When I was a kid, my dad bought a book entitled, "The Official Rules" by Paul Dickson. Being a complete and total dork, I have spent the intervening years watching closely for any sign that I might have discovered some previously undocumented natural law...something that might put me in with such heady company as Albert Einstein, Sir Isaac Newton, and that famous optimist, Murphy.
From time to time, I have been inspired by some situation and put forward an apparently good candidate, only to have it fall apart in the examination process. For example, I once offered a friend this sage advice:
"Never sleep with a woman who drives a pickup truck."
"Why?" he asked.
"I have absolutely no idea," I said.
Clearly, that candidate for immortality seemed interesting at the time, but failed on closer examination.
I have stumbled on a couple concepts that have borne up to all tests, and here they are, in all their glory:
Kalbfleisch's First Law: There is no such thing as a fifteen minute job.
This is because for any task that could be completed in less than fifteen minutes, it will take an additional fifteen minutes to find the tools needed to actually perform it, and there is a very high likelihood that a trip to the store will be necessary. I could go on, but I've only got fifteen minutes to finish this entry.
Kalbfleisch's Second Law: The number of ways to skin a cat increases exponentially with the number of cats that need skinning.
I discovered this one while sitting in a professional conference this week and watching the goings on. A new missile system which has basically five major new capabilities has brought the entire community to a stand-still while each member argues in favor of his or her particular employment solution. Which leads me to the first corollary:
Increasing the number of skinners will increase the number of ways to skin cats, but have no appreciable impact on the number of cats that still need skinning.
I'm sure there will be more.
Stay tuned.
And no, I did not finish this post in less than fifteen minutes.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
The Lynndie Shuffle
Can't stay quiet any longer.
This story bugs me: Iraqis Call Lynndie England Sentence Travesty
Now, I know that a lot of folks find what was done to prisoners at Abu Ghraib to be reprehensible, and a low point in American history. Personally, I find it merely silly, or at worst, mildly embarrassing.
The name Abu Ghraib is apparently supposed to evoke universal shudders. Television shows like "Law & Order" mention Abu Ghraib for dramatic effect, as though it's in the same class as Auschwitz or Treblinka.
Let me make this one perfectly clear: Compared to the way the Nazis treated non-Aryans, what Lynndie England did was a college prank.
Now, did she break the law? Absolutely. Was what they did at Abu Ghraib really an atrocity? Yeah, I'm embarrassed to admit that it was. Unfortunately, Lynndie England is the tip of the iceberg, and knowing something about young service people, she was also trying to survive in the environment created by her superiors. I did a search this morning for reports on Abu Ghraib, and the infamous pictures of her look to me like she was showing off for her immediate chain of command. She was clearly in over her head.
Not that I'm condoning what she did. I just think the sentence is appropriate.
And it pisses me off that Iraqis disagree.
Captured Americans (and citizens of other nations helping to rebuild Iraq) are being beheaded, and so far, not one of those butchers has even been caught. Are Iraqis demanding that the world know how embarrassed they are about the mistreatment of American (mostly noncombatant) prisoners?
Perhaps the lesson the Iraqis have for us today is that if you're going to be photographed committing an atrocity, it's best to wear a hood.
This story bugs me: Iraqis Call Lynndie England Sentence Travesty
Now, I know that a lot of folks find what was done to prisoners at Abu Ghraib to be reprehensible, and a low point in American history. Personally, I find it merely silly, or at worst, mildly embarrassing.
The name Abu Ghraib is apparently supposed to evoke universal shudders. Television shows like "Law & Order" mention Abu Ghraib for dramatic effect, as though it's in the same class as Auschwitz or Treblinka.
Let me make this one perfectly clear: Compared to the way the Nazis treated non-Aryans, what Lynndie England did was a college prank.
Now, did she break the law? Absolutely. Was what they did at Abu Ghraib really an atrocity? Yeah, I'm embarrassed to admit that it was. Unfortunately, Lynndie England is the tip of the iceberg, and knowing something about young service people, she was also trying to survive in the environment created by her superiors. I did a search this morning for reports on Abu Ghraib, and the infamous pictures of her look to me like she was showing off for her immediate chain of command. She was clearly in over her head.
Not that I'm condoning what she did. I just think the sentence is appropriate.
And it pisses me off that Iraqis disagree.
Captured Americans (and citizens of other nations helping to rebuild Iraq) are being beheaded, and so far, not one of those butchers has even been caught. Are Iraqis demanding that the world know how embarrassed they are about the mistreatment of American (mostly noncombatant) prisoners?
Perhaps the lesson the Iraqis have for us today is that if you're going to be photographed committing an atrocity, it's best to wear a hood.
Monday, September 26, 2005
Trophy
I have a hobby.
I am not particularly fanatical about it. Not in the same sense that many people are fanatical...nay, maniacal...about their hobbies. I enjoy it, and I have permited it to consume a good deal of my time over the last twenty years.
For most of the last twenty years, it's been a pretty solitary hobby for me...very little interaction with other hobbyists, except through the Internet. Quite frankly, there hasn't been too terribly much of that because the Internet allows one the freedom of anonymity, from which one can say nearly anything without fear of meaningful consequence. Forums for hobbyists are generally full of pseudo-experts and blow-hards, and quite frankly, I get enough of that elsewhere in my life, I don't want to waste too much of my free time on such people.
It's not so much a solitary thing any more, particularly after last weekend.
Okay, so what's the hobby, Kurt?
I enjoy computer flight simulation.
