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Don’t Mess With the Mommy
Posted By: Sgt. Mom @ 2212 on 20040907

When I was in junior high, one of my girlfriends who admittedly was a bit of a drama queen claimed with great fervor to be such a devotee of non-violence that she would not use violence of any sort to defend her children. Since we were approximately fifteen and virgin, the existence of children for both of us was at best theoretical. I did suspect her of total bullshit at the time, and knew it with certainty ten years later, when I against all expectation, had a child of my own.

I had the experience of holding my baby daughter…my…own…baby… daughter… and immediately and violently falling into a sort of love— completely different from the way one falls in love with one’s intended, a deep and primal emotion. For your child, you will unhesitatingly put yourself between any danger around, and that child. To defend the safety of that child you will pick up any weapon available, and use it. To keep my child safe, I knew without the slightest doubt, that I would kill— anyone, and with anything at hand, no matter how up close and personal, with bare hands and slowly, if the threat to my daughter (my daughter!) were imminent. And afterwards, I would sleep like a babe myself, without a shred of regret, no bad dreams, even if I were left covered in the innards and gore of whoever had dared… dared… to attempt violence on my child. Actually, the depth of this conviction, the absolute certainty, that any threat to my daughter could only be carried out over my dead body, came as a bit of a shock to me… so very primal, so very basic… like an animal, ferocious in intensity.

This is where, I think, our human tendency to see children as an especially protected category first arose… not of any particular human bent towards chivalry, just well-established wisdom. It must have come clear to our most remote ancestors that a threat to a child resulted all to frequently in the mother of that child ripping out the heart of whatever posed that threat with her bare hands, and if possible, eating it in the marketplace. “Don’t mess with the mommy” is the guiding rule of wildlife biologists doing field research, especially amongst those who deal with the larger mammals.

But the corollary to that deep and unhesitating maternal devotion is the knowledge that anyone could use that against you, could force you into something, no matter how vile or degrading by the simple expedient of putting a gun or worse to your child’s head…. And so the experiences of parents last week in Russia became our most horrible nightmare, played out on the TV screen and in the front pages. A thousand people, most of them children, children like ours… on their first day of school… schools much like ours, on the first day of a school year, with anxiously hovering parents seeing them into the playground on this most important first day, parents who brought along the little brothers and sisters. Who of us with children has not lingered by the gate, seeing that small and dearly beloved individual, weighted down with a book bag and their own apprehensions, march sturdily up the stairs and into the main entrance?

The heartbreaking pictures, pictures of tiny still forms on stretchers and in coffins, or carried away naked and bloody, those pictures awake our most primal nightmares— they are bad enough, but reading the accounts of the horror— children of all ages, tormented in front of their parents, in front of their mothers with heat, and thirst and hunger— terrorized by masked men with guns and explosives, who murdered without remorse, in their very faces, forced by necessity to drink their own urine, and to eat the bouquets of flowers, petal by petal and leaf by leaf. That last, if anything indicated the true intention of the terrorists was to create a spectacle of death, as soon as enough cameras were pointing that way, a veritable auto de fe of horror and blood. I am only amazed that the hostages didn’t crack sooner than two days, driven mad with fear for their children and ready to gamble a chance of escape against a certainty of death.

These two small items in the Beslan news hold a small warning indicator to anyone who think to extort concessions by holding children as hostages; there are some reports that many of the Russian security forces were accidentally shot in the back, by armed parents following them into the besieged school, intent on rescuing their own…. And that one of the Chechen terrorists was torn apart by an angry mob, outside the school, afterwards.

Don’t mess with the mommy. You may not like what happens, then.

A Must See
Posted By: Kevin Connors @ 0432 on 20040906

I advise all to check out AMC’s Rated R: Republicans in Hollywood - just as a reminder that the town doesn’t only breed fools. :)

My guess is that this has something to do with the Navy’s “super-secret” AURORA project:

They have become legendary in UFO circles. Huge, silent-running “Flying Triangles” have been seen by ground observers creeping through the sky low and slow near cities and quietly cruising over highways.

The National Institute for Discovery Science (NIDS), has catalogued the Triangle sightings, sifting through and combining databases to take a hard look at the mystery craft. Based in Las Vegas, Nevada, NIDS is a privately funded science institute with a strong research focusing on aerial phenomena.The results of their study have just been released and lead to some unnerving, still puzzling conclusions.

The study points out: “The United States is currently experiencing a wave of Flying Triangle sightings that may have intensified in the 1990s, especially towards the latter part of the 1990s. The wave continues. The Flying Triangles are being openly deployed over and near population centers, including in the vicinity of major Interstate Highways.”

But, due to the end of the Cold War, the need for secrecy has become not nearly so marked as with the B-2 or F-117 projects.

hat tip: reader Kayse

Sunday Morning, 11:15
Posted By: Sgt. Mom @ 1422 on 20040903

A Sunday September morning, on one of those mild and gorgeous fall days, when the leaves are just starting to turn, but the last of the summer flowers still linger, and the days are warm, yet everyone grabs hold of those last few golden days, knowing how short they are of duration under the coming Doom of winter.

