Monday, April 28, 2014

Is it ever going to melt?

Back at the beginning of this month, I started documenting the changes in our viewscape as Spring progressed and posting the photos to Facebook. I figured that if the rest of the world can bore people with pictures of cats and toddlers, I can do it with snow. Watching snow melt is about as exciting as watching grass grow. On April 1, this was the view from our back porch:
Below is the view yesterday. There's a definite difference, the snow level has dropped more than two feet, but I'm thinking now that it's going to be quite a while yet before the S.O. has to worry about firing up the lawn mower. He's still using snowshoes when he walks to the woodshed. 

Workers Memorial Day


Sunday, April 27, 2014

How to tell you've won the argument without even trying

Clue Number One: The comments responding to the post are longer than the post itself. Any time someone has to try to bolster his or her counter-argument by either over-explaining or craploading, he or she has a weak case. Either that, or he or she has way too much free time and needs to put down the Cheetos and Mountain Dew, turn off the computer, and get out of the basement more often.  

Clue Number Two: Name calling. If a critic has to indulge in ad hominem attacks on the writer, whether it’s to refer to the writer as a rightwing nutjob or a bleeding heart liberal, instead of addressing the substance of the post, that critic has a problem. Regardless of whether or not the argument being made is sound, the personal ideology of the writer is irrelevant. If you don’t agree with the writer, point out the problems with the argument instead of being intellectually lazy. Counter arguments lead to discussions and the possibility of finding commonalities; name calling just builds walls.

Clue Number Three: Comments pointing out the obvious while ignoring the actual content of the post. “You used biased sources.” Well, duh. There’s no such thing as an unbiased source, especially if a topic is at all controversial. What’s your next stunning revelation going to be? Water is wet? Snow is cold?

Clue Number Four: Seizing on a phrase or a sentence that has little or nothing to do with the actual point of the post and attacking it like a starving weasel that’s just spotted a particularly fat mouse. Either the commenter doesn’t have an effective counter argument to propose, or he or she is lacking in reading comprehension. If the writer begins by saying, for example, “I saw X recently and it reminded me of Y” and then writes a post about Y but your comment is a lengthy crapload about X, then you’re not paying attention. And you’re also way too sensitive about whatever X might happen to be.


[h/t to Bad Tux for getting me thinking about deconstructing craploaded comments. It’s never been a problem on this blog, but it is in another place I write.]

Friday, April 25, 2014

Book review: South: The Endurance Expedition

South: The Endurance Expedition is one of those rare books that actually lives up to its cover hype. The Signet paperback edition describes it as "The breathtaking first-person account of one of the most astounding Antarctic adventures of all time!" and it actually is.

I had only a vague general knowledge of who Ernest Shackleton was before I checked this book out of the library a few days ago. I'd seen references to him occasionally so I knew he led an expedition to the Antarctic, that his ship sank, and members of the expedition survived but were stuck living on a frigid, barren island for many months. I also had a vague recollection that PBS broadcast something abut Shackleton and Endurance this winter, but never saw it.

What I did not know was that prior to making it to the island, the expedition spent about a year living on an ice floe when the Endurance became trapped in pack ice in the Weddell Sea. For part of the time the men were able to remain on board ship; the ship wasn't going anywhere, but all that meant was that the men had to make their winter quarters on board the ship instead of building huts and living on land. During the worst of the winter, the coldest, darkest months, they spent most of their time below decks but kept busy with music and making preparations for what they hoped would be the actual transpolar expedition in the spring. After pressure ice destroyed the ship, the expedition members then made camp on the ice itself. Shackleton had determined the drift direction of the ice and realized the best prospects for their survival were to make camp and wait for the combination of the slow drifting northward and the arrival of summer weather to cause the ice to begin breaking up. When it did, they could launch the small boats and use them to try to reach land.