I started twenty years ago when I was learning to fly real airplanes, as a way of practicing my navigating skills. Back then, that was all it was good for...on a Commodore 64. It's come a long way since then, and I submit this picture as evidence: No, this is not a sunset shot of a real airplane descending into clouds over the ocean, it's a virtual airplane, created entirely in the computer.
And I'm the guy flying it.
Now, ordinarily, it takes years to get to the point where anyone will trust you with a multi-million-dollar airplane in real life, but anybody with $30 is welcome to try it out in the sim.
I stopped flying real airplanes when it got prohibitively expensive, but by then, I was hooked on the hobby. I've always loved airplanes, and if you spend any amount of time around me at all, you'll notice that I look skyward at every airplane I hear. Combine that with a thin wallet, and it's easy to understand why I enjoy flight simulators.
Sure, if I loved flying enough, I could figure out a way to do it...lots of guys do. But consider this: aviation fuel is 50% more expensive than the stuff you put in your car. An airplane such as the one in the picture costs about $600 an hour to operate, if you own it. You can rent one for about $1,000 an hour. There's a lot of sacrifice in every tank. (Contrast that with the time I've spent with that airplane in the sim: it's cost me about five bucks an hour, if you include the cost of my current computer.)
Mostly, what I enjoy is the learning about airplanes. I enjoy knowing about them. These days, the simulator aircraft you buy for $30 or so work exactly like the real thing, and that's pretty amazing. The Navy issues a copy of Microsoft's Flight Simulator to every one of its flight school students, because doing so means fewer accidents when those same students climb in the cockpit of a real airplane.
I can't deny that there's a certain amount of escapism to the hobby for me. I've now flown nearly all the way around the virtual world with the airplane in that picture...that's my most recent approach, to Christmas Island, about 6 hours flying time or eleven hundred miles south of Hawaii, depending on how you reckon it. I've got just three legs remaining on my round the world flight...17 hours total flying time, or so. I've visited a number of virtual places on this trip that I've visited in real life: Malaga, Dubai, Perth and others. It's nice to remember those places.
But how can a solo round-the-world virtual flight not be a solitary thing?
Okay, that is, but the hobby itself isn't...I spent most of last weekend in the company of other folks involved in the same hobby when I attended the Avsim Convention. I've recently found a club here in San Diego...a group of like-minded guys who get together once a month and talk about flying and flight simulation and airplanes. They're a cool bunch of guys.
And that airplane in the picture? In July, the developers of that particular add-on for Microsoft's Flight Simulator invited me to join their beta test team. So, I flew their airplane in my kitchen for about three weeks of evenings, and did my level best to make sure it worked the way the real one does. Along the way, the lead developer and I became friends.
And last weekend, because he couldn't be at the convention, I got to walk up on stage and accept the award they won for their airplane. It was quite an honor to be their representative.
I am not particularly fanatical about it. Not in the same sense that many people are fanatical...nay, maniacal...about their hobbies. I enjoy it, and I have permited it to consume a good deal of my time over the last twenty years.
For most of the last twenty years, it's been a pretty solitary hobby for me...very little interaction with other hobbyists, except through the Internet. Quite frankly, there hasn't been too terribly much of that because the Internet allows one the freedom of anonymity, from which one can say nearly anything without fear of meaningful consequence. Forums for hobbyists are generally full of pseudo-experts and blow-hards, and quite frankly, I get enough of that elsewhere in my life, I don't want to waste too much of my free time on such people.
It's not so much a solitary thing any more, particularly after last weekend.
Okay, so what's the hobby, Kurt?
I enjoy computer flight simulation.
I started twenty years ago when I was learning to fly real airplanes, as a way of practicing my navigating skills. Back then, that was all it was good for...on a Commodore 64. It's come a long way since then, and I submit this picture as evidence: No, this is not a sunset shot of a real airplane descending into clouds over the ocean, it's a virtual airplane, created entirely in the computer.And I'm the guy flying it.
Now, ordinarily, it takes years to get to the point where anyone will trust you with a multi-million-dollar airplane in real life, but anybody with $30 is welcome to try it out in the sim.
I stopped flying real airplanes when it got prohibitively expensive, but by then, I was hooked on the hobby. I've always loved airplanes, and if you spend any amount of time around me at all, you'll notice that I look skyward at every airplane I hear. Combine that with a thin wallet, and it's easy to understand why I enjoy flight simulators.
Sure, if I loved flying enough, I could figure out a way to do it...lots of guys do. But consider this: aviation fuel is 50% more expensive than the stuff you put in your car. An airplane such as the one in the picture costs about $600 an hour to operate, if you own it. You can rent one for about $1,000 an hour. There's a lot of sacrifice in every tank. (Contrast that with the time I've spent with that airplane in the sim: it's cost me about five bucks an hour, if you include the cost of my current computer.)
Mostly, what I enjoy is the learning about airplanes. I enjoy knowing about them. These days, the simulator aircraft you buy for $30 or so work exactly like the real thing, and that's pretty amazing. The Navy issues a copy of Microsoft's Flight Simulator to every one of its flight school students, because doing so means fewer accidents when those same students climb in the cockpit of a real airplane.
I can't deny that there's a certain amount of escapism to the hobby for me. I've now flown nearly all the way around the virtual world with the airplane in that picture...that's my most recent approach, to Christmas Island, about 6 hours flying time or eleven hundred miles south of Hawaii, depending on how you reckon it. I've got just three legs remaining on my round the world flight...17 hours total flying time, or so. I've visited a number of virtual places on this trip that I've visited in real life: Malaga, Dubai, Perth and others. It's nice to remember those places.
