Let me start this by saying that sexual predators are one of the few groups that I viscerally hate.  I’m a pretty forgiving guy, but if you violate a woman or a child, then you are no longer human to me.  You deserve all the punishment that you get sentenced for, and while I don’t necessarily agree with the death penalty, I’ll make an exception for rape or child molestation.  I also understand that pedophilia is something that has never shown much promise as a treatable mental condition.

That being said, I’m disturbed with the announcement today that the Supreme Court is OK with the continued detention of sexual offenders, even after they have finished their sentences.

My take on it is this:  if someone is psychologically unable to be a safe member of society as demonstrated by past bad acts, then hold an inquest, prove to the court that they are dangerous to the community at large because of a mental condition, and have them committed for treatment.  Come back periodically and prove to the court that said person is still not fit to mix with society in general  If you can’t prove that and just want them locked up because you’re worried they might do something horrible again, then you don’t meet my standard for taking away someone’s liberty.

One other way we could get around this is to allow for life sentences with no parole for sexual assault or child molestation.  If the government feels that sexual offenders need never walk the streets again, then put them away for life at the beginning.  Then let the courts decide if that punishment is “cruel and unusual”.

Giving the government the power to put people away because they are afraid they might offend again is a slippery slope I’m not willing to take the country down.

If they feel that a drug dealer is likely to go back to peddling dope on the streetcorner, thereby harming the community, can they put him away forever?

What about the young man who robs a liquor store as a teenager, but may get his life together after serving his sentence?  Should he be sent to prison forever because a certain percentage of young males who knock over liquor stores as teenagers become habitual criminals?

The government should not be able to look at a person who has committed a crime and decide that, because they may re-offend, they should be locked up indefinitely.  Either follow existing mental inquest procedures, or lock them up for life from the get-go.

You all know that guy who puts his name on everything he owns using a sharpie?  Cuts out a stencil with his initial and paints them on all of his lawn and garden equipment?  Has an engraving tool and uses it regularly to carve his initials into every metal instrument that crosses the property line?

Well, apparently, he has kids:

A Washington man is on trial for assault for allegedly branding his children like ranch cattle and permanently scarring them, authorities said.

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, Over?

His sons apparently think this is the keenest things since pizza delivery.  That goes a long way towards showing how messed up this guy is as a dad.

Now, there have been times that I’ve written my name and phone number on my kids in such a way that a policeman would find it, but it’s not too obtrusive, such as when we’re going somewhere with huge crowds and they might get separated. 
But to brand them like a steer?  That’s some world class, grade A dumbassery there.

Congratulations moron.  Hopefully you’ll be in the state pound-in-the-ass penitentiary by the time Father’s Day rolls around.

No, really it does.

UPI is reporting that a fungal infestation is harming the opium poppy crop in Afghanistan.  So the narco-economy of that particular 3rd world craphole is going to suffer, which means that all of Karzai’s cronies that can’t make it doing something honest for a living will suffer.

Good.

Look, I think that the Taliban and their ilk are the wrong answer in Afghanistan due to their record on human rights, especially to women and non-Muslims.  But the one thing they did that I agreed with was to ban the production of opium in Afghanistan and then to ruthlessly enforce that ban.  (Although I guess they’ve lost that particular conviction now that they have to finance an insurgency.)  Money from the sale of opium and the greed that comes with that money has tainted our ‘liberation’ of Afghanistan.  Personally, I feel we switched out an Islamist repressive regime for a cleptocracy fueled by U.S. foreign aid and the proceeds from narcotics trafficking.  Wow, what a difference in results.

I personally don’t have a beef with someone using heroine if they don’t hurt anyone else doing it.  You want to inject poison into your veins and die either very slowly and ugly through chronic opium addiction or go quick and ugly through an OD?  Have at it, as long as you’re an adult, and your use and eventual death won’t hurt anyone else.

But it should be made legal, and the transportation of the product, from 3rd world fields to the local pharmacy, should be done in the open, where purity can be regulated.  Doing this would take out all of the tin-hat warlords, underworld smugglers, and dirty warehouse labs and cutting operations out of the picture.  Along with this would go all of the attendant crime that goes with illicit use of the drug.