And there is another Doom besides the changing of the seasons on this morning, a Doom that has been building inescapable by treaty obligation for the last two days, clear to the politically savvy for the last two weeks— since the two old political opposites-and-enemies inexplicably signed an alliance— deferred by a humiliating stand-down and betrayal of the trusting two years since, a doom apparent to the far-sighted for nearly a decade. The armies are marching, the jackals bidden to follow after the conqueror, a country betrayed and dismembered, the crack cavalry troops of an army rated as superior to the American Army as it existed then charging against tanks, their ancient and historic cities reduced to rubble… and by obligation and treaty, the Allies are brought to face a brutal reality. That after two decades of peace, after four years of war that countenanced the slaughter of a significant portion of a generation, that left small towns across Europe and Great Britain decimated and plastered with sad memorials carved with endless lists of names, acres of crosses and desolation, sacrifice and grief, for which no one could afterwards give a really good reason, a decade of pledging “never again”, war is come upon them, however much they would wish and hope and pray otherwise. Reservists had been called to active duty, children had been evacuated en mass from the crowded city center, and Neville Chamberlain, who had been given a choice between war and dishonor, chosen dishonor and now had to go before the nation on radio and announce the coming of war:

“I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Room at 10 Downing Street. This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government an official note stating that unless we heard from them by eleven o’clock, that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and consequently this county is at war with Germany. You can imagine what a bitter blow it is to me that all my long struggle to win peace has failed. Yet I cannot believe that there is anything more or anything different that I could have done and that would have been more successful…. We and France are to-day, in fullfrnlment of our obligations, going to the aid of Poland, so bravely resisting this wicked and unprovoked attack on her people. We have a clear conscience, we have done all that any country could do to establish peace. The situation in which no word given by Germany’s ruler could be trusted and no people or country could feel safe has become intolerable. Now we have resolved to finish it, I know you will all play your part with calmness and courage…

When I have finished speaking certain detailed announcements will be made on behalf of the Government. Give these ‘your closest attention. The Government have made plans under’ which It will be possible’ to carry on the work of the nation in the days of stress and strain which may be ahead of us. These plans need your help; you may be taking your part in the fighting Services or as a volunteer in one of the branches of civil defense. If so, you will report for duty in accordance with the instructions you have received. You may be engaged in work essential to the prosecution of war, or for the maintenance of the life of the people in factories in transport in public utility concerns, or in the supply of other necessaries of life. If so it is of vital importance that you should carry on with your job.

Now may God bless you all, and may he defend the right. For it is evil things that we shall be fighting, against brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression and persecution, and against them I am certain that Right will prevail.”

The filmmaker John Boorman in the movie “Hope and Glory” noted the queer occurrence of all the lawnmowers in the suburb suddenly falling silent, everyone listening to the sad speech of a man who has seen his worst fears realized followed by the sound of air raid sirens. It was a false alarm, that morning, but within a year the alarms would sound for real. The docklands would be reduced to rubble, historic churches would fall, the city would burn, but in the aftermath, defiantly humorous signs would appear “More Open Than Usual” and “I Have No Pane, Dear Mother Now”. It would be entirely possible for men who had served in the Western Front to see grim and tragic duty again as firemen and wardens in the streets where they lived in this new war. By the time the Blitz became a reality, most everyone had gotten more or less accustomed to the idea. My Grandpa Jim, though, would take the bombing of London as a personal insult, and be restrained from going downtown and assaulting the German Consulate in Los Angeles, while his son and namesake collected newspaper clippings about the war, and aviation for his scrapbook. I do not think the news of war that came to them on another Sunday morning, nearly two years later came entirely as a surprise, only the direction form which it came— east, and not west.

In any case, the news would have come, late on a Sunday morning, after the early service. I like to think this is a hymn that might have been sung in the last few quiet hours before the storm— as it was at the service I attended the day that the ground offensive began in the first Gulf War.

God of Grace and God of Glory, on your people pour Your Power;
Crown your ancient church’s story, Bring it’s bud to glorious flower.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, For the facing of this hour
For the facing of this hour.

Lo, the hosts of evil round us, Scorn the Christ, assail his ways!
From the fears that long have bound us, Free our hearts to faith and praise.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, for the facing of these days,
For the facing of these days!

Cure your children’s warring madness, Bend our pride to your control;
Shame our wanton, selfish gladness, Rich in things and poor in soul.
Grant is wisdom, grant us courage, Lest we miss Your kingdom’s goal
Lest we miss Your kingdom’s goal.

Set our feet on lofty places, Gird our lives that they may be,
Armored with all Christ-like graces, In the fight to set men free.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, That we fail not man nor Thee,
That we fail not man nor Thee

Save us from weak resignation, To the evils we deplore;
Let the gift of Your salvation, Be our glory evermore.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, Serving You whom we adore,
Serving you whom we adore.