But how can a solo round-the-world virtual flight not be a solitary thing?
Okay, that is, but the hobby itself isn't...I spent most of last weekend in the company of other folks involved in the same hobby when I attended the Avsim Convention. I've recently found a club here in San Diego...a group of like-minded guys who get together once a month and talk about flying and flight simulation and airplanes. They're a cool bunch of guys.
And that airplane in the picture? In July, the developers of that particular add-on for Microsoft's Flight Simulator invited me to join their beta test team. So, I flew their airplane in my kitchen for about three weeks of evenings, and did my level best to make sure it worked the way the real one does. Along the way, the lead developer and I became friends.
And last weekend, because he couldn't be at the convention, I got to walk up on stage and accept the award they won for their airplane. It was quite an honor to be their representative.
Friday, September 16, 2005
I'll Have The Ravioli With Meat Sauce And Boobs, Please
I am pleased to report that there is justice in the world: Today was the first day of RadiantSmile's new visitation plan, which gives her malignant ex just three days every two weeks, instead of alternate weeks.
RadiantSmile and I celebrated with an impromptu lunch meeting, in between her flight in with her son and her flight out without him. I took her to a wonderful Italian place in Point Loma called La Scala. A conversation with my usual waiter generally starts like this:
Waiter: "Good evening, and welcome to La Scala. What can I get for you this evening?"
Customer: "Well, what's good here?"
W: "I was hoping you'd tell me."
C: "Yes, well, how's the lasagna?"
W: "I'm not sure we have that here. This is an Italian restaurant, after all. Just in case you were confused."
C: "Oh --"
W: "I hear the Chinese is really good here, though."
C: "Okay --"
W: "I wouldn't know, because I never eat here."
C: "Never?"
W: "Never. The waiter never washes his hands."
And so it goes. I had hoped to share that amusing experience with RadiantSmile today, but he wasn't around and we were served by the owner, instead. The owner's a very sweet lady who treats everyone as though they are sitting down for a meal in her home. There is a great deal of trust involved in being served by this terrific lady: she rarely speaks above a mumble, and with a very heavy accent, to boot. She can be intimidating...in that way that only Italian women can be. As she cleared RadiantSmile's plate, she looked at mine, which still had a crust of garlic bread on it, and said, "You're not done. You eat all your bread...then you're done." And then she smiled and walked away without clearing my plate.
It was not difficult to imagine that, if this actually were her kitchen we were eating in, she'd have smacked the back of my head for emphasis.
I finished the garlic bread.
Anyhow...RadiantSmile and I shared the usual easy conversation about life, love, anything, you name it. Keeping up with each other's lives in greater detail than is possible on the phone or by e-mail. It was a leisurely and intimate conversation, the kind you can only have with a friend to whom you'd gladly give a kidney. The kind of leisurely and intimate conversation you might have when you have an Italian restaurant all to yourselves.
After one particular quiet moment, RadiantSmile casually leans forward and says, "I went to see the surgeon who did my lumpectomy. I'm thinking about having some reconstructive surgery done."
I knew, of course, that she had had a sizable lump removed earlier this year and that the lump had turned out to be benign. I had no idea that what had been removed had been enough to require reconstructive surgery, though, and I said so. It's not surprising, since she's small-breasted, but still, you know, from her description of the surgery, they'd removed the lump with a needle.
Clearly, I had an incorrect impression, though RadiantSmile is far too gracious to put it that way.
"The surgeon did a terrific job," she said, "and there's hardly any scar, but one boob is smaller than the other, and it's noticable enough that I didn't want to wear a bathing suit all summer."
Okay.
"The surgeon is a woman and she understands body image from a woman's point of view, but she thinks I'm being ridiculous about it."
Okay.
"I hate seeing the difference in the mirror when I get out of the shower every morning. I want my boobs to be the same size again. Is that crazy?"
No, I assure her. It is not crazy or ridiculous to want to correct things about our bodies that we're uncomfortable with.
She casts a furtive glance around the restaurant, and says, "There's no one else here to see, so would you be offended if I showed you what I mean?"
Um. Hmm.
A number of possible responses appeared, menu-fashion, on the monitor of my Inner Monologue Processor. You know, the device that lets you play several possible conversations in your head before you actually respond to a question that might get you in trouble (or if you're a guy, might get you laid). Those most useful responses were:
a) No, I wouldn't be offended at all.
b) Uh. Ahem. Uh. Ahem.
c) Yes, please.
d) Free the Twins! Free the Twins!
e) Hot diggity! If those are for lunch, what's for supper?
Now, I need to make it clear exactly how confused I was at this juncture. RadiantSmile and I are, after all, not romantically involved. I managed to pull together enough functioning neurons to offer answer "a" for her consideration, and she seemed quite pleased with that one, so I'm reasonably sure I didn't screw up.
She expanded on her story a little more, for effect, and then, after one last quick glance around the restaurant, she pulled the collar of her shirt down to show me...er...what she meant.
Yes, I agreed. They are clearly different sizes. And given that the difference is so obvious, I can certainly understand why she might want to get reconstructive surgery. I told her that, as a man who has dated a woman with augmented breasts, I can say from experience that they do not feel natural at all...my opinion, of course. I told her that if she's doing it purely for herself and how she feels when she looks in the mirror, then she should do what makes her feel best.
And I also told her (with absolute honesty) that I think her breasts are perfect just exactly the way they are, and that she can feel free to show them to me again any time she likes. Honesty is, after all, the absolute best policy.
