There are comfy chairs in the lobby

I call it Headless Chicken Syndrome: A condition that occurs during a crisis when everyone is in charge at the same time. This is actually worse than nobody being in charge, because in the total absence of leadership you are free to look out for yourself.

When everybody is in charge at once, you are expected to follow a series of leaders who are not on the same page and whose instructions frequently contradict one another.

CorpWorld is currently suffering from a raging case of HCS right now – precipitated by a malfunction in the fire suppression systems.

The first indication of this was an announcement over the loudspeakers telling us that there was a possible fire event and that we should “gather our belongings” in preparation to evacuate the building.

This is stupid for many reasons. First off, this gets everybody alarmed – because everyone hears two words “Fire” and “evacuate” and everything else goes out the other side of their head.

With belligerents like me, these kinds of messages are taken literally. I get my stuff together, and I keep working at my desk. I’m ready to bail, but I haven’t been told to bail yet.

The herds of people who are fixated on the word “evacuate” rustle around uncomfortably, suggesting that we should probably get moving. Being me, I say we weren’t told to leave, and there is no alarm going off.

The simple fact that discussion of this issue is taking place erodes the resolve of others who were thinking of staying. “Hmm," they think – "might as well go…”

So, now the message has fractured the response of the staff. We are of two minds, both perfectly defensible.

People start asking about how they should get out, should the alarm happen to go off. People begin smelling something “is that smoke? Is something burning?” This gets communicated through the grapevine at the speed of panic.

Then, the sprinkler system goes off in the unit next to mine. There is no alarm.

This settles it. The sound of spraying water and pissed off staff is the final straw. Everybody bails. Early suggestions are to go down to the cafeteria.

I’m like, “there are comfy chairs in the lobby.” And – oh by the way – going to the cafeteria would mean going through the sprinklers. My immediate group is won over by this, but the bulk of the floor appears to be heading straight towards the part of the building that is rapidly getting soaked.

The desire to get out of the building as quick as possible overrides any idea of the lobby (which is in a separate building, connected by an enclosed causeway). We go out, and stand outside waiting for instructions.

None arrive. Walking around to the cafeteria side of the building, we see a huge number of people similarly milling about.

Movement.

We see a group of people filing back into the building through the cafeteria doors.

At this point, we’re not technically in headless chicken mode – since nobody’s running the show. I’m basing my movements on what I can see, and so are the people around me. The flow into the building gets to a tipping point and we decide to go in, too.

On the way in we can see waterfalls coming from the floor above the cafeteria. The water is coming from our floor. Judging from the amount of water, the unit next to ours got hit pretty good.

People are setting up buckets, blowers have been set up. “There was no fire,” sayeth the grapevine.

With that, I decide to go back to my desk. Unless and until I’m told to go home, I’m getting some work done today, dammit.

Our area is fine, but there is a powerfully bad smell that is either deep-fried electrical, or backed up sewer. I boot up and get back to work. The bustle and excitement starts up and it’s pretty clear that work is going to get sidelined while everybody deconstructs what just happened.

So be it. Earbuds in. I start typing.

Word arrives from nowhere that the power is going to be shut off. Shortly after this happens – my computer switches off – but the lights stay on.

Ok. I can take a hint. I undock the laptop, stuff it in a bag- and get ready to roll.

A lady in grey I’ve never seen before shows up at our aisle “They want everyone down in the cafeteria.”

This makes no sense at all. The cafeteria has wet floors and dripping ceilings. The grapevine’s saying that parts of the ceiling are falling down.

I look again at Grey Lady. She’s not in a uniform, she doesn’t have a radio, it’s pretty obvious she’s just like us – another clueless office worker.

Again I point out – there are comfy chairs in the lobby, and there’s no water either.

This wins converts in my unit. We used to have regular meetings in the lobby, so this is an easy location for people to comprehend and locate.

We pirouette awhile, looking for stragglers – the boss is out, our team leader is out. Nobody has any idea how much latitude they have to decide what to do next. The usual backup people are unavailable. I try to get a head count of the people in my area, but it’s pretty clear there is no real danger, and I just want to get out. The lobby is nice, but it only has a few chairs.

We go. Plenty of other people have the same idea, and we’re in a sea of people swapping theories on what happened and what should happen next.

I boot up. Screw it. I have a full battery, wireless and a comfy chair. I’m good.

Headless chicken syndrome now begins. A woman I don’t know suggests that we go downstairs.

Now, again - If you are in charge or taking charge – you should not equivocate. “I need your attention! Everyone follow me downstairs!”

This would have been acceptable. Blue Lady does not do this. She suggests we go downstairs, and then appears miffed when I ask her if we have to, or if this really is a suggestion.
“Well, the directors are going to give you more information downstairs, so I suggest you get moving.”

The name dropping does the trick, but again – just say “The directors want everyone downstairs,” and to hell with this passive aggressive crap. You wanna run things? Then run things, fer crissake.

Down we go. We leave the sofas and cushy chairs and go into a stuffy, cramped room with wooden tables and chairs. All of which are occupied.

We stand.

I watch Blue Lady realize that she’s lead three roomfuls of people into a single room and she starts gesturing for people to follow her out. We do. The next room is essentially the same, but has room to sit down.

I do, boot up and get back to work.

People start scrounging for network connections and power outlets, but again: battery is at 79% and I have wireless. I have a crappy chair, but I can work.

Awhile later our boss’s boss shows up. BB does not know most of us and sees us only en mass. They check in, and leave.

Man in White appears and informs us that the sprinklers went off in our building and that we should sit tight until there is more information.

Presumably, this man is in charge of something. I hope it isn’t something important.

I get some things done and go to lunch – maybe the dust will have settled by the time I get back. I wander aimlessly through the wasteland around work and settle on something so forgettable that I honestly can’t remember what it was.

I get back and on my way through the lobby, I see most of my unit. They’re in the comfy chairs and I pull up, boot up and get busy.

Word is, in about twenty minutes we’ll be allowed to visit our desks and get our belongings and stuff we need for work. Having already done that, I’m wondering if I need to go back to my desk.

We are then told by Helpful Person that we need to go downstairs again. Downstairs is cramped, uncomfortable, and further away from our desks (that we about to visit) but we comply. After all, Helpful Person said we should.

Downstairs again – we reunite with members of the unit and wait for our “turn” to be escorted back to our desks. I opt to say at the damn table. My battery’s still good and all my documents I can get through wireless.

Forty minutes later, we are asked to go up to a room that has been prepared for us. How nice, but I’m already working and unless there’s a reason why I can’t stay-

There is – Guy in Black would like us to go upstairs. “The lobby has-“ oh, skip it.

The upstairs room has desks all along the outside walls, each with a desktop computer on them. My entire unit has their laptops with them. As we like our laptops, we fish out our network cables, push aside the desktop’s keyboard, and set up.

Work begins to happen. We are in a room with other units and they are loud and annoying. Earbuds in. Work.

This is a partial solution; it blunts the sound, but doesn’t keep it out. I deal.

About an hour later, I hear the following over the din:

“Oh, you guys have laptops? We got guys upstairs looking for PCs.”

I laugh out loud. Next to me, BB hears this, too. “If they need desktops, we should probably move upstairs.” It makes sense, of course, but now we will move again.

That’s it. I’ve had it. I fold up, bag up and leave the room.

And here I sit, battery at 49% and wireless strength excellent – in the lobby.

Incredibly, I’m the only one here.

They can dish it out, but they can't take it.

Buh-
Buh-
Buh-Gawk!

Not that this is a surprise or anything, but the White House has a manual that details exactly how its staffers are to quash opposing viewpoints at presidential appearances.

White House Manual Details How to Deal With Protesters

...Among other things, any event must be open only to those with tickets tightly controlled by organizers. Those entering must be screened in case they are hiding secret signs. Any anti-Bush demonstrators who manage to get in anyway should be shouted down by "rally squads" stationed in strategic locations. And if that does not work, they should be thrown out.

...
The manual offers advance staffers and volunteers who help set up presidential events guidelines for assembling crowds. Those invited into a VIP section on or near the stage, for instance, must be " extremely supportive of the Administration," it says. While the Secret Service screens audiences only for possible threats, the manual says, volunteers should examine people before they reach security checkpoints and look out for signs. Make sure to look for "folded cloth signs," it advises.