Tune: Cwm Rhondda
Words: Harry Emerson Fosdick, 1930

September 3, 1939: 65 years ago today.
(Reminder, courtesy of Cronacea)

This blogger laments the time wasted in meetings, meetings to plan events, meetings that are a waste of time and annoyance to most of the people involved. But the ability to run a productive meeting is a skill, a rare and necessary skill, and the military was where I first saw it displayed to effective advantage.
MSgt Rob the station manager at FEN Misawa, for reasons of his own, of which I knew nothing at the time, but probably had more to do with his schedule and disinclination to spend his own time on a pretty routine task, sent me to attend a planning meeting. It was the planning meeting to work out the details of the annual Air Force ball, and all around the table at the NCO club were representatives from every other unit on base. All guys, every one of them with about six times my time in service, and enough stripes to dazzle a herd of zebras.
And they had the whole project sorted out in a briskly off-hand manner;
Venue? O’Club or NCO. O’Club a bit more plush, a bit more special. All in favor? Aye.
Date? Calendars consulted. Friday in September when the O’Club was available. No conflicts with third Friday? Ok, then. Third Friday it was.
DJ, for after-dinner dancing? One of the present NCOs was the MWR manager, and armed with a list of available DJs. He was detailed to work out who would be available for that date, and brief us at the next meeting; any of them would be acceptable.
Cost of tickets? Keep ‘em affortable so the junior enlisted could participate. Some small discussion on what exactly consituted affordible, and all eyes swiveled to me, as the only junior enlisted present. I stammered out a cost which I thought would be acceptable. Right. Agreed? Next item— the menu.
The MWR manager, prepped with a list of available banquet entrees available from the O’Club kitchen, read out the items that agreed with the cost of tickets: chicken with mushrooms, or beef burgundy. Everyone cool with that choice? Good.
Guests at the head table? Of course the guest of honor, who would also be the speaker. The base commanders and spouses, the chaplain who would do the invocation— short sidetrack while the representative from the Chapel was instructed to see which of the chaplains would be available on the date in question.
Decor for the tables, and that? This produced a silence, until I cleared my throat and suggested that the tablecloths be autumn colors— red and gold, maybe. And fall foliage on the tables instead of flowers.
I held my breath; this sort of thing would have brought about hours of discussion among the Girl Scouts, or the church ladies. Everyone would take sides, and argue over it, and not a few feelings would be hurt, and it would only be resolved when everyone was heartily sick of fighting over it.
The senior NCO looked at the MWR manager? Red and gold tablecloths? Not a problem, said the MWR manager, we got ‘em. All agreed, red and gold it is.
Deliver the guest of honor in an eccentric vehicle— of course. It is the custom. Some discussion about possibly using the flight-line fire engine. The NCO from the fire department does not like that, and suggests using the little “follow me” truck. Perfect. All agreed. The NCO from the motor pool will make the “follow me” truck available on the evening in question.
The NCO representing the Personnel section— which included the base reprographics section— has enough information to mock up the tickets. At the next meeting, the program for the evening would be set. He would bring the tickets to the next meeting, where we would have the information for the final program line-up. Anything we’ve forgotten? No. Next meeting, this time next Thursday.
Fourty-five minutes flat, under the firm hand of decisive people who do not wish to waste time… or anyone elses.
I love doing business that way.

I have long been envious of my mother’s big, plush, SitOnIt executive chair. We knew a guy at the factory in Brea, and hardly paid the $900+ list price when we bought it. But he’s long since moved on, and such deals are not to be repeated for those on the outside.

For the past year or so, my computer workstation perch has been a stenographer’s ‘task chair’ that I purchased for the rock-bottom price of $15 (the foam was galled on one of the armrests) from a vendor at the ACP Superswap. Surprisingly well-made, this might have been a fine chair for some anorexic waif of a secretary. But, for one of my rather Falstaffian proportions, it felt as though I was the victim of an attempted anal impalement by the Jolly Green Giant.

All that has changed today. At the sacrifice of new front strut cartridges (shock absorbers) for my Escort in my budget, I just paid $95 at Costco for a fabric-covered low-back executive chair called ‘The Titan’. It appears to be quite well-built. And while it lacks all the features of mom’s chair, it is at least 95% as comfortable.

From your standpoint - look for more from me. After all, a comfortable blogger is a productive blogger. :D