I personally hope that the Afghan warlords and everyone else that moves the poison from the Afghan poppy fields to the dealer on the street hurt so bad financially that they turn on each other and cull our collective herd a bit.  And I hope this particular fungus spreads from Afghanistan to the rest of the opium producing regions.

Irish Woman does volunteer work at the Louisville Zoo.  Every year, her fundraising group holds a blacktie shindig at the zoo, and the next morning the kids and I go with her to help clean up and break down.  After we get done, John the zoo director takes all of the volunteers on a behind-the-scenes tour of some new aspect of the zoo.

Several years ago, Mikki, the African elephant, had a little bull calf, who was eventually named Scotty.  After cleaning up that year, John had us all come up to the newly renovated elephant enclosure to meet Scotty. 

Scotty was like almost any human baby at about 6-9 months, even though he was only 6 weeks old.  He was curious, friendly, and gregarious.  In small groups of two or three, we went up to the bars of the enclosure, and patted him on the head and rump while he used his trunk to explore our hair, clothes, and anything hanging off of our belts.  It’s amazing how dexterous that trunk was.  I was wearing a ball cap, and Scotty pulled it off of my head so he could smell it better.  He was also fascinated with my cell-phone.  Girlie Bear and Little Bear got to pet him and talk to him, and he was fascinated with the scent of the shampoo in their hair. 

Over the next few years, we always made a point to go to the elephant area to watch him play when we went to the zoo.  We got to pet him a couple of times more as we did things with the zoo, including letting Scotty check out BooBoo when he was only a few days old.

Even though Scotty rarely left the elephant enclosure, he had a lot of room to move around, and was forever exploring.  He enjoyed doing “elephant aerobics” every day with the keepers and his mother and aunt Ponch, the Indian elephant.  He also loved to jump in the elephant pond with his mom for a cool dip.  Every person I know who works or volunteers at the zoo loved him as if he was a favored nephew.  Every year for his birthday he would get a big birthday cake made out of fresh fruit, and seemed to enjoy rolling a watermelon around with his feet and trunk as much as he enjoyed eating it.

Countless visitors to the zoo were entranced by this little guy, and since elephants mature almost as slowly as humans, we thought we would get a decade of time with him before he was transferred to another zoo.

Unfortunately, that is not going to happen.

Wednesday evening, Irish Woman came home from a meeting at the zoo in tears.  John had come to the meeting and had tearfully informed her group that Scotty was gravely ill, and it was going to be touch and go to see if he survived.    We learned later from the news that Scotty had been euthenized when the veterinarians and keepers felt that continued efforts to save him would only prolong his suffering.

A light in the world of my family and especially my children went out when that little elephant died.  No matter how tired or cross the kids were at the zoo, they always perked up when they saw Scotty.  The family of people who work at, support, and visit the Louisville Zoo lost a precious member that night.

In memory of Scotty the Elephant, March 18, 2007 to May 12, 2010

Girlie Bear was positively giddy this morning when she was getting ready for school.  She’s a morning person, but this morning she was a bit over the top.  I was wondering if she’d discovered boys (shudder), when I remembered that today is her ‘educational’ field trip to King’s Island.  Yes, her teachers expect me to believe that she’s going to learn something at an amusement park.

Anyway, as I was getting ready, I flipped on the local morning news, and guess what they have as a top story? 

Today is the 22nd anniversary of the Carrolton bus crash.  Yes, a group going returning from King’s Island was hit by a drunk driver, and 27 people, mostly students, died.

Guess which route her bus has to use to get from Louisville to  King’s Island and back?  I’ll give you a hint:  If they hold a roadside memorial at the site of the crash, Girlie Bear will see it coming and going.

Look, I’m not superstitious.  I don’t read the omens.  I don’t really believe in lightning striking twice.  I’m sure everything will be OK, and the only injury she’ll have to contend with is sunburn.

But it’s just a spooky enough of a coincidence to make me ask Girlie Bear to sit near an exit on the bus. 

I’m not paranoid, I’m just a dad.

This morning, I met a member of our team at the computer room, and we went through another round of “Let’s clean out the storage room”.