A remarkably honest ad, although it fails to mention that Christmas
dinner will not be the traditional English goose.
I also did not know that emperor penguins are apparently quite tasty. Shackleton was an experienced Antarctic explorer. He first visited the polar region in 1902 and had been back in 1908. He knew how to plan an expedition, he'd had Endurance built specifically for the conditions he knew they would encounter, and he calculated precisely what types of food stuffs they would need to survive for up to two years cut off from outside help. Those calculations included the probability of obtaining fresh meat from the seals he knew were common as well as hunting penguins for the stew pot. Penguins! Somehow I had never pictured anyone or anything other than a seal or an orca eating penguins.

Shackleton had planned to establish a winter camp on the shore of the Weddell Sea near where Halley Research Station is marked on this map. When winter ended, he was going to trek across the continent to the Ross Sea to where the Scott Research Station is now located. 
This was an amazing book. It's written in such a matter of fact tone that it doesn't always register that when Shackleton is talking about it being cold, he means really cold, like 30 or 40 degrees below zero (Fahrenheit) cold. As long as they're still on the ice, he seems to take everything in stride. It's not until the ice begins breaking up and they launch the boats hoping to reach one of the islands off the coast of Antarctica that you sense that he had any doubts that they would make it. The boats were small, the seas were rough, temperatures were frigid, and the men were constantly cold, wet, and exhausted. They did manage to get to Elephant Island, a mountainous island off the coast of Antarctica that is part of the South Shetland Islands group. Shackleton knew, however, that the only hope for rescue was to take the largest of the boats and try to reach South Georgia Island. At the time, there were permanent whaling stations on the island so Shackleton knew for sure that if they could get there, they would find people and ships for a relief mission to Elephant Island. He selected five other men to sail with him, and they undertook a voyage of approximately 800 miles east to South Georgia.

Even after landing on South Georgia, their troubles weren't over. Because of sea and ice conditions, they had to land on the opposite side of the island from the whaling stations. After camping for a day or two to regain their strength, Shackleton and the two other men still physically capable of undertaking the trek then walked across the mountainous and glacier-covered interior of the island to the station. A ship from the station then rescued the other three men left camped out near where they had landed.

Although Shackleton was able to obtain assistance from the government of Argentina in relieving the men marooned on Elephant Island, several months elapsed before they were able to mount a successful effort. Sea conditions and pack ice stymied their first two tries, and Shackleton began to despair that the food supplies on Elephant Island would run out before the men could be rescued. As it was, they cut it very close.

In the end, however, all the men were rescued. No one who accompanied Shackleton on Endurance died, which, considering the risks they encountered and the conditions they endured, is quite a tribute to Shackleton's leadership abilities.

Would I recommend this book? Yes. Not only is the book well-written, Shackleton had a dry wit that creeps in occasionally, a definitely wry sense of humor -- he describes the life boats that had seemed so large and awkward when they were sledging them across the ice floes as having "mysteriously shrank" once they were in the water. As he notes, it's often man's ability to laugh under the most appalling conditions that makes it possible to keep going. Overall, it's a fascinating story, and it gives a person a renewed appreciation for Gore-Tex, Thinsulate, and other wonders of modern outdoor life. After reading about meals consisting of hoosh (apparently the early 1900's version of an energy drink made from smashed biscuits and whatever meat was available) and tea made from melted snow even CLIF Energy Bars (renowned for looking and tasting like they've already been through a bear) are looking good. For sure I'm never going to look at penguins the same way again.

The list continues to grow

The List of Things Poor People Aren't Allowed to Have continues to grow. Over the years I have noticed the list of things that poor people aren't supposed to be allowed to have or activities they aren't supposed to do is constantly growing. It's as though being down and out and worrying about simply surviving from day to day isn't enough punishment for being poor, the poor have also have to be deprived of anything that might make life a little more bearable or shed a few rays of hope that someday things will get better.