Memo: On Bad Political Advice
Posted By: Sgt. Mom @ 2158 on 20040831

To: Sen. Kerry
Re: Bad Political Advice
From: Sgt Mom

1. Presumptious of me to be offering my advice to you at this time, but if Lumpy Riefenstahl can presume to offer open letters to GWB, and cats can look at kings, then I can offer a few kindly words. My pity as a public relations professional is aroused most particularly because whoever advised you to base your campaign on the image of your service in Vietnam as a Navy officer did you no favor. To put it kindly, that was the second-worst bit of advice I have ever seen administered. The prize for worst in my experience, was that of an oldies radio station in Ogden-SLC ten or twelve years ago, who— when they re-formatted their playlist, took that occassion to announce that while the playlist was being updated and refreshed, they would be the “All Louie, Louie” station. And they played nothing but “Louie, Louie", all day and all of the night, for an entire week!
I think they had lost every listener in the market by the end of the weekend, and carried on for another four days just to be sure. But I digress.
2. Senator, Vietnam was three wars ago, four if you count the Cold War of which it was a part. It is ancient history to most everyone under the age of 40, the stuff of movies and TV shows. To them, Vietnam is about as far away and irrelevent as World War I was to us. Not too much about it is applicable to the here and now of the war in Iraq, and what there is sometimes seems to have been bashed and warped and jammed to fit a wholly new matrix, shoehorned in any old way, according to the preconceptions of those doing the applying.
3. To those of an age to remember Vietnam and the aftermath, the memories are often bitter— especially for those who served in the military. The memories are of shame, of loss, and of being carelessly maligned by the public, levened with the salt of betrayal of people who trusted us, and finally paved over with a couple of decades of getting on with ordinary life. How your political consultants could think that re-opening the bitter divisions of that time would serve a useful purpose goes beyond malpractice. Had you, or they, any idea of how angry the average Vietnam veteran would be, given your prominence in the anti-war faction following on your service?
4. To see the world only as you wish to see it, not as it actually is, may be the particular hazard of those who live in an insular world, deprived of real-world feedback. To make decisions based on what you want the situation to be, and discounting— or being completely unaware of facts to the contrary— is a reciple for folly, and disaster. Your only hope for political victory may be that sufficient voters share your insular, floating world, soaring high above the rabble of cruel realities.
5. At this late date, you might still recoup the recent losses; downplay Vietnam, convincingly take up some rather more down-to-earth amusements, release your military records, confront the realities of this present war with bold, concrete and achievable policies; Audacity, my dear Senator, always audacity, but focusing well above just telling audiences what they want to hear at any one moment.
6. Up to the present, though, your course has been so disasterous and ill-advised, I confess to wondering in dark moments, if you were not set on it deliberatly, perhaps by a trusted someone who has ambitions for a second Clinton administration after the next election. As a rational person, I do not look for sabotage and clouds of conspiracies, but I can be tempted. After all, sometimes the paranoid do have people out to get them.
7. Seriously, Senator, I think you need to get out more.

All the best
Sgt Mom

Contrary to what it may seem at times, I do have a real life. And, as such, I was unable to catch most of today’s GOP convention. But, from what I saw, if the rest of the convention follows the tone set today, I fully expect Bush/Cheney to see the bounce from this that Kerry/Edwards didn’t see from theirs

Rudy Giuliani was in particularly fine form. His joke about Kerry needing Edwards’ ‘Two Americas’ to accomodate his position(s) on the issues was a master stroke.

But I really liked the women that directly preceded him. I broke out in a huge smile when the last one mentioned being proud and happy to :share her son with America” when the Navy sends him to the middle east shortly. I your face, Micheal Moore!

What?
Posted By: Kevin Connors @ 1145 on 20040829

I’m currently watching C-Span’s Washington Journal this morning. And a woman called in from Florida claiming that a person can write the registar of voters claiming they are moving there, and then can vote on the Florida ballot for ten years.

So, Florida readers, or anyone else in the know - any truth to this?

As well as science projects, this competition may be right up your alley:

Enthusiasts on Friday unveiled an effort to establish an annual competition for space-elevator technologies, taking a page from the playbook for other high-tech contests such as the $10 million Ansari X Prize.

Many of the details surrounding the “Elevator:2010″ challenge — including financing — still have to be fleshed out, however.

The project, spearheaded by the California-based Spaceward Foundation, would focus on innovations in fields that could open the way for payloads to be lifted into space by light-powered platforms. Such platforms, also known as climbers, would move up and down superstrong ribbons rising as high as 62,000 miles (100,000 kilometers) above Earth’s surface.

From fiction to fact
The space elevator concept goes back to vintage science fiction — with emphasis on the “fiction.” But in the past couple of years, researchers at institutions such as Los Alamos National Laboratory and NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center have been looking into ways to turn the idea into reality.

‘We firmly believe that the set of technologies that underlie the infinite promise of the space elevator can be demonstrated, or proven infeasible, within a five-year time frame.’

If space elevators could actually be built, the cost of sending payloads into space could be reduced from $10,000 or more per pound (455 grams) to $100 or less — opening up a revolutionary route to the final frontier. Like the X Prize for private spaceflight, Elevator:2010 is aimed at jump-starting the revolution.

“We firmly believe that the set of technologies that underlie the infinite promise of the space elevator can be demonstrated, or proven infeasible, within a five-year time frame,” the Web site for the competition declares. “And hence our name. Elevator:2010. We promise to get an answer for you by then.”

In order to work, the elevator’s ribbons would have to be made of materials stronger than any that exist today; carbon nanotube composites are the current favorites. Conventional rockets would launch components of the elevator, which would be anchored to an Earth station to form a bridge to outer space.

Most of the current schemes call for the climbers to be powered by sunlight and/or intense artificial light focused onto photoelectric cells. The climbers would ride on the ribbons like rail cars.

Enlisting student teams
Elevator:2010 seeks to encourage technology development through annual contests that start small: One contest would pit climber prototypes against each other in races up a roughly 200-foot (60-meter) ribbon. A second contest would focus on developing better materials for the ribbons, and a third would encourage construction of power-beaming systems.

The first competition is tentatively scheduled for next June or July in the San Francisco Bay area, said Ben Shelef, a member of the Elevator:2010 team. That time frame would give student teams at universities enough time to build light-powered climbers — just as teams of engineering students build solar-powered vehicles during the school year for the American Solar Challenge.

“We’ve gotten feedback from the universities, so we know it’s feasible,” Shelef said. “It’s the same thing as the solar cars, but on steroids.”

The fastest-moving climber would earn its team a $50,000 prize, with a $20,000 second prize and a $10,000 third prize. The strongest ribbon would win a $10,000 first prize, and the best power-beaming system could win $10,000.