The following things were found and summarily marked for disposal:

• DEC networking gear that hasn’t been needed in our environment since before I was hired almost 10 years ago
• SCSI cables that have more dust on them than a pharoah’s tomb
• Thermal paper for an unknown printing technology
• Serial and parallel cables for printers we don’t have anymore, and no-one can remember ever owning
• DLT tape drives that are either still in the wrappers or are so old they remind me of the Clinton administration
• Outboard serial modems, which no-one wants to admit ever having used

This time, thankfully, the DEC Alpha system, rack included, that sat in the storage room for at least 8 years was gone, so I did not throw my back out moving the bleeding thing so I could see what was behind it.

I did, however, leave spare parts for server models that I can prove we still use.  But why we need three spare power supplies for the SUN server that has never had a problem with its power supply is beyond me.

In the future, I would appreciate it if you could proactively get rid of spares for server models we retire.

Nothing says nostalgia like taking a few minutes to look at parts for systems you don’t even remember.  And nothing is better for my allergies than plodding through all of the accumulated dust, pollen, and mold and mildew that has accumulated in our little storage room.  I’m going home to take another shower and change my clothes.  Hopefully my nose will stop running in the very near future.

Thanks much,

Daddy Bear

I’m an amateur prepper.  By that I mean that I keep a small supply of extra food, water, shelter, and guns around the house.  I haven’t dug a fall out shelter, bought land far, far away from civilization to run to, or convinced my wife and neighbors to start combat training.I’m more worried about a week long power outage or flooding in this area than I am about The End of the World As We Know It. 

But for a thought experiment, let’s assume that all long-distance trade is brought to a standstill.  Maybe it’s a war, or a plague, or whatever that causes this.  No more plentiful imports from overseas, and very little commerce with people more than a day or two’s wagon ride away. 

You have a vegetable garden and some skills that you trade for the staple grains you and your family need, or you have enough land and labor to raise the corn, wheat, and potatoes yourself.   Luckily you have enough woods in your area to keep the house warm and repaired for a few years.  A good local source of clean water is available, and you can get to it safely on a daily basis to refill your supply at home.

But you can’t make or grow everything that you need and want.  What things will run out quickly, and what things can you live without but could use for barter?

First thing I would imagine that would run out is gasoline.  Most folks, me included, only keep the tankful in their cars and maybe a couple of gas cans in the garage for the yard tools.  Let’s assume that you’re smart and see that the gas in your gas tank is better used to work gardening implements and chain saws than driving around the neighborhood to talk to your friends.  Do you have a few extra bottles of two-stroke oil laying around so you can run the chainsaw and tiller?  

Do you have hand tools that could be used in combination with brute labor to do such things as till and weed the garden or bring wood in?  How many people even own an axe anymore, or know how to use it?

As for food, I see spices as being the first thing to go missing. Of course, all perishable food would be gone in a day or so after power goes out.  So you have the dry and canned food that you have stored, supplemented by any food you can grow, catch or find.  Meals would get pretty monotonous when that little spice rack you bought at Kitchen Kaboodle runs dry.  Yes, you can live without paprika, curry powder, and all that, but flavorless food will drive you to the edge of violence pretty quickly.  Herb gardens are common enough now-a-days that you probably can grow your own or barter for them easily.  But what do you do for those spices and herbs that just don’t grow in your area?  You can’t grow cinnamon, nutmeg, or black pepper.  These have to be imported from more tropical climates, and if you can get them, they’re probably hideously expensive.   Salt could also be an issue if you don’t live near a natural salt mine or the ocean.  You have to have salt for your own health and to cure and dry meat properly.  Also, if spices are rare, any surplus you have would make a great barter item.

Speaking of barter items and morale, don’t forget the luxuries and vices category.  In that area, I guess I’m lucky to live in Kentucky, where growing tobacco and making whiskey are considered a cultural heritage.  But if you live in a place that isn’t as blessed with a heritage of Jim Beam and Jack Daniels (Peace Be Upon Them), it might not hurt to have a small supply of these things put aside either for your own self-regulated use or for barter.