To counter any demonstrators who do get in, advance teams are told to create "rally squads" of volunteers with large hand-held signs, placards or banners with "favorable messages." Squads should be placed in strategic locations and "at least one squad should be 'roaming' throughout the perimeter of the event to look for potential problems," the manual says.

"These squads should be instructed always to look for demonstrators," it says. "The rally squad's task is to use their signs and banners as shields between the demonstrators and the main press platform. If the demonstrators are yelling, rally squads can begin and lead supportive chants to drown out the protestors (USA!, USA!, USA!). As a last resort, security should remove the demonstrators from the event site."

Of course, anytime this administration actually exposes its people to the American public, they get treatment like this. Or this. (Headphones required)

Pretty sad state of affairs.

Even sadder than the guys who wrote this manual would be the volunteers actually in the "rally squads." I ask you, how pathetic are these guys?

"Yeah, um - I was tasked with protecting the president's from learning what people think of him."

Weak.

Bow before the Oracle...

Moment of silence, please.

The Oracle of Cheese has decided to stop blogging.

Totally understand. The blog is a time eating beast, and sometimes while you write about life - you're taking time away from actually living.

I would not have thought that C would be the blogging type - but damn he did good work. Informed, critical and always entertaining.

Thanks, man - it was great reading you.

P.S. They blocked the punt!!!

Pulling our chain

Well, that was fun.

After all the drama involved in preparing for the home inspection - it would appear that we needn't have bothered.

The home inspection came back with thirty pages of items they would like fixed in three weeks, or they won't buy.

In other words, they want out.

They've listed items like re-grading our yard and driveway, installing drywall in the basement, and raising our cabinetry so that it is the required eighteen inches over the stove burners (they are currently 16 and 1/2 inches above them).

It could obviously have been worse - we could have put offers out there ourselves, could have booked the movers, could have started the cash burn that all moves turn out to be, but it's still a major pain in the butt.

Square one.

What she said...

Digby pretty much nails the issue of the Dems offering the 4th amendment up to the president on a silver platter.

Worth a read, but don't read it while doing anything more than light activity or your heart will explode.

Arrgh! Curse you, New England!

I only got 46.

How many states can you list in ten minutes?

Sans map, that is.

(Found on Sivacracy.net)

Imagine you are…

..a rain gutter downspout. No, really.

Like all downspouts, you are a complete bastard.

Despite or perhaps because of the fact that your job is intermittent and unchallenging – (all you do is route water from the roof of the house down to the ground) you have lots of time to focus on your bastard-ness.

Okay, focus– you’re a downspout. You can fail at any time. You learn that your owners are selling the house.

Do you fail:

• Immediately?
  No. This would be tipping your hand too soon. Your owners would simply fix before the house ever hit the market.
• When there's buttloads of rain pouring down for a week?
  Oh, please. Show some imagination. This is a given.
  
• after the house is for sale?
  No. Again, far too soon.
• After the house has an accepted offer?
  Better, but remember – you’re a downspout. You have to raise the bar of bastardry.
• One day before the house inspection (that the sale is contingent upon)?
  Yes! (and well played, my good and faithful bastard) You can move to the front of the class.

If you said you would also get your fellow downspouts to fail with you, you've just won our grand prize.

Because our two front downspouts have tag teamed us. One separated at the joint, so that the water left the elbow going straight down (next to our foundation for easy access).

But that one was merely the copycat.

The instigator and world champeen was the downspout where the last angle was buried under our flowerbed. As you can imagine, this is a bad idea. In order to bury the downspout, the angle had to be flattened so the entire length could be hidden under dirt.

Memo to the idiots who installed this: near-level downspouts clog easily.

I'll shorthand the water in the basement story, but in trying to chase down the root of the problem I found the copycat first and fixed him easily.

But the instigator had to get fixed this morning. The exit was half buried in mud, which meant the water routed around the side of the house. Initially, I thought this was the only problem. Since it was buried I opted to cut the vertical shaft a few feet above the ground. Not having a suitable saw, I opted for a pair of very strong shears.

I made one snip on the corner to get started - and was immediately hit full-on in the face by a jet of water.

I'm like: WTH? It's raining, but no way that...

And then I realize, the bottom is clogged. the entire downspout is full of water- and my first cut is spraying water like a fire hose.

So, I'm already wet - I keep hacking and get four more good cuts on the spout. Each one gushes even more water, and I'm absolutely soaked. It takes a good half a minute for the spout to drain.

After that, fixing it is snack food. Attach elbow, attach new length of ABOVE-ground downspout, and put a landing ramp for the last drop to the lawn.

It's of course, still raining - so I get to see the immediate result is that the water that was turning the raised flowerbed into a bog is now peacefully splashing out onto the front slope of our front yard.

Take that, you bastard.

Whitey

Any time the family gets together – the stories come out. I’m sure you know the drill. Family mythology gets more dramatic with each retelling. The winters get colder, the snow gets deeper, and bears grow to monstrous size and devour men whole.

We accept this because there is a curious pleasure in hearing a story that we remember from childhood. The stories that got a hold of you early, you remember. What’s more, hearing them again you can remember how it felt to hear the story the first time. Like you’re back there.

When everybody in the audience feels the same way, it’s like there’s an electrical charge in the air – everybody’s anticipating the next bit of the story. You smile even before the good part, you laugh even before the punch line.

My family’s mythology centers around two main themes: poverty and logging. My grandmother’s generation grew up during the depression. They and virtually everyone they grew up with were dirt poor. I’m guessing most families with four generations in America can easily come up with stories similar to the ones I grew up with. The depression got everyone, and while the stories are all different – the theme is the same. “We were poor,” your family tells you – and you believe them.

The second theme stemmed from the first – logging. My great-grandfather was a fairly poor businessman and had tried a number of things to bring in more money, one of which was logging. Like many people in those days, he died young. He left bills to pay and contracts for lumber to be filled – and suddenly, the family was in the logging business.

The logging stories I’ll save for another day – but suffice it to say, they too have a certain commonality to them. If you cut down trees, sooner or later – you or someone around you will be hit by one of them. Some are sad, some are funny, and a few are downright heartbreaking.

And then there’s my great-uncle B. He has his own mythology, and the only theme to it is: “Holy crap, this man shouldn’t be alive.”

My great uncle was in World War II, in Italy. You wouldn’t know this from talking to him – like most vets of the era, he doesn’t talk about the experience much. Like most vets, he’s just glad it’s over. Great uncle B has gone by a nickname for so long that my sister and I just assumed that was his real name. Nicknames stick sometimes, but B’s wartime nickname ended with the war. In the war he was known as Whitey.

In the war, Whitey drove a tank.

That alone would make him the coolest relative a kid is likely to know – but there’s so much more to it, and for years – decades, really – I’ve missed it.

Every reunion, the older generation gets together for story telling – and there are some doosies – but when uncle B gets up to speak, the room goes quiet and everyone just stares. I know this secondhand, because for five reunions in a row, I have managed to not be in the room when it happens. I’m off lost on the mountain, or in a boat, or golfing and I’ll get back and everyone will say “Wow, you should have been there! Uncle B told us about the time he drove a tank up and down the steps of the Vatican!”

-and I missed it! I mean, damn!

This year, I finally manage to find out about it, and catch the tail end of a just few of his stories. And it was good.

Like I said, uncle B was a tank driver – 19, skinny as a rail, and perfectly suited for crawling into the coffin-sized compartment where a tank keeps its controls.

It’s a good thing he was skinny – one of his more hair-raising stories involved a time when the tank was on fire and he went to scramble out of his hatch. He flipped open the hatch only to find that the tank’s turret had rotated so that the gun barrel was right over his hatch – partially blocking it. Instead of the incredibly tight opening he usually had to crawl through, he had half of it. As he puts it “The tank was on fire, so I got out of there anyway.”

Close shaves, he would say.

Like the time his tank had been knocked out by a bazooka and he and his crewmates scrambled out to run for it. They’re on one side of the tank; the Germans who just blasted their tank are on the other side, lobbing grenades.

The tank’s burning, there’s no cover other than the tank, and the newly-arrived grenades mean they have to run into the open ground.

Mind you, these are tankers, so they’re lucky if they have pistols on them. Outside of the tank, they’re pretty much civilians.

They run. Into the open. Uncle B describes doing a zig zag, which would be second nature if this was a war movie – but he’s telling you in a way that lets you know: no way this was a movie. He and the rest of the crew fully expected to die.

None of them got hit – and they never knew why. They made it to a ditch, and eventually got back to their unit to get a new tank.