Details of the ribbon and power-beaming competitions have yet to be fleshed out, and the financial foundation of the entire challenge depends on sponsorships yet to be announced. The Silicon Valley mechanical design company where Shelef works, Gizmonics Inc., is listed as an initial sponsor.

Actually, if anyone is interested in talking to me about collaborating on this project, I have some ideas.

Hat Tip: Instapundit.

Now that Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ is being released on video, it is again the grist for media talking heads. I just watched a repeat of a fairly good panel discussion from last February on The History Channel’s History vs. Hollywood.

One thing that struck me as particularly interesting - and I can’t necessarily call it a ‘double standard’, as I haven’t heard both determinations from any one single person: The Passion seems not to be a ‘documentary’ for the very same reasons that Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11 is.

If you thought America was a biotech-friendly nation, think again:

Stallman, a rice producer from Texas, said anti-biotech groups - which have failed at furthering their agenda on the national level - are initiating local biotech bans, such as Measure D in Butte County, which is up for a Nov. 2 vote. “Local biotech bans threaten agricultural production one county at a time,” Stallman told attendees at a “No On D” rally. He also called on members of the Butte County Farm Bureau to talk with their friends and neighbors about what biotechnology means on their farms.

“You are activists for agriculture,” Stallman said.

Debunking a misconception about biotechnology, Stallman said many top foreign markets for U.S. ag products have readily embraced biotechnology, including Japan, China, Canada and Mexico.

Is this even an issue that should be subject to local legislation?

Compare this headline on Donald Rumsfeld’s prisoner abuse gaffe in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer:

Rumsfeld first denied key finding on abuse

He corrects himself after aide points out what U.S. report says

To this one in the New York Times:

Rumsfeld Denies Abuses Occurred at Interrogations

Both for the same Eric Schmitt article. As well, the Times version doesn’t even mention the correction until the end of the fourth paragraph, where the typical busy reader is likely to miss it. The PI version splits it off into a separate paragraph.

Schmitt then followed t up with this snide remark:

Yesterday, Pentagon spokesman Lawrence Di Rita sought to play down Rumsfeld’s comments, saying, “He misspoke, pure and simple. But he corrected himself.”

It’s this sort of opinion disguised as reporting that makes me avoid the NYTimes (and several other publications).

Huntington Beach, California is going off the deep end to control cell phone use in their public library:

A new ordinance that takes effect September 15th bans all cell phone use in libraries. That includes talking, text messaging and ringing tones of any kind.

First-time violators will be warned, then fined 250 dollars if they don’t comply. A second offense gets a 500 dollar fine and third-time offenders will pay a thousand bucks.

Note that the actual fine includes a penalty assessment, which currently runs about two and a half times the original fine. But will someone tell me why cell phone use in libraries can’t be controlled in the same manner talking to other library patrons, or other disruptive behavior has been for years: the librarian asks you to tone it down, or cease. And if you don’t comply, you are ejected. Why do we need a new law here?

The Waterbaby
Posted By: Sgt. Mom @ 2154 on 20040827

My first place, aside from rooms in various barracks, was a tiny studio apartment in the R housing area, close to the POL gate at Misawa AB, Japan: a long, narrow room with three largish windows in each segment: bedroom, living room, and kitchen. The bedroom segment was screened off from the rest by a 3/4th wall, and a narrow counter with cupboards underneath divided the remainder. A tiny, windowless bathroom— tub, sink and toilet all together in a tiled cubicle was behind a narrow door off the kitchen. In the summer mushroom-like fungus grew in the corners, and in the winter, the bathtub tap sprouted a stalactite of ice.

The windows gave onto a view of three tiny houses on the other side of the driveway where I parked my little green Honda mini, and the fields and treeline along the road towards the POL gate, a view entirely snow-covered for the first months that I lived there, a vista of white snow and blue shadows, and the cold crept in through the single-pane windows, especially around the area closest to the kitchen sink, in which I was supposed to bath my baby daughter.
“It’s just too chilly, I’m afraid she would catch pneumonia.” I said to the visiting nurse practitioner, who said thoughtfully,
“What about the bathroom tub?”
“It’s warm enough, especially if I fill the tub with hot water… but it’s a Japanese tub. Square, but deep…would it be safe? It would be pretty awkward, I’d have to kneel on the floor and it’s an awful reach. I’d be afraid of dropping her. ”
“When in Rome,” said the nurse, “Take your baths together. Get into the water, and then hold her, safe.”

The more I thought about it, the more it looked safer than bathing her in a shallow sink, in front of a drafty window. The metal bathtub was a deep square thing, a comfortable fit for an adult to sit cross-legged, filled to chest level with steaming hot water, which even on cold winter days raised the temperature of the little bathroom to a comfortable level. I would line the baby carrier with towels, another wrapped around my daughter, then undress and step into the tub first. Kneeling in the water, I could lean over and pick her up, then sink back into shoulder-deep hot water, cradling her head above water level with one hand, and the rest of her propped on my knees. It felt much more secure, and much warmer, bathing together Japanese-fashion, close together in the square bathtub, my daughter gurgling and looking up at me with trusting adoration, eyes so dark blue they looked like purple pansies. Sometimes I would just hold her face above water, my hands cupping the back of her head, and let the pink and froglike little body float freely. She splashed and kicked, utterly secure in the confidence that I would not let anything happen to her, that she would be born up by the water and my hands.