Hours later, I am still struck by that moment. I must say, it differed a bit from my fantasies.
I don't understand much about women. Very little, in fact. One thing I do know is that women continually test the men in their acquaintance. They do it all the time. So, I am aware that this discussion of her breasts was another of her tests; a cautious foray into deeper intimacy* with a man she trusts. On some level, she wants me to notice her sexually, even if she's unwilling to have sex.
On another, far more important level, she's reached a point where she trusts me with the details of her body image. It's certainly not uncommon for a woman to casually remark that she misses the body she had before she had a baby, or that she wishes she had smallerbiggerfirmerfuller breasts/ass/thighs/tummy, but it's entirely different for a woman to ask, "does this flaw matter to you?"
I don't know. It's entirely possible that, living as I do in a constant testosterone-induced mental fog, I don't get it at all. It's been pretty well established that I am a dork.
*Okay, perhaps not so cautious, being as she was showing me her breasts in a restaurant.
RadiantSmile and I celebrated with an impromptu lunch meeting, in between her flight in with her son and her flight out without him. I took her to a wonderful Italian place in Point Loma called La Scala. A conversation with my usual waiter generally starts like this:
Waiter: "Good evening, and welcome to La Scala. What can I get for you this evening?"
Customer: "Well, what's good here?"
W: "I was hoping you'd tell me."
C: "Yes, well, how's the lasagna?"
W: "I'm not sure we have that here. This is an Italian restaurant, after all. Just in case you were confused."
C: "Oh --"
W: "I hear the Chinese is really good here, though."
C: "Okay --"
W: "I wouldn't know, because I never eat here."
C: "Never?"
W: "Never. The waiter never washes his hands."
And so it goes. I had hoped to share that amusing experience with RadiantSmile today, but he wasn't around and we were served by the owner, instead. The owner's a very sweet lady who treats everyone as though they are sitting down for a meal in her home. There is a great deal of trust involved in being served by this terrific lady: she rarely speaks above a mumble, and with a very heavy accent, to boot. She can be intimidating...in that way that only Italian women can be. As she cleared RadiantSmile's plate, she looked at mine, which still had a crust of garlic bread on it, and said, "You're not done. You eat all your bread...then you're done." And then she smiled and walked away without clearing my plate.
It was not difficult to imagine that, if this actually were her kitchen we were eating in, she'd have smacked the back of my head for emphasis.
I finished the garlic bread.
Anyhow...RadiantSmile and I shared the usual easy conversation about life, love, anything, you name it. Keeping up with each other's lives in greater detail than is possible on the phone or by e-mail. It was a leisurely and intimate conversation, the kind you can only have with a friend to whom you'd gladly give a kidney. The kind of leisurely and intimate conversation you might have when you have an Italian restaurant all to yourselves.
After one particular quiet moment, RadiantSmile casually leans forward and says, "I went to see the surgeon who did my lumpectomy. I'm thinking about having some reconstructive surgery done."
I knew, of course, that she had had a sizable lump removed earlier this year and that the lump had turned out to be benign. I had no idea that what had been removed had been enough to require reconstructive surgery, though, and I said so. It's not surprising, since she's small-breasted, but still, you know, from her description of the surgery, they'd removed the lump with a needle.
Clearly, I had an incorrect impression, though RadiantSmile is far too gracious to put it that way.
"The surgeon did a terrific job," she said, "and there's hardly any scar, but one boob is smaller than the other, and it's noticable enough that I didn't want to wear a bathing suit all summer."
Okay.
"The surgeon is a woman and she understands body image from a woman's point of view, but she thinks I'm being ridiculous about it."
Okay.
"I hate seeing the difference in the mirror when I get out of the shower every morning. I want my boobs to be the same size again. Is that crazy?"
No, I assure her. It is not crazy or ridiculous to want to correct things about our bodies that we're uncomfortable with.
She casts a furtive glance around the restaurant, and says, "There's no one else here to see, so would you be offended if I showed you what I mean?"
Um. Hmm.
A number of possible responses appeared, menu-fashion, on the monitor of my Inner Monologue Processor. You know, the device that lets you play several possible conversations in your head before you actually respond to a question that might get you in trouble (or if you're a guy, might get you laid). Those most useful responses were:
a) No, I wouldn't be offended at all.
b) Uh. Ahem. Uh. Ahem.
c) Yes, please.
d) Free the Twins! Free the Twins!
e) Hot diggity! If those are for lunch, what's for supper?
Now, I need to make it clear exactly how confused I was at this juncture. RadiantSmile and I are, after all, not romantically involved. I managed to pull together enough functioning neurons to offer answer "a" for her consideration, and she seemed quite pleased with that one, so I'm reasonably sure I didn't screw up.
She expanded on her story a little more, for effect, and then, after one last quick glance around the restaurant, she pulled the collar of her shirt down to show me...er...what she meant.
Yes, I agreed. They are clearly different sizes. And given that the difference is so obvious, I can certainly understand why she might want to get reconstructive surgery. I told her that, as a man who has dated a woman with augmented breasts, I can say from experience that they do not feel natural at all...my opinion, of course. I told her that if she's doing it purely for herself and how she feels when she looks in the mirror, then she should do what makes her feel best.
And I also told her (with absolute honesty) that I think her breasts are perfect just exactly the way they are, and that she can feel free to show them to me again any time she likes. Honesty is, after all, the absolute best policy.
Hours later, I am still struck by that moment. I must say, it differed a bit from my fantasies.