After the war, uncle B was at some festival and he ran into a man he knew from the war – a fellow tanker – and they spent some time catching up. Eventually uncle B mentioned this story, and the other guy just nodded his head.

He was in a tank following uncle B’s tank. He saw it get hit, and then drove his tank into the line of fire to take out the bazooka team. He got them, too – or uncle B and his buddies would have been shot down as they ran.

Uncle B’s got a bunch of stories like this. One after another where he’s the one telling you the story – and while you’re listening, you’re thinking: God, I hope he makes it.

Bombs land next to his tank, so close that the tank slides into the crater. He is ordered to drive another crew’s tank down a narrow mountain road – and a “friendly” truck accidentally pushes him over the edge. The tank rolls down a mountainside and he climbs out looking like somebody poured blood over him. Turns out he’s uninjured; the blood belonged to a butchered sheep that was hanging in the tank.

And just one more and I promise I’ll stop:

He tells the story of a time when his unit was ordered to move across a bridge that was downrange of enemy artillery. The approach to the bridge was terribly exposed; the only thing above ground was a flimsy wire fence alongside the road leading up to the bridge.

B takes his tank down the road, and is hit in the treads right as he’s even with the fence. The tank crabs to the side and plows over the fence, before B straightens it out. At that moment, uncle B is picturing his damaged tank treads. The shear pins that hold it together. Break one, no problem, break a few and the strain of full throttle will tear the rest. The tread falls off, and the tank will be immobile.

Which means that he and his crew will be a sitting duck for the nice men who managed to hit him a second ago when he was moving.

So, he thinks: baby the tread? Or gun it? He pushes the levers forward, and waits for the tread to tear off. There’s a horrible sound of shearing metal, but he realizes that it is the sound of the fence being mowed down by his tank – his moving tank.

With that realization, he floors it and crosses the bridge, trailing wrecked fence behind him.

On the other side is a town, so he ducks into a side street for cover. He gets out to check the damage and just stares. Where the shell hit – there isn’t a single pin in the tread at all. It should have come apart on the bridge – would have come apart, except for one thing: the fence. The fence he’d plowed into had wound itself around the tread like a twist tie, and had kept the tread together.

If he hadn’t hit that fence, at just the right angle… that’d ‘ve been it.

Uncle B’s just the mildest guy you ever saw – but he reminds me of the all the guys you see in the documentaries. The ones who say – “after the war, everything after was just a gift.”

Uncle B’s just that kind of guy, too – loves life, lives well – and only when pressed does he blow your mind with some of the incredible crap he had to deal with.

Makes me want to go to the Vatican and look for tank tracks.

God’s country

Every five years, my extended family on my dad’s side gets together for a three day weekend. This, by itself, is no big deal.However, there are almost four hundred of them, and most of them show up.

My dad’s mother came from a family of eleven children, one of whom was named Howard. Howard was the one responsible for organizing the first reunion, one he never lived to see.


If he only knew what he’d gotten us into. Thirty years later, eleven siblings are now the first of four generations on a collision course with each other every five years.


This year was different; every prior event took place at the same backwoods ski resort that happened to take in boarders in the summer. The owner gave us a good rate, but the place definitely had its limitations. There were bats in the halls and we ate in shifts in the cramped chalet. We showed up and made it up as we went along. It was pretty clear that the staff did the same. Staffing hours were a mystery, but when you’d find someone – they’d be flexible. We’d decide to have a music program; the owner would open up his machine shed and set up some chairs. It was primitive, but folksy.


This year we booked a real resort, a Christian retreat, no less. From the beginning, it was clear this would be a different experience. Dial 1-800 for Reservations, and credit card up front, thank you very much. Before we were paying rates you’d see at Motel 6 – now we were shelling out rates you’d see at the Hilton.


To be fair - this place had it all. There was an ultra-modern kid’s playground, an amphitheater, dining hall, and wi-fi internet café. The desk was staffed 24/7 and there was free internet access in the lobby. It had gated security and parking permits. The lawns were manicured and peppered with stone monuments with bible verses etched onto them.

Every item of significance carried a plaque telling you who had donated it and how devoted either they or their loved ones were.

Needless, to say – this was not my usual environment.


But then, the family reunions have always served to emphasize the differences between me and the family. They are largely conservative and devout, I am not. Skits and talent shows are showcases for their talent, for me- they are something that shunts me politely off to the side. Most of my extended family believes that a Christian retreat is ideal for a family gathering, while such a venue wouldn’t even have occurred to me.

Never mind that, though – it was booked, and we went.


There are other posts to be had in the past weekend’s experience (Skit night, the memorials, my FINALLY getting to hear my great uncle's stories from the war, my great aunt and uncle –for the billionth time- breaking into a splendid moment to remind everyone that they have suffered more than anyone else, or how I captained a cardboard boat straight into oblivion) but


-all in all it was an admirable place staffed by admirable people. I would say I was probably keyed up to dislike this gathering since dad died. He’d been part of the organizing committee of the past two reunions and his practical nature and blunt mannerisms had butted heads far too often with the flightier portions of the family. It had turned a thankless job into something worse – so much so that dad had opted to stay out of this one, and it had been taken over by people I was prepared to savage with my criticisms.


Before we went, I had started with “It costs so much that people won’t go.” This was true – there were a not insignificant number of defections, but there was still a very healthy presence this year.


I had expected a host of organizational snafus. A sizeable portion of my family couldn’t organize a trip to the grocery store – but while there were the traditional slow starts to events – and some notable examples of poor attention to detail – for the most part – things happened.


I am sure a lot of the success stems from the fact that you get what you pay for. A portion of the premium we had paid to stay at this place bought competent people who were experienced at handling events. A booked room had everything it needed to host an event. Baked goods did not go missing, coffee appeared at the correct times, and events did not change locations, because you were held to whatever booking you made.


The resort has statues of playing children and a preserved railroad chapel used in days long gone to spread the word to the faithful. Religion was not merely present; it was omnipresent.


And while I have not come to some epiphany of faith, or leapt into the ranks of the converted – I did make a kind of peace with the place.


Whatever else the place was, it was staffed and funded by people who are sincere. All of the things that drive me crazy about organized religion are surely there in some measure – but there was a good amount of just good, honest, decent people trying to make something good in the world. Something that would last. This place was it for them. While we were there, there were other groups cycling through from Korea, Arkansas, and parts unknown – but all of them were there to get away from their normal lives and go somewhere quiet to think about God.


I am sure some of those organizations will espouse social beliefs that would make me scream – but I’m talking about the impulse to get away and work on improving yourself as a person. There is something undeniably good about that, with or without religion. It is easy to get all cynical about religion and its role in the world. But I think it is important to remember that for every Bob Jones zealot using religion as a hammer, there are surely others - mild-mannered and giving - who use religion as a remedy for what the world does to us all. It would be pretty damn petty to hold a grudge against such people.


So,

I didn’t find God, but I found Godly people – and that was good.

…cell without a number

Guantanamo Bay’s prison has been described by Amnesty International as the “Gulag of our times,” but it’s becoming more evident that the US maintained a far worse system of incarceration – so-called “Black Sites,” a euphemism for CIA-operated facilities that operated outside the reach of US law.


Rather than the masters of a single gulag, we appear to hold title to another gulag archipelago. The New Yorker is reporting that black sites have been engaging in conduct similar to that of Abu Ghraib, only much more organized and sophisticated.


Since the operations are highly classified, Jane Mayer’s article approaches the topic from the edges, but it’s abundantly clear that the CIA is attempting to extract intelligence from prisoners using methods that can only be described as torture.


As Abu Ghraib established, this conduct would provoke outrage if conducted in the open.
If this occurred on US soil, this conduct would be illegal.


So it occurs in secret, in other countries.

I am reminded of Jon Ronson’s story on This American Life, where he illustrates an amazingly similar situation from the 1600s.


Following the bloody civil war that led to the ascension of Oliver Cromwell and the execution of Charles I, the monarchy was restored to power. The followers of Charles II were determined that their enemies would never again be in a position to threaten the realm. One of the king’s advisors, Lord Clarendon proposed to suspend the right of habeas corpus and send the enemies of the realm to his own Guantanamo: far away prisons, never again to see the light of day.