At the end of her first year we went back to the States, and bathtime reverted to something a little more American Standard, and at the end of that second year, I had to leave her with Mom and Dad and go to Greenland. Being a hardship tour, a remote sentence to very nearly the end of the earth, Air Force personnel were permitted a month of leave halfway through the year. It was the Air Forces’ way of keeping us from going rock-happy, and of helping us maintain some sort family life, but it was Mom’s idea that my daughter should be taught to swim. Having read all too many sad accounts of toddlers and small children falling into unguarded and unfenced water, she and Dad had practically to padlock the gate to the pool enclosure at Hilltop House.

“There’s a mother and child swim class at the Y, on the same days that I am teaching stained-glass” She told me, almost the first moment that I was home, while Blondie clung to me like a limpet, crowing “MommyMommyMommy!”
“But she’s only two and a half,” I said, “Isn’t that too young?”
“No, it’s a special class for babies and toddlers; the instructor teaches the mothers, and the mothers teach the children. Apparently, the younger they start, easier it is for them.”
I would have to take that on faith, I decided on the first day of the class; ten or twelve mothers standing chest-deep in the shallow end, each with a baby or small child— the oldest a girl of three or so, as fair as Blondie, although her mother was older than I, and as dark as Mom. She was the most assured about leaping off the side of the pool, landing in her mothers’arms with an air of trustful affection— obviously, she had been to swim lessons before— but all the rest clung to their mothers with a desperate grip.
“When you are only two feet tall,” allowed the kindly instructor, “The whole pool is the deep end.”

The first and most essential lesson was to teach them how to hold their breath, and hold it on cue. We stood in a circle, holding our children upright in the water, our hands holding them under the arms, a little away from us, also chest-deep in the water
“Ready?” said the instructor, “One-two-three—blow, and duck!”
Counting one—dip the child a little, and bring up—two—dip again—three—dip a third time, blow a breath on their faces, and quickly duck them all the way under the water for a couple of seconds. The natural reaction of the babies with the air blown on their faces the first time was to close their eyes. Hopefully repetition of the dip-dip-dip-blow-duck! sequence would have them holding their breath, although at least half of the junior members of the class that first day came up from their first time, howling with astonishment and shock. The instructor coached us to calm the children and then do it again, and again, until that first lesson was learned. That would be the start of each lesson, reinforcing the cue to hold breath. The instructor pointed out how they very youngest of the babies caught on to it the fastest, having perhaps some atavistic memory of amniotic fluid. And the fair-haired little girl hardly needed that coaching at all, but paddled confidently from the side of the pool to her mother, standing four or five feet away—practically an Olympic champion, in comparison.

At the end of the second or third lesson, the instructor brought out a pair of floatee-cuffs for each child or baby.
“It will give them an idea of what it is like to float freely.” Even with the floatee-cuffs on their upper-arms, most of the babies and toddlers still clung to their mothers with desperate fervor— only the older girl and Blondie took it in stride. Blondie, full of confidence once she realized that the floatee-cuffs did indeed hold her as well above water, determinedly wriggled free and away from me, heading toward the deeper end. There was a class of older children there, going off the diving board, a great deal of excited shrieks and splashing, much more fun than a group of babies clinging to their mothers. This was my first realization that my daughter was almost entirely fearless, in the water and practically everywhere else— it would not be a surprise that she swam like a fish by the age of seven, and nonchalantly dove off the high-board by eight. But this was early days, yet, and the other little girl still swam better.
“Your daughter swims very well,” I said enviously to her mother, as we were all getting dressed again in the locker room, that day.
“I’m the housekeeper,” She replied, “Her mother works.”
I hadn’t contemplated that— after all Mom looked nothing like Pippy, Alex or I, with blond to light-brown sugar colored hair and blue eyes. But still. I thought of the little girl, leaping off the side of the pool, trusting and affectionate. Not her mother. The housekeeper.
Oh dear. I worked too…. But at least I could teach my daughter to swim.

My mother and I are currently watching Frank Capra’s “It Happened One Night” together. It was the first movie she’d ever seen, on her sixteenth birthday.

Recieved this e-mail yesterday:
“Just to say I have received my copy of the book down here in New Zealand
yes - you have overseas readers !!!”

And last week I got an e-mail from a retired NCO who lives in Greece, and remembers working with me there, and he has ordered a copy, and I am sure that Tim Worstall has ordered a copy, as well, so on that basis I can describe “Our Grandpa Was an Alien” as an international sensation!
I have also a limited quantity of copies on hand for anyone who wants an autographed copy with a personal inscription; just e-mail me directly for particulars.
Today, publish-on-demand! Tomorrow— the New York Times best-seller list!

(Later Note: It’s listed in Amazon, too! What a thrill!)

Whether or not we really need something like this, I bet we will see them as a huge fad item

Honda Hybrid Scooter Prototype
Honda Hybrid Scooter Prototype

This from Honda’s Press release:

August 24, 2004—Honda has developed a 50cc hybrid scooter prototype that offers reduced emissions, exceptional fuel economy, and ample storage space. Employing both an internal combustion engine and an electric motor, the new prototype takes Honda one step closer to a mass-market hybrid scooter.