I don't understand much about women. Very little, in fact. One thing I do know is that women continually test the men in their acquaintance. They do it all the time. So, I am aware that this discussion of her breasts was another of her tests; a cautious foray into deeper intimacy* with a man she trusts. On some level, she wants me to notice her sexually, even if she's unwilling to have sex.
On another, far more important level, she's reached a point where she trusts me with the details of her body image. It's certainly not uncommon for a woman to casually remark that she misses the body she had before she had a baby, or that she wishes she had smallerbiggerfirmerfuller breasts/ass/thighs/tummy, but it's entirely different for a woman to ask, "does this flaw matter to you?"
I don't know. It's entirely possible that, living as I do in a constant testosterone-induced mental fog, I don't get it at all. It's been pretty well established that I am a dork.
*Okay, perhaps not so cautious, being as she was showing me her breasts in a restaurant.
Once In A While...
A website comes along that fairly requires that I link to it and needs no introduction...
http://www.extremeironing.com/
http://www.extremeironing.com/
Friday, September 02, 2005
Nola
My friend Kris, who has the same birthday I do and until Sunday lived in New Orleans, is fine. She's a little unsure of what's in store at the moment, as her ATM card doesn't work and she had to be out of her Alabama motel room this morning. She wrote that she had been eating at a mission, where she "was NOT mistaken for a homeless person." She is a gentle and genteel Southern lady, and I have no doubt of that, at all. Hearing from her leaves me more deeply relieved than I can say.
Since Sherri expressed an interest in my thoughts, I reckon I'll share them. What follows is somewhat edited, as many of my thoughts regarding the state of affairs in New Orleans are unprintable.
I don't like what this says about America. I am embarrassed that we have a segment of our population that is so angrily disenfranchized that at the first opportunity for immediate gun-totin' gratification, they're off to the races.
I understand that relief operations take time. I remember the complaints that came in the wake of Hugo and Andrew about how slow the Federal Government was to respond, and it's worth noting here that the citizenry of Charleston and Dade County never behaved so badly that the local constabulary felt compelled to barricade themselves in their precinct houses.
The people who rant about how long it's taking to get help into the disaster area don't seem to understand that if the police can't offer enough security to keep themselves safe in their own parking lot, then emergency medical personnel, fire fighters and Red Cross relief workers (regardless of where they come from) cannot get to those who need help. "Where is the military?" they cry. That seems to be their question whenever things deteriorate so badly that nearly everyone else has given up, yet they never seem to remember to find funding when the budget is up for review.
I have just three words for those who ask why President Bush hasn't fired up the 1st Marine Division to help get the New Orleans Police out of their offices and back at their posts: Posse. Comitatus. Act.
For those of you who slept through US History in high school, let's review: The Posse Comitatus Act makes it illegal for members of the Army, Navy, Air Force or Marines to assist in search, seizure, arrest, or similar activities involving citizens of the United States.
Granted, the armed anarchists who now own New Orleans aren't acting much like citizens, but it's a safe bet that the ones who get brought to trial will demand their Constitutional Rights. As embarrassing as it is to admit it, they are American citizens, and that makes containing them a law enforcement problem, something the military cannot participate in.
So, bring in the National Guard. Why has it taken so long to bring in the National Guard? First, let's reiterate that until Wednesday, no one imagined that the situation would deteriorate so badly. Everyone knew that there would be a few looters, but who could imagine that they'd actively impede rescue efforts? And that there'd be enough of them that they'd so thoroughly overwhelm the police? There could not possibly have been a plan for bringing in combat troops before serious relief efforts could get underway.
By the way, the National Guard has been there since Wednesday, just not in the kind of numbers that could be considered helpful for security. As of this morning, there were about 15,000 National Guard troops on the ground in New Orleans, and another 30,000 or so on the way. According to GlobalSecurity.org, the state of Louisiana has about 11,500 members of its National Guard. So, neighboring states are sending roughly 34,000 troops to assist in relief efforts...34,000 men and women who until Wednesday evening around dinner time were probably still grousing about last week's cuts in the National Guard budget but grateful that the cuts made it less likely they'd have to go do a tour in Iraq. Or in some cases, a second tour.
There has been one amusing aspect to this disaster: The politicians are revealing truly dizzying intellects. Shortly before Katrina hit, one of them actually claimed that all that hard partying made them tough enough to handle any storm. He's now screaming for combat troops to get control of the situation. Another, after viewing the damage from the air said, "It looks like Hiroshima after the atomic bomb was dropped." (Sure, if you don't consider that Hiroshima was flattened and burned as opposed to flattened and flooded. Also, there were something like 70,000 dead in Hiroshima.)
Quite honestly, I've been doing my best to avoid the bulk of the reporting from New Orleans. It's not that I feel less horrified, or that I am less concerned than I should be, it's just that there is only so much horror a body can take. And besides, I've long since opened my eyes to the way the media exploits information to sell commercial air time. "Rescue Workers Bypassing The Dead! But first, is your dog getting enough cheese?"
I'd like to be able to summarize my feelings in a tightly written and witty paragraph, but I'm still sorting them out. Maybe it's just this: An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Wherever you live, set yourself up with a disaster kit, and keep it maintained. And whenever you have an opportunity to give a little to an organization that helps the disenfranchized, take it, because that homeless guy outside McDonald's may someday be there dressed like Rambo.
Since Sherri expressed an interest in my thoughts, I reckon I'll share them. What follows is somewhat edited, as many of my thoughts regarding the state of affairs in New Orleans are unprintable.