Ronson: The exact location of Lord Clarendon’s Guantanamo is lost to history. … But suspending habeas corpus didn’t work out well for Lord Clarendon. He was impeached. At his impeachment trial, he was accused of sending people away to “remote islands, garrisons and other places, thereby to prevent them from the benefit of the law, and to produce precedents for the imprisoning of any other of his majesty’s subjects in like manner.” And remember, democracy as we know it is still centuries away. Innocent until proven guilty, one man one vote – only the most extreme radicals held these views.

These were dark times. There were heads on spikes all over London and still, the people were shocked by Clarendon’s disregard for habeas corpus.


…The one outcome of all of this was the Habeas Corpus Act of 1679, which specifically forbade what Clarendon had done, and made it illegal to send a prisoner into “Scotland, Ireland, Jersey, Guernsey, Tangier or into parts, garrisons, islands or places beyond the seas which are, or at any time hereafter shall be within or without the dominions of His Majesty.” And forbade it has remained for 330 years – in England, anyway.

England figured this out three centuries ago, is there any reason we have to learn it the hard way?

We’re the good guys, we should act like it.

Phoning it in

You just have to throw up your hands in exasperation.

Senate Votes To Expand Warrantless Surveillance
The Senate bowed to White House pressure last night and passed a Republican plan for overhauling the federal government's terrorist surveillance laws, approving changes that would temporarily give U.S. spy agencies expanded power to eavesdrop on foreign suspects without a court order.

This, after all the talk, all the puffery.. they knuckle under.

Especially after the revelation that a previously undisclosed reason the administration was asking for these powers was the the courts had declared their little plan illegal.

My rep, my senators did their job, but what the hell, people? Who are these democrats who held press conferences and worked the talk shows - telling us how the president was overreaching - and then sold civil liberties down the river in the middle of the night on a weekend?

How dare they?

Raise the roof

Okay, this is making the rounds - but if you haven't seen it yet - you should.

Setup: The man you are about to see was selling cellphones for a living prior to this moment.




(Sivacracy has it right - the windout is a bit stylized, but still - totally worth seeing)

Kick @ss.

Coda: He no longer sells cell phones.

Postscript: For those who know opera, the name of the aria is obvious - but it wasn't for me, so I looked it up. It's Nessun Dorma from Puccini's Turandot, which may not make a difference for people - but I hear this piece everywhere and each time I do, I feel like jumping out of my chair and applauding. I figure, I owe the artist the honor of at least figuring out what the name of their song is.

Mr Fix-It

While I am sure that the professionals have many maxims to live by, when it comes to plumbing for newbies, there’s pretty much only one that matters:

Any idiot can take it apart. Putting it back together is what you need to worry about.

I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not the sewer backup, or yard drainage – this was cosmetics.

The bathroom tap has always annoyed me, and (having purchased a replacement faucet about six months ago) I finally decided to hook the damn thing up. We’re selling the house, I’m not porting the faucet over to a new place – and (damn!) the old one is an eyesore.

It’s an eyesore because of something called galvanic corrosion. Two different metals in contact with each other leading to something called ion migration, which in turn speeds up the rust process of one of the two metals. In the case of my bathroom, the exposed metal of the faucet was the loser.

And it looked like boiled ass.

Changing a faucet is no big deal – it’s like roofing. Mostly grunt work, with a few tricky parts.

I get my stuff. Faucet, instructions, wrench, flashlight, drain pan – check. I remember that the new faucet doesn’t have flex hose, but a quick consult with BIL tells me that there’s no bar on re-using the old ones.

Thus prepared, I start. I have visions of getting all my gear under the sink and getting to work. This goes out the window when I discover that my narrow bathroom makes even getting under the vanity an exercise in contortion.

There’s no room for me, much less the gear – and here’s the thing:

While I am not claustrophobic, (elevators, mummy bags, tunnels and mineshafts don’t bother me in the slightest) I have this problem with being pinned in cramped quarters. I can’t turn around, move my arms, something – a part of my brain starts sounding alarm bells.

In order to reach the narrow gap between the basin and the back wall, I need to be jammed full on into the vanity, on my back, at a diagonal, legs in the tub holding my back off the floor so the edge of the vanity doesn’t score my spine, AND-
I can barely move my arms.

This sucks for lots of reasons besides the fact my mind has an irrational fear of it – I can barely get the damn wrench into position and have about enough room for 1/32 of a turn.

It's slow and painful, but otherwise, getting the sink apart goes well. Hoses drip water on my head, but I get the old faucet out without too much cursing.

The curse count is important – anybody working on a project will tell you. We can all be smiling church folk when the job goes well – but the more things go south, the more we all sound like sailors.

Anyway, not having replaced a faucet in, I dunno, forever. I have my instruction sheet in front of me to make sure I don’t miss anything.

Now, I work in usability, but no matter how bad a piece of software is, the documentation is always worse. Plumbing hardware is no exception – it sucks. Major steps like “cut the pipe above the trap to the desired length” are left out. Instructions like “apply joint compound” are included in the documentation when there are stickers on the hardware telling you “do not use joint compound.” I have no joint compound, but since the parts are telling me specifically not to use it – I think I’m okay.

The book says “put plumbers putty below the faucet,” the faucet says not to. And so on.

Mind screaming, sans circulation in pretty much all extremities, I eventually get the faucet seated, the hoses attached and I put on the trap –

-only to realize that the drain pipe is way the hell too long. I need to take the thing apart so I can cut it.

Now, next time I do this, I’ll likely remember to check this before I start, but I ask you: would it be too hard for them to put this little tidbit in the instructions? How about in the home depot book I shelled out thirty bucks for?

I have no saw to cut the pipe – My only power saw is completely unsuitable and in any event, I have no vice – and holding onto pipe so I can use a saw ill-suited to cut plastic pipe – I score some tin snips and go to town.

It’s almost 9pm and I’m rather keen on getting this done. I hack the pipe down to what looks like the right length. It looks ugly, but what ya gonna do?

I put it in, assemble the collage of co-dependent parts and – it’s too long by about a half a centimeter.

The cursing begins in earnest, now – ten parts are disassembled yet again, and I hack off the offending portion of the pipe.

It goes in, and fits. Back sore, shoulders numb. I clean everything up and turn on the tap.

It works – (of course it works, getting the water to flow is the easy part, stopping it is always the hard part).

I put a tub under it with a paper towel to see how it does over time.

Five minutes later, I realize that

a) it leaks, slowly; and
b) The faucet parts have lied to me. I really should have gotten joint compound.

So now, I’m off to Home Depot – but it’s after 9pm on a Sunday and they are closed and dark.

Frick. It’s bedtime, I put in the basin and hit the sack.

Next day, E finds that the basin under the sink is full to overflowing (another maxim to remember: Slow leaks? They speed up sometimes.)
The water’s switched off, and I go out hunting.

I get my joint compound and crawl back under there. Excruciating moments later, I make another realization:

c) I never should have re-used flex hose that old.

Amazingly, it appears that the all the joints are holding, but the flex hose is failing where the hose meets the top of the fitting.

Water off again, bedtime.

Next day, I go and buy flex hose. That night I put in the flex hose. And it is good. I put the basin and the paper towel under the sink, purely as a formality.

-except that there is a wet spot on it the following morning. WTH?

I scope out the trajectory of the spot to figure out where the hell it’s coming from – it ain’t the flexhose – it’s the drain pipe. Following the water up, it’s the top of the drain pipe.

Half a turn tighter and – bam! No leak.

---

I know, household hero now, right? The new faucet looks good, works a hell of a lot better than the old one. I wonder why I hadn’t done this ages ago.

But that’s not why I’m posting this.

I’m posting this because of the maxim I mentioned at the beginning of this post.

Because a few days after doing the faucet, I noticed that the slop sink was draining very slow. I’d bought a snake a few days ago, and I put two and two together:

Wow, that faucet was so easy – I think I’ll take the slop sink trap apart and snake it.

Yeah! Take that house! I own your ass. Boo yah!

So, I crawl under the slop sink in the basement, crack the trap open with brute force and snake away. It’s gratifyingly messy – but I manage to get the snake around all the corners to a length of about six feet.

The drain probably isn’t cured, but it’ll drain better, I think – then I go to put the trap back.

Now, this is a trap joined into a concrete washbasin on one end – and cast iron on the other.

What this means is that if there is any problem with either end – I am totally screwed.

Naturally, there is something wrong with both ends.
The concrete is cracked and leaking around the embedded fitting. The cast iron joint on the other is (thanks to me) completely stripped.

Doubly screwed.

This is the basin that the water softener dumps 20-30 gallons into on a regular basis. This is the basin that the washing machine drains into.

