. In the local community you clam up, lie low and even move away to avoid reprisals or becoming a target. In the investor community the equivalent is nearly the same: funds dry up, investors lie low and capital — being a lot more portable than an oppressed family — moves to a better neighborhood with less risk of confiscation.

And the community gets ugly, fast.

Throughout history, poverty is the normal condition of man. Advances which permit this norm to be exceeded — here and there, now and then — are the work of an extremely small minority, frequently despised, often condemned, and almost always opposed by all right-thinking people. Whenever this tiny minority is kept from creating, or (as sometimes happens) is driven out of a society, the people then slip back into abject poverty. This is known as “bad luck.”
— Robert A. Heinlein