The new prototype features an alternating current generator (ACG) with an idle stop function and the Honda PGM-FI electronic fuel injection system. In addition to an electronically controlled belt converter and a range of Honda environmental technologies, the new scooter features a dual series and parallel hybrid powertrain with a direct rear-wheel drive electric motor. Thanks to a compact power system and a rechargeable nickel hydrogen battery located under the front cowl, the hybrid scooter is about the same size as the Dio Z4, a standard-size 50cc scooter, and is only 10 kg heavier.

The hybrid scooter’s internal combustion engine and direct rear-wheel-drive electric motor function in two distinct modes. In series mode, when riding on flat ground and when high output is not required, the engine alone powers the electric motor. In parallel mode, used during acceleration and when high output is required, the electric motor assists the engine. In parallel mode, an electronically controlled belt converter automatically selects the optimum assist ratio.

To make the most efficient use of energy, the hybrid system charges the battery during deceleration and whenever possible and utilizes this power when higher output is required. In addition, the scooter enters idle stop mode, when the scooter is stopped, and whenever power is not needed, during deceleration. These advanced features allow the hybrid scooter to achieve 1.6 times the fuel economy of the Dio Z4 (when riding on flat ground at 30 km/h) and to produce 37% less carbon dioxide.

As if 200 mpg isn’t enough?

I am honored to be given the opportunity to email interview best-selling author Michelle Malkin. Michelle is the daughter of Filipino immigrants, wife and mother of two, blogress, TV commentator, nationally syndicated columnist, author of Invasion: How America Still Welcomes Terrorists, Criminals, and Other Foreign Menaces to Our Shores and her just released book In Defense of Internment: The Case for “Racial Profiling” in World War II and the War on Terror.

Before we get on with the interview I want to state three things. First I want to say that I think that this is an important book that proves there is an intellectual case for the 1942 evacuation order. That there were abuses that occurred as a result of that order is undeniable, but they were not the reasons for the order. Second, my wife and I agree that this book is an impressive achievement given that Michelle gave birth while writing it. (Dr. Wife gave birth to Darling Daughter#2 while finishing her PhD long distance, so we empathize.) And thirdly, I personally want to thank Michelle for writing this book. After my posts on the 1942 Evacuation Order, I received many requests that I write a book on the subject. Michelle has written a book better than I could have imagined. So thank you, Michelle, for getting me off the hook!

Michelle: Thank you for your kind comments about the book. As you know, I embarked on this project in part because of your debate with Eric Muller last spring. If not for you, I doubt that this book would exist.

Sparkey: Thank you! I really appreciate that. Now, you once wrote that you believed the internment of “ethnic Japanese was abhorrent and wrong.” What changed your mind? Was there a specific “Aha” moment, was it a gradual process, or what?

Michelle: My “Aha” moment occurred as I read David Lowman’s book, especially the MAGIC cables and intelligence memos that he reproduced in the back of the book. I put many of those documents in my book and online. Many more are available at www.internmentarchives.com, which was founded by Lowman’s publisher, Lee Allen.

The memos show that U.S. intelligence agencies regarded ethnic Japanese on the West Coast as a serious national security threat. My critics have written dozens of blog entries assailing my book. They have accused me of being a self-hater, of slander, of shoddy research methods, of providing too few footnotes (there are more than 600), and of being physically repulsive. But as of this morning, they have not addressed the concerns about Japanese espionage discussed in the intelligence memos reproduced in my book. Why? Because anyone who spends even ten minutes perusing these memos is likely to conclude that the evacuation and relocation of ethnic Japanese on the West Coast was rooted in legitimate national security concerns, not simply wartime hysteria and racism.

Sparkey: In the introduction to In Defense of Internment you state that it is forgivable that American’s don’t fully appreciate “the wartime exigencies of early 1942.” How do you feel the prism of Vietnam has distorted people’s view and understanding of 1942?

Michelle: In the late 1960s and the 1970s, anti-war agitation and ethnic identity politics became all the rage. Third- and fourth-generation Japanese-Americans embraced the America-bashing, victim-card culture and launched a nationwide bid for blanket payments to evacuees and their families. That movement led to the formation of the Commission on Wartime Relocation and Internment of Civilians, which issued a biased report that reached the predetermined conclusion that Roosevelt’s policies were motivated by racism and wartime hysteria.

Sparkey: How widely publicized was the Niihau incident in the States, and how significant was the event to the Administration at the time? [Niihau is a Hawaiian island where ethnic Japanese Americans assisted a downed Japanese pilot after the Pearl Harbor raid. -S]

Michelle: It was written up by naval intelligence officers in Hawaii and was publicized by the local papers. The incident appears to have been very significant to the Roosevelt Administration-as evidenced by inclusion of reports related to the incident in the proceedings of the Roberts Commission.

Sparkey: After both Pearl Harbor and 9-11 many security fears were not realized. Critics point to these as evidence that such fears were unfounded. How do you respond to this?