No washing, and I need to switch off the softener.

Oh, and I’m showing the house to prospective buyers tomorrow.

Which is why I’m here at home, blogging – while the plumber (the REAL Mr. Fix-It) is in the other room installing a new trap with all the trimmings.

It’s 2:30pm and the people are coming around 3pm.

Oh how I love today.

Signs of life

Fleeing the carpet bomb coverage of the MN highway disaster - I took some time to actually sit down and read a newspaper.

And whaddaya know? There actually is some good news out there:

From the NYT:

Design Steps Up in Disaster’s Wake
AFTER Hurricane Katrina destroyed Karen Parker’s house on Division Street two summers ago, her first instinct was to leave her storm-ravaged hometown of Biloxi, Miss., behind. But she couldn’t bring herself to abandon two generations of extended family there, any more than she could see living indefinitely with her six children in their 10-foot-wide FEMA trailer. So, a few weeks after the storm, Ms. Parker decided to rebuild on her street.

She struggled for months to navigate the sluggish bureaucracy of government agencies in search of help, but was stymied, she said, until she met with a representative of Architecture for Humanity, a nonprofit organization that specializes in post-disaster reconstruction. The group’s approach to her problems was more comprehensive and more personal, Ms. Parker said, than those of other organizations she had spoken with, and for the first time she felt hopeful about building a new house on Division Street.

Well intended people, find people in need - and help them.

(Plus, the house designs are pretty damn cool, too...)

Nice.

Friends in high places

Y'know what's interesting?

NSA Spying Part of Broader Effort
The Bush administration's chief intelligence official said yesterday that President Bush authorized a series of secret surveillance activities under a single executive order in late 2001. The disclosure makes clear that a controversial National Security Agency program was part of a much broader operation than the president previously described.

...

McConnell's letter was aimed at defending Attorney General Alberto R. Gonzales from allegations by Democrats that he may have committed perjury by telling Congress that no legal objections were raised about the TSP.

Citizen watchdog groups, journalists, congressmen and senators ask for information about the Bush administration's surveillance activities - and get nothing.

Wait, the Attorney General's in the cross hairs? Wow, suddenly the DNI himself will write you a letter.

As in,

"Dear Senator Specter, Please excuse my friend from perjury. It is possible that he was only parsing his answers to an absurd degree in an attempt to mislead Congress. If that's what he was doing, it was only to conceal a massive surveillance operation that would horrify the nation.
Regards,
Mike McConnell, Director of National Intelligence."

McConnell only thinks he's helping. Makes you think we should accuse damn near everybody of perjury.

Might find out what the hell is going on in this administration.

Mark this day down in history...

... I've actually read a complete User Agreement.

First. Time. Ever.

The product? MyMileMarker.com's mileage tracker.

The text? See for yourself:

It's a web site... it won't destroy your computer. We'll take your data and store it, but if we lose it, we're sorry. We'll probably sell aggregate data (but not your name or email address) to advertisers. We reserve the right to charge for this at some point. These terms might change in the future, but if they do, we'll let you know. Cool?

Ha!

OCD

You never really look at your environs until you're showing them to other people. There's nothing like a visitor from out of town to spur the first visit to some local attraction. Most times, I'm like "why haven't I done this sooner?"

All the opportunities blew past me, and it took something small like a need to show off the town and all of a sudden I realize I've just been denying myself something easy and worthwhile. The farmer's market, a local park, whatever.

This was brought into focus by our putting our house on the market this past weekend. In the mad scurry of cleaning up the house I have discovered long-lost items and done work that had been languishing on my (up until now, entirely fictional) "to-do list."

Before, anything could wait until next weekend. Now, the looming presence of potential buyers has me dredging up long-forgotten projects like replacing the bathroom faucet.

We make the bed now - we've never made the bed.

I've spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about how best to minimize the basement clutter. Don't want to look too "staged," but don't want them to see the rolls of pipe insulation - might think that there was something amiss.

Years ago, I let the dehumidifier hose drain over the metal floor drain cover - now it's rusted. I'm thinking that I should steel wool off the rust so people don't get the wrong idea.

Are the rain gutters too dirty? Those leaves and twigs on the roof, should I sweep them off? What to do about the cracks in the front steps?

I've ignored this stuff the point where a pointed question from virtually anyone would have netted "it's what? Where?"

Suddenly it's front and center and any new discovery is grist for a new bout of hand wringing. The door to the garage won't shut, it's been "fixed" on about three different occasions, so I'd stopped caring. Now I'm calling a handyman to scope it out today because I can't stand looking at it anymore.

It's the cliché, but just about the time we've done all the things we should have done for the house, we'll sell it to somebody else.

*sigh*

The question behind Gonzo

I'm as curious as anyone as to what level of political purging took place at the Justice Department, but Dan Froomkin's recent column highlights what I consider the biggest question of the Bush presidency:

Soon after 9/11, the administration started eavesdropping on Americans. By March 2004, Bush's own Justice Department had decided that the program was clearly illegal, and top department officials couldn't find a way to rationalize it. After a rebellion led by Comey -- and backed by a hospitalized John Ashcroft -- the White House agreed to make some changes. The revised program, still controversial, was described in the New York Times in December 2005. The White House christened it the "Terrorist Surveillance Program." And in January 2007, Bush agreed to put the revised program under court jurisdiction -- although it's not clear exactly what that means.

...

One of the chief unanswered questions, as I wrote in my May 17 column: What was the program like when it was illegal even in the opinion of Bush's own Justice Department? What was the government doing to its citizens for two and a half years -- starting soon after 9/11 through the spring of 2004?

That's really the question, isn't it? No real answers in the press, no driving line of inquiry in Congress - but honestly:

What the hell was our government up before Comey and the DOJ finally stood up to the White House? I'd like to resist projecting my suspicions on an administration that I view as dangerously irresponsible, but their track record is pretty abysmal.

They've ordered torture, secret prisons, indefinite detention without trial, and pre-emptive war.

Why would warrantless surveillance in defiance of Constitutional protections slow them down in the slightest?

Self Defense

No spoilers.

Finished book 7 last night. Not so much out of a fanaticism for the material - but only because of the perfect storm of being six books into an enjoyable series that is omnipresent in the current media.
Odds were good that some TV/Internet wag will "push the envelope" and reveal the plot.

My track record in avoiding spoilers has been abysmal. I have a good memory and I cross-index well. With movies, I'm the guy that replays the trailer while I'm watching the movie - to check to see if all the scenes have happened yet.
"Hey, [actor X's] character can't be gone - they haven't said that line from the trailer yet!"

Roger Ebert famously revealed the secret of the Crying Game on TV, and he was a total jerkwad for doing so, but frankly it was only one more step worse that what the rest of the media were doing.
How many times did we hear about the "big shocker" of that movie? A person like me hears that and ends up spending the entire moving looking for the surprise, instead of just watching the damn movie.

It's a distraction. The best stories I've ever experience were total surprises, ones I happened onto.

With Harry Potter - there was no chance you could just happen onto it, and there is no possibility of avoiding all the coverage.

So I went flat out and read it. Because I can't stand a spoiled story.

Big media? Do your worst, you're too late.

Je suis l'etat

If there was any doubt that the White House feels it is above the law, this should pretty much take care of it:

Broader Privilege Claimed In Firings
White House Says Hill Can't Pursue Contempt Cases

Bush administration officials unveiled a bold new assertion of executive authority yesterday in the dispute over the firing of nine U.S. attorneys, saying that the Justice Department will never be allowed to pursue contempt charges initiated by Congress against White House officials once the president has invoked executive privilege.

You will recall Sen. Leahy's comments on Meet the Press at the beginning of July, when Tim Russert asked if Leahy personally would be willing to go as far as holding members of the administration in contempt, Leahy responded, "Yes, I would go that far..."

Leahy went on to say, "You have to go to the next step to see if they have a legitimate claim of executive privilege...then you invoke the contempt citation."

And then the kicker:

Russert: "Are you sure the US Attorney would prosecute?"

Leahy: "It would be very difficult for them not to"

Well, apparently the President has made that little dilemma a whole lot simpler for the DC US Attorney.

What an absolute disgrace.

Death to the clamshell

There's ill-conceived user interface, there's bad user interface, and then there is that rarified category of UI so bad that third party vendors can make money selling ways to deal with it.

Most software falls under this category (witness the missing manual series).