I don't like what this says about America. I am embarrassed that we have a segment of our population that is so angrily disenfranchized that at the first opportunity for immediate gun-totin' gratification, they're off to the races.
I understand that relief operations take time. I remember the complaints that came in the wake of Hugo and Andrew about how slow the Federal Government was to respond, and it's worth noting here that the citizenry of Charleston and Dade County never behaved so badly that the local constabulary felt compelled to barricade themselves in their precinct houses.
The people who rant about how long it's taking to get help into the disaster area don't seem to understand that if the police can't offer enough security to keep themselves safe in their own parking lot, then emergency medical personnel, fire fighters and Red Cross relief workers (regardless of where they come from) cannot get to those who need help. "Where is the military?" they cry. That seems to be their question whenever things deteriorate so badly that nearly everyone else has given up, yet they never seem to remember to find funding when the budget is up for review.
I have just three words for those who ask why President Bush hasn't fired up the 1st Marine Division to help get the New Orleans Police out of their offices and back at their posts: Posse. Comitatus. Act.
For those of you who slept through US History in high school, let's review: The Posse Comitatus Act makes it illegal for members of the Army, Navy, Air Force or Marines to assist in search, seizure, arrest, or similar activities involving citizens of the United States.
Granted, the armed anarchists who now own New Orleans aren't acting much like citizens, but it's a safe bet that the ones who get brought to trial will demand their Constitutional Rights. As embarrassing as it is to admit it, they are American citizens, and that makes containing them a law enforcement problem, something the military cannot participate in.
So, bring in the National Guard. Why has it taken so long to bring in the National Guard? First, let's reiterate that until Wednesday, no one imagined that the situation would deteriorate so badly. Everyone knew that there would be a few looters, but who could imagine that they'd actively impede rescue efforts? And that there'd be enough of them that they'd so thoroughly overwhelm the police? There could not possibly have been a plan for bringing in combat troops before serious relief efforts could get underway.
By the way, the National Guard has been there since Wednesday, just not in the kind of numbers that could be considered helpful for security. As of this morning, there were about 15,000 National Guard troops on the ground in New Orleans, and another 30,000 or so on the way. According to GlobalSecurity.org, the state of Louisiana has about 11,500 members of its National Guard. So, neighboring states are sending roughly 34,000 troops to assist in relief efforts...34,000 men and women who until Wednesday evening around dinner time were probably still grousing about last week's cuts in the National Guard budget but grateful that the cuts made it less likely they'd have to go do a tour in Iraq. Or in some cases, a second tour.
There has been one amusing aspect to this disaster: The politicians are revealing truly dizzying intellects. Shortly before Katrina hit, one of them actually claimed that all that hard partying made them tough enough to handle any storm. He's now screaming for combat troops to get control of the situation. Another, after viewing the damage from the air said, "It looks like Hiroshima after the atomic bomb was dropped." (Sure, if you don't consider that Hiroshima was flattened and burned as opposed to flattened and flooded. Also, there were something like 70,000 dead in Hiroshima.)
Quite honestly, I've been doing my best to avoid the bulk of the reporting from New Orleans. It's not that I feel less horrified, or that I am less concerned than I should be, it's just that there is only so much horror a body can take. And besides, I've long since opened my eyes to the way the media exploits information to sell commercial air time. "Rescue Workers Bypassing The Dead! But first, is your dog getting enough cheese?"
I'd like to be able to summarize my feelings in a tightly written and witty paragraph, but I'm still sorting them out. Maybe it's just this: An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Wherever you live, set yourself up with a disaster kit, and keep it maintained. And whenever you have an opportunity to give a little to an organization that helps the disenfranchized, take it, because that homeless guy outside McDonald's may someday be there dressed like Rambo.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
New Orleans
I wasn't going to comment on the situation in New Orleans, because I couldn't find the words. I have a friend who lives there, and I hope and pray she is okay.
A fellow flight simulation enthusiast is, in his "real" life, an air ambulance pilot out of Charlotte, North Carolina (small world, eh, Erica?), and he had this to say on his return from New Orleans this afternoon:
"Just got back. It's terrible. Worse than it looks on the news. We flew to Birmingham to tanker up on fuel so that we wouldn't have to get fuel in New Orleans (MSY) besides which I couldn't get a hold of anyone on the ground there to see if fuel was even available.
"On approach into MSY the sky was extremely hazy with smoke drifting into the air from the city. Apparently overnight the approach control got power because they did have radar coverage. The airport is still daytime VFR only though..no approaches and no runway lights so it is day-light only operations. There is also a Customs and Border Patrol P-3 Orion providing air traffic advisories in the area "Omaha-44".
"I didn't think we'd get the visual approach but at about 5 miles just as they were going to start a GCA approach for us (something I've done about 1 time in the past 7 years) we spotted the airfield through the murk. At about 1000' above the ground the smell started to seep in through the bleed system...I can't describe it other than to say it smelled like decay.
"Everywhere you looked there were helicopters scooting around the skies: Blackhawks, Coast Guard Dauphines, Hueys, news helicopters, EMS, etc... The approach controller and tower controllers sounded tired. As a matter of fact when we were leaving they cleared us into position and hold for a minute or two to wait for crossing helicopters and I think they forget they had a heavy FedEx plane on final because he queried if he was cleared to land and the controller quickly gave us our takeoff clearance with an "immediate" phrase...