I've commented before on some of the more obvious hardships and deprivations of being poor. For example, being poor often means your family has to forego the pleasures of pet ownership. If you're poor you're more likely to be living in rental housing; landlords are more likely to restrict pet ownership when tenants are on the low end of the income scale than on the high. I've also noted that some people tend to flip out whenever they see someone who is ostensibly poor, like clients sitting in the state unemployment office or folks lined up at a food bank, using a cell phone. If we're to believe the Heritage Institute, poor people aren't really poor if they have access to a functioning refrigerator, a microwave, or air conditioning. I could go on, but I think you all get it. Name a material item -- nice clothes, a cheap cell phone, a car that actually runs, a pet rabbit, and the odds are someone on the right will pontificate about why the poor shouldn't have it.

Well, we can add another one to the zum unteren Klassen verboten list: relaxing with your family. Noted rightwing nutjob Cliven Bundy recently rambled on in a New York Times interview about how appalled he was when he drove through "the projects" in Las Vegas and saw small children just hanging out with old people (presumably their grandparents) and sitting around doing "nothing" on the front porches of their homes. Who woulda thunk that hanging out with Grandma and listening to her talk about the good old days would fall into the forbidden to poor people zone?  But apparently it does. To quote Mr. Bundy, "and in front of that government house the door was usually open and the older people and the kids — and there is always at least a half a dozen people sitting on the porch — they didn’t have nothing to do. They didn’t have nothing for their kids to do. They didn’t have nothing for their young girls to do." It's a balmy Nevada afternoon, you hang out on the front porch with the kids, and suddenly you're a symptom of everything that's wrong with America today.

We live in interesting times.

Saturday, April 19, 2014

You learn something new every day

I spent yesterday afternoon at the museum. Among other projects down there, we're in the process of slowly figuring out what all got stashed in the "attic," a storage loft that overlooks the office and the west end of the museum. For a long time, stuff would come in and get shoved up there after (at best) a cursory look into the boxes. Every so often I'd joke about how one of these days I'd find someone's giant matchbook collection and what on earth would we do with it?

Well, yesterday I popped the lid off a banker's box. Guess what it was filled with? You got it. Someone's giant matchbook collection. Do you know how many matchbooks you can fit into a box that's 24" x 15" x 10"? I don't either, but it's a lot. Definitely hundreds, maybe enough that the final tally will include a comma. Part of me just wants to reach for the round file, the one with the nifty plastic liner, and take care of them that way. Another part -- the part that actually did some preliminary pawing through the stash of matchbooks -- is going "Holy wah! A Nixon campaign matchbook!" and wondering what other goodies are hiding in the mess.

Illustration of a specialized display  
Because it is a mess. Whoever collected them was not one of those impassioned, OCD collectors who invest in specialized binders or display racks and organize their collections neatly by size (20-strike, 30-strike, or 40-strike) or type (railroads or hotels or tiki bars or a zillion other possible categories). This is more of a hoarder's collection, an "I can't throw anything away so I'll just keep filling boxes with weirdness" type of accumulation. These are matchbooks that are still matchbooks, most of which have been used. True collectors never actually use the matches; they carefully remove them as soon as they acquire the matchbook because it's the cover that counts and not what's in it.

Matches from a local bowling alley, probably from the 1950s.
Unless, of course, the matches are something like some other matchbooks we have at the museum. Matches with printing on them are (at least according to the websites I visited in an attempt to learn more about matchbooks and collecting) a specialized niche within the "matchcover" community. So are boxes instead of books. I am always blown away by the amount of trivia I can learn through a few simple Google searches. The variety of display options for matchbooks is a tad mind blowing (velvet lined shadow boxes?!), so are the numbers of people who apparently love what strikes me as being a rather strange hobby (says the person who collects tacky souvenir spoons). Then again, one thing I have been learning while volunteering at the museum and trying to track down the proper storage containers for the various artifacts and documents the museum owns is that no matter how obscure an object or device may appear somewhere there are hobbyists who love it. You name the item, someone collects it.