That software documentation sucks is news to no one. However it's funny to see how acclimatized I've become to incredibly sucky UI in everyday objects. It takes a jolt from the outside to remind me that things weren't always this sucky.

The latest jolt came from my stumbling across the Consumer Reports Oyster awards - the worst product packaging designs of the year.

Top of their list are those plastic clamshell packages they use in electronics, packaging so lousy that two companies sell specialized tools to cut them open.

I dunno about you, but if I designed something that was so hard to open people had to invent tools just to get in - I'd go back to the drawing board.

Hey! We killed a bad guy! Oh wait...

Here's an encouraging headline:

Leader of Al Qaeda group in Iraq was fictional, U.S. military says
-International Herald Tribune

What? No pardon?

Reuters: Ex-Cheney aide gets 10 years in prison in spy case

NEWARK, New Jersey (Reuters) - A former White House official who took top secret documents from U.S. Vice President Dick Cheney's office and gave them to opposition figures in the Philippines was sentenced on Wednesday to 10 years in prison.

...

Prosecutors told the court Aragoncillo used a fax machine in Cheney's office to send documents to the Philippines. They said up to 800 classified documents had been compromised by Aragoncillo, as well as the name of a U.S. government source.

Aside from how kind it is of Reuters to identify this man as an ex-aid, even though he was breaking the law when he was an aide (using a fax machine in the VP's office, no less), let's review this.

Aid to the VP? Check.
Leaking classified information? Check.
Outing a US intelligence resource? Check.

Oh, wait... He didn't commit perjury to cover it up first... Silly me. This one does really does have to go to prison.

Yo, Pete? Put up or shut up, buddy...

So the GOP has filibustered the Iraq troop withdrawal vote.

And, as expected the GOP senators who have grabbed headlines by making nice with popular opinion (They can "no longer support" the president's Iraq policy of staying there), have shown their stripes when they were asked to do more than pose for the cameras.

52 Senators voted to give troop withdrawal an up or down vote (where it would likely pass, though not by a veto-proof margin)

Among the 47 Senators who thought we shouldn't bother voting on this issue were

• Pete Domenici of New Mexico
• Norm Coleman of Minnesota
• Elizabeth Dole of North Carolina
• Lindsey Graham of South Carolina
• Dick Luger of Indiana
• John Sununu of New Hampshire
• John Warner of Virginia

Thank you senators, for being all we expect of the modern GOP Senator.

Hats off to Sen. Susan Collins for being the only new GOP critic of current Iraq policy to back up her words with action.

Next time Pete (or any of these other turkeys) tries to grab some air time by bashing Iraq policy, I hope someone in the crowd has the stones to bring up this vote.

Late Edit:
I'm just a pretender, but Digby does this topic for real:
The ongoing adventures of the Eunuch Caucus

What she said.

Now there's a damn good question...

"How come the money that can’t be found to insure all children this year can be found every 2 months for the Iraq war?"

-From Susie for President

First they get better health care than us, now this

The World’s Best Candy Bars? English, of Course

Makes a body want to emigrate...

Party Girl and Usability guy

The NYT just happened to publish articles about the work/work culture of E's job and my job.

On the same day, no less. It must be a sign.

Anyway

Here's E's:

A Hipper Crowd of Shushers
By KARA JESELLA
Published: July 8, 2007
A new type of librarian is emerging: think Dewey Decimal meets Generation X.

And here's mine:

Technology’s Untanglers
By BARBARA WHITAKER
Published: July 8, 2007
The work of usability professionals, who bridge the gap between the makers and users of a product, has recently developed into a solid career track.

Playing chicken

Now that the Dems are cueing up their Iraq policy maneuvers, it would be interesting to see how the GOP senators up for re-election in 2008 react.

Congressional quarterly's risk rankings give us a barometer of how safe these senators should feel.

Let's see how well CQ's polls predict their positions in the next few months, shall we?

Safe (expect no waffling):

• Michael Enzi of Wyoming
• Mitch McConnell of Kentucky
• Pat Roberts of Kansas
• Ted Stevens of Alaska (unless his latest scandal goes nova, that is)
  

Fairly safe (calm, but hearing the footsteps):

• Lamar Alexander of Tennessee
• Saxby Chambliss of Georgia
• John Cornyn of Texas
• Pete Domenici of New Mexico
• Lindsey Graham of South Carolina
• Jim Inhofe of Oklahoma
• Jeff Sessions of Alabama
• Gordon Smith of Oregon
• John Warner of Virginia
  

Not-so safe (nervous twitches):

• Norm Coleman of Minnesota
• Susan Collins of Maine
• Elizabeth Dole of North Carolina
• John Sununu of New Hampshire
  

Watch this space - Coleman and Sununu are plenty ripe for blinking.

Edit:
Sen. Collins is making noises already:

I'm finding that my constituents' patience is pretty much exhausted," said Collins. "They're very disturbed by the high casualty rates."

Today, Collins said she has lost confidence in the president's leadership. "If the president isn't willing to adopt a new strategy, then perhaps we, in Congress, have to impose it on him," she said.

I'm no scholar of Sen. Collin's historical position on Iraq, so this may be old news. But there's one GOP senator in the hot seat making the right noises. Let's see if she actually votes that way.

Just talking the talk

Once again, we are shown another GOP senator who publicly breaks with the president.

This time, it's Sen. Domenici. From the Washington Post:

"We cannot continue asking our troops to sacrifice indefinitely while the Iraqi government is not making measurable progress," Domenici said. "I do not support an immediate withdrawal from Iraq or a reduction in funding for our troops. But I do support a new strategy that will move our troops out of combat operations and on the path to coming home."

Honestly? Who gives a crap? This was a press conference, for crying out loud. Pete's grabbing some TV time on the cheap.

How 'bout this for a headline?

Sen. Domenici votes with Dems for troop withdrawal.

Now that would be something worth reporting. That would actually be news - tangible and with meaning. Not this "I'd like some air time, please" BS that the newsies keep falling for.

I'd love to have one of the reporters in this things say, "But, Senator... haven't you sided with the administration on all of it's major initiatives? Does this statement mean that you will be voting against the president's positions in the future?"

Fnyeah.

Cornered Rat

What if you had to sell the unsellable? Take a gander at White House press secretary Tony Snow, the day after the Libby commutation.

Snow starts off with an "I don't see the elephant in the middle of the room" intro and talks about other subjects for as long as he can. Then he says (with an almost audible smirk) "And With that, I'll take questions."

And lo, the floodgates opened:

Q So you're not closing the door, then, on a pardon.

MR. SNOW: Look, I think -- the President has done what he thinks is appropriate. The reason I will say I'm not going to close a door on a pardon is simply this, that Scooter Libby may petition for one. But the President has done what he thinks is appropriate to resolve this case.

Q You're saying that he thinks he's done what is enough?

MR. SNOW: He thinks he's done what's appropriate.

Q And that would be it, that he wouldn't do any more?

MR. SNOW: I don't want to read the President's mind, but on the other hand, I do not want to create expectations that somehow there will be more.

Q Tony, does the President think that Scooter Libby did, in fact, lie; that a member of the White House staff was, in fact, guilty of these crimes?

MR. SNOW: What he believes is that he was convicted of a jury of his peers. The President was not sitting in as a fact witness on a very long case, and he does think that it's important to respect what the jury concluded, because the jury really is the group that counts here.

Q Why not respect what the judge said, then?

MR. SNOW: Well, keep in mind that there is still -- he does respect what the judge said, but he also respects what -- I think if you took a look at the trial record, at what the parole commission recommended, that what the parole commission recommended was highly consistent with what the President thought was an appropriate punishment here.

Q Well, no, they talked about 16-plus months.

MR. SNOW: No, that is -- there's a range of -- what you're taking a look -- this gets very complicated.

...

Q And also, let me ask you this. The President and other White House press secretaries would not touch this question of Joe Wilson during the height of the investigation. I'm going to ask you now, since the President is now basically saying this is over and he's done what he's done -- Joe Wilson asked for an apology for the American people because of the situation. Is the White House now willing to give the American people --

MR. SNOW: I'm not going to get into --

QWhy not?

MR. SNOW: Because --

QWhy not? It's over now. You didn't want to talk about it then. Let's talk about it now. Do you think the American people are owed something because of the breach?

MR. SNOW: Number one, there is still considerable controversy about the facts of the case, including Joe Wilson's veracity. Number two, there is also --

Q What's in question about his veracity? Detail that, please.