Things like chocolate, coffee, and white sugar can’t easily be grown or processed in the United States.  Having a few pounds of Starbucks, some Hershey bars, and buckets of sugar squirreled away will allow you to have treats for you and your family or as a tempting barter item for something you really really need.   We all love our smokes, booze, sugar, chocolate and coffee.  The family you’re bargaining with for a cow might move off their final offer if a candy bar or a pound of coffee are thrown in to sweeten the deal.

Next come clothes.  As an adult, we tend to have the same core of clothing that we wear until it wears out over a space of years.  If you have kids, you know its a safe bet that the sweater that you put away in April will not fit them come November.  Used clothing is something you can barter with and for, but what do you do for good shoes?  Shoes usually wear out before the user outgrows them, and how many of us know how to make them?  Also, does anyone in your household know how to make cloth, knit, and sew, especially by hand?

So, now that I’ve rambled on, here’s what I’m either doing now, or will be doing soon:

• Gasoline – Keep several 5 gallon cans of gasoline in the garage, with stabilizing agents added to keep them from deteriorating too fast.  Rotate them through the vehicles and lawnmowers every few months.  Keep enough two-stroke oil on-hand to use half of the stored gasoline in chainsaws and the like.
• Buy spices in bulk and follow a “own 3, use 1” rotation schedule.  Keep lots of salt on hand due to its importance as a nutrient and preservative.
• Keep an herb garden. 
• Keep a couple boxes of cigars and small bottles of drinking alcohol around for entertainment and trading.
• Keep some luxury goods like chocolate and coffee around for the same reason.
• Buy and store white sugar in bulk.  Use honey and other sweeteners as much as possible.
• Have clothing around for the kids for the next few sizes they will wear, especially several pairs of shoes.  Have a couple pairs of work boots around for the adults.
• Learn some skills that have a real-world application beyond being a guy with a gun or a field hand.  Premium should be given to learning things that you can market, such as knitting, sewing, or alcohol production. Hey, you could get farther as a beer peddler than you could selling socks.

Anyhow, those are my thoughts.  I don’t touch on security, because I believe it’s a given that even in the world as it is, your security is your responsibility.  What are your thoughts?

Haven’t done these in a while.  It’s a good way to blow off steam.

To the 19 year old wearing the “Class of 2009” tee shirt who was pissed that I was in ‘her’ parking spot in front of Starbucks this morning, I’m sorry you had to walk around my “nasty old truck” as you so succinctly put it to whoever you were annoying at 7:30 AM on your cell phone.  As for Mummsy and Daddsy’s BMW that you were driving, either learn to park wiithout taking up two spaces, or learn to walk, you self absorbed neauveau riche white trash drama queen.

To the marketing guy who thought to let Starbucks customers make a Frapuccino out of everything including the Barista’s tears, you are a business genius.  But if I ever find you, I’m going to gut you like a trout using a dull spork and hang your carcass to age in front of Kroger as a warning to other twits who might do something that will cause me to have to wait in a line 17 deep for coffee.  This line was populated by 15 young people like the young lady above, and two adults who just wanted a cup of hot bean juice.

To the Kentucky Revenue Cabinet, mad props for sending us our refund check in less than a month.  When I saw the envelope, I was half expecting a “well, we done spent all the money on bourbon and strippers, so here’s some coupons for a free Squishy at the gas station instead”.

To Mayor of New York Michael Bloomberg, who thinks that citizens should be denied their civil rights because some bureaucrat put them on a list, I hope they find your bloated carcass tied up in a bondage leather bar in Greenwich Village.

That’s about all I’ve got for now.  Just needed to vent my spleen a bit.  We’ll return to our normal ray-of-sunshine posting soon.

There are few things in life nicer than watching a Disney movie and cuddling with your youngest child.

Just saw that a member of the production crew for Deadliest Catch has been arrested on suspicion of dealing cocaine in Alaska.  No comment on that.  There’s an idiot in any given population sample, and apparently this company is no exception.

Irish Woman is fascinated by the show, and watches pretty much every week when new episodes air.  But I grew up watching Norwegians fish.  Why would I spend an hour of my adult life doing it some more?  My grandfather left a life as a fisherman in Norway to shovel horse manure and never looked back. That’s how hard a life being a deep sea fisherman is.  It’s better to clean out horse stalls for a living than to go out on a little boat in a big ocean and try to find fish.