Once in awhile I'll have an encounter with a creationist who freaks out because he or she dislikes the notion evolutionary theory describes humans and chimpanzees as sharing a common ancestor. They don't want to be related to "monkeys." Monkeys, heck, I'd say humans are lot more closely related to this guy:
Packrat
So what new thing did I learn yesterday? Advertising matchbooks are becoming an endangered species. As fewer and fewer places allow smoking, businesses have less incentive to give away matchbooks.

As for the matchbooks, we are doing an exhibit on the Joys of Collecting for the 2014 season. I'll figure out a way to display a dozen or two from the stash, go through the box to make sure there's nothing else hiding in it, and will figure out later the best way to catalog the mess.

Friday, April 18, 2014

Spring in the U.P.

View from the front door about 8 a.m. yesterday. I measured -- the snow on the railing was a little over 10 inches high. The average new snow depth on the ground was 14 inches. It finally quit snowing around noon. I know what caused it. People across the upper Midwest can curse me. The day before I'd mentioned to the S.O. that it was about time to put my cross country skis and snowshoes back in storage because I wouldn't be using them again this spring.  
The S.O. warning Billy (the grader operator) not to go up to the end of the driveway to turn around where he usually does. We'd had enough warm weather for a serious soft spot to develop and did not want to risk the grader sinking into mud. The snow was so greasy he was having trouble keeping the machine moving as it was. 
There are days when I think I'd love to have this job -- the machine looks like it would be fun to play with. And then I remember that Billy has to get up at an ungodly early hour and get to the county shed before any of the roads are plowed and I go back to just enjoying watching him work. 
I hear a lot of complaints from people about snow plow drivers leaving snowbanks behind their cars. It might be hard to see in this photo, but there is no snowbank. One of the reasons I'm always saying I love the Baraga County Road Commission is the grader operators, both the current one and his predecessor, are really good about never boxing the vehicles in or blocking the path to the house. 
If we're lucky, this will be the last we see of the grader plowing snow on our road until next fall.  

Monday, April 14, 2014

Reading comprehension

The S.O. and I had a rather amusing experience on Facebook recently. We both have a tendency to clump -- to share en masse various memes, links to articles, cartoons, whatever. Like everyone else who clumps, we don't put huge amounts of thought into it. It's more like "That's a good Maddow quote. I'll share it," or "Those otters are cute." It's the type of stuff everyone passes on and almost no one pays any real attention to.

Anyway, as part of a clumping exercise the other morning, the S.O. shared a meme about every single Republican Senator voting against equal pay for women. The meme apparently referred to the Paycheck Fairness Act, a Senate bill which the Republicans have blocked debate on three times (at last count) since its original introduction. I repeat, the S.O. shared a meme, one of those e-cards with the vintage art work and a grand total of 19 words on it. Unless a meme contains an egregious error, like calling Donald Rumsfeld a draft dodger when the man is a U.S. Navy veteran, no one ever comments on them. Why bother? Was there an egregious error in the meme the S.O. shared? Well, you could quibble that voting as a bloc to prevent debate isn't exactly the same as voting against equal pay, which is the kind of hair-splitting I'd be inclined to do (I tend to obsess about precision in language). That type of quibble would also signal that you had been paying attention to the issue and had at least a minimal grasp of the facts.

That is not, however, what the troll who did decide to comment on that rather vacuous meme chose to do. Instead he started off with a thinly disguised insult -- "My father taught me the meaning of work" -- as a segue into how leftists expect people to get paid the same regardless of merit or willingness to do any work at all. This is a theme he's brought up in other threads (there's overlap between our groups of Facebook friends) and it is annoying as hell. It doesn't take a semiotics expert to interpret that particular sign. I know the meaning of work = you're a lazy bum. This was followed by a typical Obama is a hypocrite because the women in the White House earn less than the men do. The S.O. made the mistake of responding to the ad hominem attack, and I'll admit it bothered me, too, so I jumped into the discussion.