MR. SNOW: There is also -- just, very quickly, you take a look at the Senate reports, his characterization of who sent him over and what he told people when he was in Niger is at direct odds with what he attempted to tell the American public.

Q That has nothing to do with leaking the name of --

MR. SNOW: I'm just --

Q She's making a good point.

MR. SNOW: I'm answering her question, which she raised --

Q But she's making a good point.

Q You're arguing a different case.

MR. SNOW: No, I'm arguing --

Q The apology that the American people may want -- some may want --

MR. SNOW: I understand.

Q -- has to do with the fact that the White House allowed for a breach. And doesn't Libby owe the President an apology?

MR. SNOW: Again, I'm not -- this is -- number one, I believe the investigation found that the White House was not the source of the breach. Number two, the President has said that it is --

Q But it's part of the Bush administration.

MR. SNOW: -- the President has said it is inappropriate to have such breaches, and has apologized for them. So beyond that --

Q When did he apologize?

MR. SNOW: I think he said to the American people -- gave an apology, but --

Q Tony, one point that is not in dispute is that Karl Rove was involved in the leak, in some way he was involved. He talked to at least two reporters who ended up publishing this information. In 2004, the President said -- he didn't talk about convictions or anything -- he said he would fire anyone in this White House who was involved in the leak. We now know Karl Rove was involved; he did not fire him.

MR. SNOW: There are two things to note. We have also said that we do not -- we are not going to make comments in detail until the legal process is over. And it is not; there is still an appeal through --

Q You just put out a two-page statement. He commented --

Q Wait a minute, he just put out this statement, and it's it's over.

Q He commented -- how could you not --

Q Yes, he's commented now, so that's a big -- we can shoot holes in that statement.

MR. SNOW: No, on follow-on issues like this that still may have bearing and an issue that may return to trial, I'm not going to comment on it.
...

MR. SNOW: I understand that -- the President has the power to commute, and he used it, and he used it in a manner that he saw fit. That's not trying to have it both ways. What the President said is that he is not going to go in and overturn what the jury did. On the other hand, again, he thought that the penalty was excessive. He is certainly permitted to do that. You'll concede that the President does have that power, constitutionally, and furthermore, that this President has done it very carefully.

If he had decided that he wanted to commute the sentence and get rid of all punishment, but still keep intact the felony, he could have done that. But instead what he did was he said that he believes that when somebody is convicted of this punishment, it is worth having -- I mean, of this crime -- it is certainly worth respecting the jury's decision and having significant and severe punishment. And I guarantee you, a quick show of hands how many people in this room think that $250,000 is a wrist slap, or that two years of probation, or, in fact, the loss of your career is somehow a trivial punishment. This is serious punishment.

Q But doesn't he already have a legal defense fund -- that is going to cover --

Q -- $5 million that he's already got --

MR. SNOW: Well, we'll have to see.

Q So it's not really excessive for him, then. Most average Americans couldn't afford $250,000, but most average Americans don't have Fred Thompson raising millions of --

MR. SNOW: Well, on the other hand, he also has legal fees.

Q So the $250,000, though, is really not that much money for him.

MR. SNOW: I don't know, you'll have to find out. Do you think $250,000 --

Q But that's not the case -- you said that it was a lot of money.

MR. SNOW: It is a lot of money.

Q But he has more than $250,000 --

MR. SNOW: You don't know that.

Q Well, in what he's raised.

Q -- there's no shortage of people who would gladly raise -- and have already been doing so.

MR. SNOW: Well, good. Americans are a generous people.

Q How does the President justify this commutation when there are thousands of others in jail with a similar request?

MR. SNOW: I'm not sure that -- thousands in jail with similar requests?

Q Three thousand.

MR. SNOW: Three thousand in jail with similar -- I'm not sure that you can take anybody who has a perjury count and say that they're all the same. Every count has to be considered differently. The President, as you know, looks very carefully at these things. And furthermore, not every one of these cases comes before a President, as you're well aware. Attorneys quite often petition for these and that is one of the procedures by which they do it.

Q Can I follow on that? There are more than 3,000 current petitions for commutation -- not pardons, but commutation -- in the federal system under President Bush. Will all 3,000 of those be held to the same standard that the President applied to Scooter Libby?

MR. SNOW: I don't know.

Q Tony, I'm trying to get a handle on it -- are you saying this White House handled this case in an extraordinary manner, or in a routine manner?

MR. SNOW: I think it handled it in a routine manner in the sense that the President took a careful look. But it is an extraordinary case by virtue of the fact that not only do you have the extreme level of publicity, but also that in many ways, the hand was called by a court decision to go ahead and send Scooter Libby to jail while he was still in the middle of his appeals process.

Q But how could it not be extraordinary to grant something to someone who didn't even ask for it?

MR. SNOW: I just think that's the President, again, using his commutation power to do what he thought was necessary to address what he thought was an excessive punishment.

QBut absent a request, he wouldn't even have known about this case if it didn't involve his former aide.

MR. SNOW: Well, no, I think you probably would have reminded him of it. The fact -- you talk about, if it had not involved a former aide -- this is a thing that has been in the headlines for quite a while.

Q Won't this encourage other members of his administration to obstruct justice?

MR. SNOW: No.

It's like a schoolyard argument.

"Uh uh."

"yeah, huh!"

"uh uh!"

What a tool.

Update:

He's also a jerk, too:

Q Tony, I want to go back to the issue of an apology, and I want to stay issue-focused and not blaming. Are there -- is the American people owed some kind of apology from someone in this administration for the leaking of a CIA person's name, personnel's name?

MR. SNOW: Yes, it's improper to be leaking those names

Q You say it's improper, so you're saying someone in this administration owes the American public an apology?

MR. SNOW: I'll apologize. All done.

Q No, it's not. That's flippant, that's a very flippant way of doing something very serious -- it was a very serious matter. That was very flippant.

Loyalty over principles

Commuted.

The President commuting Scooter Libby's prison sentence is the exclamation point after the phrase-

I am a lousy President!

I can't even express the full amount of disgust I have for this President. The only time this President commutes a sentence that hasn't already been served, that hasn't even begun- he does it for his crony.

"I respect the jury's verdict," what a load of crap.

I can't wait - CAN NOT WAIT for the GOP loyalists to spout off in defense of this shameless and unprincipled act.

Way to set a damning and injurious precedent, there, Mr. President. And what might you do for an encore?

Headless chickens

I'd spend entirely too much time writing up a post about the recent events in the U.K. - about how the US media is going into cardiac arrest just because some idiots managed to set their own car on fire.

I ended up tossing it because I was sure someone would do a better job then I could.

And someone did.

Former Scotland Yard Detective John O'Connor (Via Political Animal ) sums the entire affair up nicely:

"I think that rather than using the all-embracing term of 'al Qaeda,' I think that you should be using the term 'jihadists,' which I think makes more sense. Because, though they may share common purposes with al Qaeda, I don't think that al Qaeda has the control to operate something like this. They could operate a major terrorist outrage, but I think it would be more professionally run. I mean this was a hopeless, incompetent terrorist attack."When you see the ludicrous situation where none of the bombs were able to be detonated and these guys are trying to set fire to petrol, when all they did, they didn't get a detonation at the doors of the airport lounge; all they got was a bomb fire.

"They set fire to fuel. Well, that in its own way, is not going to detonate the gas cylinders and it's not going to cause an explosion. It was just a fire. I mean, that is so incompetent as to be almost laughable."

No question the events are newsworthy, but to run to the masses with "The sky is falling!" when its pretty clear that what has actually happened was this:

A small group of homicidal amateurs has followed up their having not blown up two London cars with a failed attack that seriously injured one of their own. Both events failed to inflict serious injuries on any of their supposed targets.

This is - well, just what we've come to expect from our media establishment. All flash, no thought

You'd think the time they devote to coming up with snappy graphics would be better spent analyzing the event so that commentary won't be as inane as NBC's Sunday commentary that "the passengers of the [completely undamaged planes] were glad to be alive."

Disgraceful.

Athens

In my past life, I used to hit a certain gyro shop at least once a week. Sometimes twice. Sometimes twice in two days. This place had zero ambiance, (what we used to call a “sobriety floor”) and big gyros.

Me like gyro, me like gyro a lot.

Many a booze-fueled crawl ended with me staring up at the gyro guy and blurting out the only word I could manage:

GyroFriesDew!

Which is to say “I would like a gyro sandwich, French fries, and a medium Mountain Dew.”