"We taxied to the General Aviation ramp which is a combination Signature/Atlantic but the only thing there were a couple helicopters that were hot refueling and a pretty busy Signature guy that was doing all the fueling. He said all he had was what was in the trucks so I was glad we didn't have to use his fuel so he could save it for the helos.
"The airport was in surprisingly good condition and pretty much dry. All of the serious flooding occured on the east side of the Mississippi and we were on the west side. Buildings were obviously wrecked, airplanes twisted, other signs that the storm was there...but the basic infrastructure (runways, taxiways) were solid.
"Opening the door the first thing that hit me was the heat..oppressive heat and humidity, haze and obscured visibility. There was nobody there to meet us and we had no communications with our dispatch. No land lines or cell phones worked. In Birmingham our dispatch had indicated to us that they had lost all contact with the hospital we were supposed to be transporting for so we may or may not have a patient. I had the additional problem of being on the margin of my duty time. I was paged to fly at 11:30PM last night but since we couldn't get in until the sun came up we didn't depart for New Orleans until about 7AM. I only have 14 hours of duty time..we arrived in New Orleans at 10AM so I had to be airborne by noon to make it back in my 14 hour duty day.
"A few minutes after we got out a helicopter landed next to us and this guy hopped out and asked if we could take his patients. He was desperate to offload them and with our flight nurses and us (plus our other airplane which had arrived a few minutes after us) he figured we were a good mark. Our nurses explained to him that we were there for two specific critical vented patients and he said: "Great..I can be airborne and get you all the vented patients you want in a few minutes.." He didn't get that we were there for specific people...lottery winners if you will...and we all felt horrible that we couldn't take these other people.The three people he was carrying were very elderly, immobile old women. We carried them under an awning at Atlantic's ramp and gave them most of our water, Gatorade and some snacks...they hadn't had a drink of water in 2 days. They were on the margin...and everyone was just going to leave them there...out on this concrete ramp with nobody around..because everyone had something else to do..other victims to get. It was heartbreaking. Finally we convinced the Signature guy to call the other side of the airfield where there was a field hospital set up I think..and they came over and took them away. They were sweet old ladies..in obvious shock. I felt so guilty..so ashamed that I could not help them. Had my duty time been very close I had told the flight nurses we were going to put them on our airplane and fly them to Birmingham even if I ended up getting reprimanded (or fired). It was that bad.
"Then, to my great surprise, two pick-up trucks came through the gate of the airport with our actual patients in the beds. Each was attended by 4 nurses because they were intubated and they had to manually "bag" them all the way from the hospital in New Orleans (40 minutes or so drive). Just patients laying in the back of pick-up trucks with all manner of tubes and equipment.
"We transfered them to our equipment and I'll never forget the look of despair and exhaustion in those nurses eyes. They were dealing with gun wielding looters, druggies, sick people, their own personal crisis, and a million other things. One of the nurses looked at us (the pilots and flight nurses) and started crying. She was weeping and saying she didn't think anyone was going to come. We gave them the last of our water and Gatorade bottles and told them we would definitely be back. They were extremely grateful..in tears again.
"I've been doing this for 7 years..I've seen all manner of accidents, traumas, limbs torn loose, gunshot wounds to the head, amputations, burns, cancer, AIDS, Hepatitis..you name it, I've seen it. I've never seen anything like this. Helicopters shuttling back and forth constantly, just dropping people off to a completely overwhelmed field hospital. Very sick people that would be lucky to live through the heat of the day. And the despair of the people working the disaster...they are on the edge...walking zombies almost. I can't describe my feelings...I felt helpless.
"And I felt angry too. The airport is in very good condition. There was only one C-141 on the ramp. I saw no heavy lift helicopters like CH-47s or 53s...a few Blackhawks..but mostly civil EMS and news helicopters. I know this is going to press slightly into WCE but it is my firm belief, sitting there looking at the airport and the operations that are going on there, that the federal government effort on this catastrophy is not a very committed one. And I hazard to say that if this had happened in Naples, Florida or Hilton Head, SC that the full force and effect of the federal government would swing into action. Where this happened, and who it happened to are defining the response...and it is sorely lacking. This needs to be a full on military operation. It is sad and it is terrible. The conditions are truly terrible...and I only witnessed a slice of it.
"As soon as we landed we swapped crews and sent out our two airplanes again, this time loaded with cases of Gatorade and water as well. I'm going on my 10 hours of duty rest and I'm sure we'll swap out again at midnight..although we might have to way until dawn for our crack at it again.Anyway..that is what I saw. After watching the looting and crazy activity on the news (shooting at helicopters trying to move people from the roof of the hospital!!??) the past few days I can now discount those people as truly low-life scum..wheras the majority of the people in that city are just plain suffering. Proof that nature's wrath knows no difference between super-power and the 3rd world..."
A fellow flight simulation enthusiast is, in his "real" life, an air ambulance pilot out of Charlotte, North Carolina (small world, eh, Erica?), and he had this to say on his return from New Orleans this afternoon:
"Just got back. It's terrible. Worse than it looks on the news. We flew to Birmingham to tanker up on fuel so that we wouldn't have to get fuel in New Orleans (MSY) besides which I couldn't get a hold of anyone on the ground there to see if fuel was even available.
"On approach into MSY the sky was extremely hazy with smoke drifting into the air from the city. Apparently overnight the approach control got power because they did have radar coverage. The airport is still daytime VFR only though..no approaches and no runway lights so it is day-light only operations. There is also a Customs and Border Patrol P-3 Orion providing air traffic advisories in the area "Omaha-44".