Don’t get me wrong.  Those fishermen risk their life to make a living doing dangerous and dirty work in horrific conditions.  Looking at what these guys go through for crab makes me appreciate my seafood dinner more.  They are some of the last true hunters left in our food chain.  All of the other meat that we eat is raised specifically for meat production.  These guys have to find, fix, and fetch just like our ancestors used to, with no guarantee of success.

When I was not much older than BooBoo is now, my father put a pole in my hand, put a worm on a hook, and threw my red and white bobber out into Lake Darling.  I would catch perch, and he would sit on the bank, drink PBR, and smoke Camels while pulling northern and walleye pike out of the lake. 

As I got older, the trips became less and less frequent, mostly due to his never being home due to work on the railroad and a hobby that included women that weren’t genetically related to me.  My uncles and older cousins took up a lot of the slack and took me and my brothers fishing quite regularly.  I eventually graduated from bobber to a Red-Devil spoon for northern, which meant I was growing up. 

Catching a pike is kinda like catching a log.  They don’t fight and thrash like a bass or crappie.  They just basically pull back with their head and refuse to cooperate.  The line has to be ended with a steel leader so the fish doesn’t bite through it.  No mono filament or nylon braid is proof against a pike’s teeth.  No finger is for that matter.  If I didn’t have a net to pull them up to the bank, I usually just walked backwards the last few feet to pull them up to land and then put them on my stringer.

Once my mom and dad split up I started taking myself down to the river to fish with my friends.  I was old enough, and mom was off doing other things and what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me.

My step-dad fancied himself a sportsman.  He had lots and lots of fishing gear, and lots and lots of rifles and pistols.  Mom followed him to Utah, and I tried to learn how to catch trout.  I never tried fly fishing, but learned to float a salmon egg on a small hook down a stream.  Never did catch a trout, but walking a mile up or down stream from the family campout was a rare moment of peace.

When I grew up, I stopped fishing for the most part.  I had no time early in my career, and fishing in Germany was hard to do and expensive.  As much game as there was in Arizona, fishing in the desert is kinda the definition of insanity.

Once I moved back east, I started fishing again.  It was mostly to have something inexpensive to do since money was tight, and to have some quiet.   The kids started coming along pretty soon.  I learned quickly that if I took the kids, there was no use in taking my own pole.  I spend most of my time baiting and setting their lines, then getting them unsnagged, and then putting their lines back out when they bring them back in for no discernible reason.  I’m not complaining.  I always have a ball when we go, and everyone seems to enjoy themselves, even if it’s because of the picnic of sandwiches, junk food, and soda that we bring.

The incident that convinced me to stop worrying about getting my pole in the water happened the first summer I was here in Kentucky.  I picked Girlie Bear and Little Bear up from their mom, and headed to the local flood control lake to try to catch some bluegill.  They had recently gotten their Tasmanian Devil and Tweety Bird fishing poles, and thought it was the best thing since sliced bread to see me put a worm on a hook. Girlie Bear was about 2, and Little Bear was almost 4.    We went to a place that looked promising, which was a rock outcropping that jutted out into deep water.  I put their lines in the water for them, then started setting up my pole to try to catch a bass.  After a few minutes, Girlie Bear lost interest in sitting still and started looking at the little minnows that were coming up to eat her cookie crumbs. 

All I heard was “fishie fishie” and splash.  My darling girl had leaned over the DEEP water and tried to catch a minnow by hand.  She then lost her toddler balance and plopped in head first.  She of course sunk like a rock.  I moved faster than the speed of fright and pulled her out by the only thing that was still in reach, her diapered back end.

She came up coughing, sputtering, and crying.  After making sure she was OK, I rocked her and myself back to coherency.  That was pretty much the end of our day fishing, and Little Bear was well and roundly pissed when I gathered up our stuff and we hiked back to the car.  I made up for it with ice cream, so it evened up for him.

So, since then, I never stop paying attention to the kids when we’re fishing.  I thought as Little Bear and Girlie Bear got older I’d get to do more fishing myself, but now that BooBoo is here the cycle is starting again.  No worries though.  I sneak away alone enough that I don’t miss fishing when I take the kids.  Either way, it’s my favorite way to spend a day during the summer.