Mountain Dew was required – initially to wake up, but later it was pretty much tradition.

I went to this place so often that (like a lot of places I go, even now) the guy behind the counter would order for me. I’d always get the same number of napkins (five), the same number of ketchup containers (three) before sitting down to soak up the Tzatziky-goodness that is Gyro.

I'm salivating just thinking about it.

Then – calamity! – the place got a makeover, the gyros got smaller, and (worse) college ended. I’ve been back, a few times, but the place isn’t what it once was. Plus, they changed the ketchup, dammit. Sweet ketchup? Who the hell wants that on their fries?

I’ve filled the gap by trying out the gyro places in other cities. My friend, G is blessed to live in a city with two (count them, two!) world class gyros establishments within striking distance. Last March Madness – I think I went for Gyros on two of the three days I was in town.

My town isn’t quite like that – on my regular commute, I drive past perhaps the worst gyro place on the planet (when I don’t go back, it has to suck. The gyros at our corporate cafeteria contain what would charitably call “lamb nuggets,” and I’ve eaten them at least a half dozen times).

On the normal homeward leg of our many out of town trips this year, we’ve been driving past a sign for a gyro shop. Our usual arrival time of Sunday evening, the fact that the kids are with, plus the fact that E pretty much hates gyros – meant that all the attention I could give this shop was a hearty, “Hey look! A gyro shop!”
It’s on the way north side of town and (in the way that I do) I’d noticed the sign, but never really figured out where the shop actually was. So, last week I finally figure out that this place is within lunch hour striking distance and – dammit – I want a gyro.

Turns out, the place is in a gas station. You walk into a convenience mark and the back counter is serving gyros.

Zero ambiance.

I try not to get too excited. Walking up, I see the guy behind the counter – it’s the guy from my old gyro place! He’s here! He’s here!

Ok, ok, calm down.

I take a risk. Without even looking at the menu I carefully say, “Gyro. Fries. Dew?”
Guy doesn’t blink. Hits a button on the register, holds out his hand for cash and barks over one shoulder:

GyroFriesDew!

Huzzah! Huzzah! Angels and ministers of grace-

Wait, wait, wait. Gotta eat the thing first, right? All this could be window dressing for yet another disappointment, right?

They give me the gyro. No drink. Here, they make you get your own beverage.
I get my ketchup, my napkins and then grab a seat between the cough medicine and the restrooms.

Man, if any of these customers were drunk, this would be perfect.

I start with the fries. They’re splattered all over the sandwich (as they should be) and I grab a few and make with the ketchup.

It’s the right stuff. Not sweetened ketchup, but ketchup. Moment of truth… the Gyro rocks. Tzatziki aplenty and lamb in those bizarre shavings just like I remember, only messier (I’m out of practice, so sue me). I resist the urge to have a second one and vow to return next week.

-and perhaps the week after that as well.

Ahhh, nostalgia.

I run screaming

Okay, so the iPhone rate plans are out:


That's a family plan for two lines.

Um, well - the hard drive is still small.

And that touch thing might not work.

So there.

Maestro

Not long before he died, Kurt Vonnegut appeared on the Daily Show with Jon Stewart and rattled off a list of helpful advice to new democracies like Iraq, gleaned from American history:

After the first 100 years, you have to let your slaves free.
After the first 130 years, you have to let your women vote.
In the beginning, if there is a whole lot of unrest and killing, well, that's pretty much okay.

To which, the never-at-a-loss Steward replied, "It's sad to see how you've lost your edge."

Which got even Vonnegut to laugh. Even in his eighties, Vonnegut could still bring it.
---

Well, I've always been a fan of Tom Lehrer - partly for his clever wordplay ("then the guy who's got religion'll/ tell you if your sin's original"), but mainly for his go-for-the-throat social commentary ("Political satire became obsolete when Henry Kissinger was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.").

Lehrer released few songs, and stopped performing and recording before I was born, so I'd pretty much written him out of the modern world. I still listen to him and get a laugh now and then, but I was pretty sure he was gone.

But, of course - the internet exists to satisfy the curiosity of people like me, so when I think "I wonder if..."
-I find out that Mr. Lehrer performed in England as recently as 1998, and he's even kept his edge, as evidenced by this modern gem:

'I'm not tempted to write a song about George W.Bush. I couldn't figure out what sort of song I would write. That's the problem: I don't want to satirize George Bush and his puppeteers, I want to vaporize them."

Ah, Maestro. How I've missed you.

Scary good UI

I'm susceptible to good marketing - and Apple has clearly spared no expense in the "make it look cool" department, but damn. The iPhone sure has all the appearances of having some insanely good UI.

It remains to be seen if a touch screen can be made to function like a manual keypad, but the rest of the touch screen features look pretty impressive.

I know, it's just a demo.

But watch the latest demo, and then hold onto your wallet.
Small res Medium res High res

I'm supposedly trying to make user interface better where I work - but the complexity of making a machine behave in ways that seem natural to people is an uphill undertaking. Machines are logical, and people aren't. Or rather, machines demand precision and people often change their perspective of a task mid-stream. Machines are pretty lousy at this, and making software respond to our naturally fluid tendencies is an exercises in torturing your development team.

I am confident that the iPhone will disappoint many - it's flaws will be exposed over the next year and criticisms will go viral in the next month. I'm still mystified how they can be a week out from selling the product in stores (along with a two year contract) and the terms of that contract are still unknown. But even if half of what you see in the demo works as advertised - Cell phones as you know them are going away.

UI 2.0 folks. Drink it in.

Podcast vs. reality

I hardly ever listen to the radio anymore. I probably could count on one hand the occasions when I heard a full song off the radio in the last year. Outside of NPR in the morning, the radio has pretty much become an iPod accessory. Road trip audio is Pod audio. If we were invaded by Visigoths during a road trip, I wouldn't find about it until the trip was over.

I've found that the Pod is kind of like cruise control. You get a good podcast going and you don't want to stop. I've driven to lunch hour errands without ever taking out the ear buds.

The iPod also provides immunity to worldly delays. There's a five minute delay for a table? K. More time to listen to Bill Moyers or Wait, Wait…

When I need realworld sound, it's just easier to tap off the audio and leave the ear buds in.

This is a bit strange, because people will assume you can't hear them when the iPod is off. Or they'll talk to you when you're way into something on the Pod.

This can annoy both parties to the conversation rapidly.

This local sandwich shop I go to pretty much maximizes this phenomenon.

It's usually busy, and even if it isn't - their sandwiches usually take awhile to make.

Knowing the drill, I'll be well into my podcast by the time I get to place my order. Today, I'm listing to D-Day veterans recount stories of wartime terror and loss.

It's pretty gripping stuff. This one veteran's family is relating the story of how they found out their dad was a Medal of Honor winner - thirty years after he won it. The man's daughter was clearly deeply affected as she said how her dad "never talked about it. It just wasn't important to him. His family was what mattered to him."

Deep stuff.

How you doin' today?

I look up, and teen-behind-the-counter is asking me how I'm doing. Not because they are interested, but because this chain's marketing types have decided that the best way to deal with the delay in preparing my food is mindless banter.

Got big plans for the weekend?

Back in the Pod, another vet is describing the horror of a mortar fragment slicing into his foot and how the injury kept him from learning that his best friend had been killed.

I stop the pod, and say, "Fine, no big plans." Basically do my best to vibe this guy that - I'm just here for the sandwich, we don't need to be friends. Pod back on.

This does not take, and next he is describing an "outfit" he's considering wearing, and he would like my opinion.

The vet is describing arguing with the medics about how they shouldn't cut his foot off.

It's a black tuxedo jacket, with a black shirt and a bright yellow tie, and…

Back in the pod, sutures rupture repeatedly, and the medic is angrily telling the vet that he will have a massive scar.

I say something offhand and mentally command this person to Go. The Hell. Away.

How you doin’ today?

Teen-boy is on to the next person in line, who is about as happy with the banter as I am.

The shop also has some earnest youngster performing live music at an intrusive volume.

I dial up the volume and sit somewhere far enough away to lose realworld audio.

I watch the youngster, head bowed, climbing their way up their guitar, eyes closed. The summit reached, their head snaps up, mouth to the mike and-

- Somewhere in the Pod, the vet gets to keep their foot.

So, which model of development do you follow?

Speaking as a member of an RUP-shop, it's nice to see there are some real-world alternatives waiting in the wings:

New Systems of Management