"I didn't think we'd get the visual approach but at about 5 miles just as they were going to start a GCA approach for us (something I've done about 1 time in the past 7 years) we spotted the airfield through the murk. At about 1000' above the ground the smell started to seep in through the bleed system...I can't describe it other than to say it smelled like decay.
"Everywhere you looked there were helicopters scooting around the skies: Blackhawks, Coast Guard Dauphines, Hueys, news helicopters, EMS, etc... The approach controller and tower controllers sounded tired. As a matter of fact when we were leaving they cleared us into position and hold for a minute or two to wait for crossing helicopters and I think they forget they had a heavy FedEx plane on final because he queried if he was cleared to land and the controller quickly gave us our takeoff clearance with an "immediate" phrase...
"We taxied to the General Aviation ramp which is a combination Signature/Atlantic but the only thing there were a couple helicopters that were hot refueling and a pretty busy Signature guy that was doing all the fueling. He said all he had was what was in the trucks so I was glad we didn't have to use his fuel so he could save it for the helos.
"The airport was in surprisingly good condition and pretty much dry. All of the serious flooding occured on the east side of the Mississippi and we were on the west side. Buildings were obviously wrecked, airplanes twisted, other signs that the storm was there...but the basic infrastructure (runways, taxiways) were solid.
"Opening the door the first thing that hit me was the heat..oppressive heat and humidity, haze and obscured visibility. There was nobody there to meet us and we had no communications with our dispatch. No land lines or cell phones worked. In Birmingham our dispatch had indicated to us that they had lost all contact with the hospital we were supposed to be transporting for so we may or may not have a patient. I had the additional problem of being on the margin of my duty time. I was paged to fly at 11:30PM last night but since we couldn't get in until the sun came up we didn't depart for New Orleans until about 7AM. I only have 14 hours of duty time..we arrived in New Orleans at 10AM so I had to be airborne by noon to make it back in my 14 hour duty day.
"A few minutes after we got out a helicopter landed next to us and this guy hopped out and asked if we could take his patients. He was desperate to offload them and with our flight nurses and us (plus our other airplane which had arrived a few minutes after us) he figured we were a good mark. Our nurses explained to him that we were there for two specific critical vented patients and he said: "Great..I can be airborne and get you all the vented patients you want in a few minutes.." He didn't get that we were there for specific people...lottery winners if you will...and we all felt horrible that we couldn't take these other people.The three people he was carrying were very elderly, immobile old women. We carried them under an awning at Atlantic's ramp and gave them most of our water, Gatorade and some snacks...they hadn't had a drink of water in 2 days. They were on the margin...and everyone was just going to leave them there...out on this concrete ramp with nobody around..because everyone had something else to do..other victims to get. It was heartbreaking. Finally we convinced the Signature guy to call the other side of the airfield where there was a field hospital set up I think..and they came over and took them away. They were sweet old ladies..in obvious shock. I felt so guilty..so ashamed that I could not help them. Had my duty time been very close I had told the flight nurses we were going to put them on our airplane and fly them to Birmingham even if I ended up getting reprimanded (or fired). It was that bad.
"Then, to my great surprise, two pick-up trucks came through the gate of the airport with our actual patients in the beds. Each was attended by 4 nurses because they were intubated and they had to manually "bag" them all the way from the hospital in New Orleans (40 minutes or so drive). Just patients laying in the back of pick-up trucks with all manner of tubes and equipment.
"We transfered them to our equipment and I'll never forget the look of despair and exhaustion in those nurses eyes. They were dealing with gun wielding looters, druggies, sick people, their own personal crisis, and a million other things. One of the nurses looked at us (the pilots and flight nurses) and started crying. She was weeping and saying she didn't think anyone was going to come. We gave them the last of our water and Gatorade bottles and told them we would definitely be back. They were extremely grateful..in tears again.
"I've been doing this for 7 years..I've seen all manner of accidents, traumas, limbs torn loose, gunshot wounds to the head, amputations, burns, cancer, AIDS, Hepatitis..you name it, I've seen it. I've never seen anything like this. Helicopters shuttling back and forth constantly, just dropping people off to a completely overwhelmed field hospital. Very sick people that would be lucky to live through the heat of the day. And the despair of the people working the disaster...they are on the edge...walking zombies almost. I can't describe my feelings...I felt helpless.
"And I felt angry too. The airport is in very good condition. There was only one C-141 on the ramp. I saw no heavy lift helicopters like CH-47s or 53s...a few Blackhawks..but mostly civil EMS and news helicopters. I know this is going to press slightly into WCE but it is my firm belief, sitting there looking at the airport and the operations that are going on there, that the federal government effort on this catastrophy is not a very committed one. And I hazard to say that if this had happened in Naples, Florida or Hilton Head, SC that the full force and effect of the federal government would swing into action. Where this happened, and who it happened to are defining the response...and it is sorely lacking. This needs to be a full on military operation. It is sad and it is terrible. The conditions are truly terrible...and I only witnessed a slice of it.
"As soon as we landed we swapped crews and sent out our two airplanes again, this time loaded with cases of Gatorade and water as well. I'm going on my 10 hours of duty rest and I'm sure we'll swap out again at midnight..although we might have to way until dawn for our crack at it again.Anyway..that is what I saw. After watching the looting and crazy activity on the news (shooting at helicopters trying to move people from the roof of the hospital!!??) the past few days I can now discount those people as truly low-life scum..wheras the majority of the people in that city are just plain suffering. Proof that nature's wrath knows no difference between super-power and the 3rd world..."
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