Michelle: Obviously this is a logical fallacy. If X (say, an appendectomy) causes the absence of Y (say, a burst appendix), it is incorrect to conclude that since Y did not occur, X was unnecessary.
[I would like to add that just because a threat was not realized doesn’t imply that the concern for that threat was unjustified. - S]

Sparkey: Eric Muller insinuates that (based on the name of your book) you’re really advocating an Arab roundup of a sort. You address this charge in your rebuttal, but it does beg the question, why name the book In Defense of Internment if you’re not really advocating internment?

Michelle: The title is In Defense of Internment because the bulk of the book (including all 12 chapters between the introduction and conclusion) is devoted to a defense of the evacuation, relocation, and internment (policies collectively referred to as “internment") of ethnic Japanese during World War II. This is very relevant to the War on Terror, obviously, and I tease out some lessons in the introduction and conclusion. But it is clear that my book is a defense of internment in 1942, not today. I do support racial profiling and other policies that my opponents have repeatedly likened to the WW II internment.

Sparkey: What do you see as the biggest benefits resulting from the 1942 Evacuation Order, and do they justify the policy?

Michelle: The greatest benefit was to severely disrupt Japanese espionage cells on the West Coast. Given what was known at the time, I believe the decisions made in early 1942 were justified.

Sparkey: What do you see as the biggest negatives of the policy and their effects on public perception?

Michelle: The biggest negative was the adverse impact on Japanese-Americans who were loyal to the U.S. and the PR campaign on their behalf that followed. The effect has been to wrongly discredit any and all homeland security policies that apply heightened scrutiny based on race, ethnicity, religion, or nationality as well as any detention policies that bypass the criminal justice system.
[It also didn’t help that the Government dragged its feet to the point of abuse in providing direct compensation for actual incurred losses after the war. - S]

Sparkey: How do you think the Evacuation Order could have been handled differently or better?

Michelle: There were numerous problems with the way evacuation was carried out. Military authorities did not initially appreciate how hard it would be for ethnic Japanese to move east on their own. They initially allowed Terminal Island residents 30 days to evacuate, then abruptly shortened that length of time to 48 hours following the Goleta shelling and Los Angeles air raid scare. This caused considerable hardship for the evacuees, who scrambled to sell off household goods (typically at rock-bottom prices) and pack for their move. The conditions in some of the assembly centers were miserable. (It is worth bearing in mind, however, that the centers had to be built quickly and at the time construction materials and equipment were scarce.) Some of these problems could not have been prevented, but others might have been with better planning.

Sparkey: It’s obvious many critics haven’t even read your book before casting aspersions. It’s as if you attacked some article of their religion. How do you expect to “kick off a vigorous national debate” with those who believe in the infallibility of their faith?

Michelle: There are many people who feel the issue is settled and should not be debated. This is unfortunate. If they are confident that their position is right, they should have nothing to fear from an open, vigorous debate. There are others, however, who are willing to debate the issue-most notably Eric Muller and Greg Robinson.

A word about that debate. Muller mainly addresses side issues, such as the book cover and my research methods and terminology and the book’s title and why he didn’t receive an advance copy of the book from my publisher and whether I slandered Aiko Herzig-Yoshinaga and whether I mischaracterized Sarah Eltantawi of the Muslim Public Affairs Council and whether I took too long to respond to his critique.

Robinson, to his credit, focuses on the core issues-but much of what he says is flat out untrue. He says most of the MAGIC cables I discuss in my book came from Tokyo or Mexico City and refer to areas outside the United States. Wrong. He says those cables that do speak of the United States detail various efforts by Japan to build networks, and list hopes or intentions rather than actions or results. False. He says I said that Hoover’s opinion was not reliable or relied upon. Nonsense. He says ONI opposed evacuation. Rubbish. He says the Navy opposed evacuation. Wrong again. I pointed out these errors 18 days ago, but he has yet to acknowledge any of them.

Sparkey: Your book Invasion didn’t receive the attention it deserved from the mainstream press. How does the reaction to In Defense of Internment compare?

Michelle: I was heartened by the pre-release response, particularly the coverage my Bothell, Wash., speech received in the Seattle Times and Seattle Post-Intelligencer. Invasion was never covered as a news story by any major newspaper. Though I sent In Defense of Internment to every major newspaper, it appears it will not be reviewed, just as Invasion was not reviewed (except by a few small-town papers).

Sparkey: The next time you are in the Dallas area, would you give my family and me the honor of having dinner with us?

Michelle: If time allows, I would be delighted. I will be in Houston later this week, by the way, at an event sponsored by the Houston Forum. More details here.

In California today, the Senate hurriedly approved a slightly amended version of AB 50, which will ban .50 caliber rifles in the state.

DIGEST : This bill, effective January 1, 2005, prohibits the sale of .50 caliber BMG rifles. This bill authorizes the State Department of Justice to register legally-possessed BMG rifles until April 30, 2006, to assess a $25 registration fee, and to issue dangerous weapons permits for their possession, sale, manufacture and transportation. This bill makes it a misdemeanor to possess a BMG rifle that is not registered after April 30, 2007. This bill expands existing law to make assault with a BMG rifle a felony punishable by four, eight or 12 years in state prison.

This is a nonsense ‘feel good’ bill. Just how many .50 BMGs have been used to commit crimes anyway? And why just this caliber? Why not, say, the equally lethal Weatherby .460?