I opted to go after the hypocrisy statement as well as a rather glaring ignorance of basic American law the troll had displayed -- he said Obama could just write a law to increase wages for White House staffers. I did a careful explanation of the problems inherent in interpreting aggregate data, described how the civil service system works, acknowledged that women unfortunately are still over-represented in lower pay grades, and noted that when direct comparisons are made (every GS-7 with every other GS-7) civil service workers are paid the same regardless of gender. Being a sarcastic bitch, I also tossed out a snide comment about his High School apparently not offering Civics back in the '50s because Congress passes laws, the President signs them.

He came back with an outraged response about how dare I insult his beloved alma mater?! That's when I had to explain what sarcasm is. I wasn't insulting his school; I was insulting him. I should have known. The poor man is an engineer as well as an avowed Libertarian, two categories of human renowned for their poor sense of humor and inability to pick up on subtleties in language.

The S.O. had done another response, too, and the troll had also responded to that one. Each of his responses included an explanation of how he really hadn't meant what he'd said in his previous response, he'd actually meant something else. After about the third response, I got bored. Granted, we were forcing him to discard more and more generalities and memorized talking points and to actually get into the messy weeds of reality, but even when the troll you're arguing with is a troll you actually know in real life (as this guy is) after awhile it gets old. I told him feeding time was over and I was off to do more productive things with my time.

If I had any doubt whatsoever that at the core of every Libertarian male lies a misogynistic asshat, he removed all doubts. You could practically see the spittle on the keyboard from him ranting at the S.O. that "your wife can't read." Way to go, sexist jerk, instant dehumanization by turning me from a person to a possession.

I used to have a remarkable knack for getting people to show their true colors. It's nice to see that even in cyberspace, I've still got the touch.

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Book Review: A Bright Shining Lie

I seem to have a knack for pulling books off the library's shelves that are guaranteed to depress the hell out of me. Neil Sheehan's A Bright Shining Lie: John Paul Vann and America in Vietnam was another one. The book provides a thorough explication of just how stunningly stupid the policy-makers in Washington, D.C., can be, especially when they're relying on "intelligence" provided by the Central Intelligence Agency. Of course, it doesn't help when the people in power have a vision of the United States and its place in the world that does not match up with reality.

The author, Neil Sheehan, was the New York Times reporter who broke the Pentagon Papers story. He spent several years in Vietnam, first working for UPI and later for the Times. He witnessed the initial troop build-ups and saw firsthand the disconnect between what was happening on the ground and what the policy wonks back in the Pentagon and the State Department believed. He met Lt. Col. John Paul Vann in 1962, about the same time both men arrived in the country, and came to admire Vann for his skills and dedication.

This is an interesting book in many ways. I think it would have been a very different book had Sheehan been able to complete it when he first got interested in the project. When the book was originally conceived, around the time John Paul Vann died in a helicopter crash in 1972, it probably began as a far more hagiographic work than it turned out to be. At the time of Vann’s death, he was viewed by many as being one of the few U.S. military men who actually knew what he was doing in Vietnam. Vann had tried to get through to people in power right up to the level of President Kennedy that the U.S. could never win in Vietnam if it continued with the policies it had in place. Vann had even apparently sacrificed his military career because he believed so strongly that the policies were misguided and wasting American and Vietnamese lives. Having tried and failed to get the Pentagon to see that they were being fed bad intelligence from the field, he retired from the Army after a 20-year career.

Within a few years, Vann was back in Vietnam working for the Agency for International Development advising local officials on pacification efforts, which included everything from building schools to coordinating military attacks against the Viet Minh insurgents, or, as Americans preferred to call them, the Viet Cong. When Vann returned, he discovered that everything he had warned about in 1962 – the flow of weapons from the local militia to the guerillas, the corruption of Vietnamese officials, the stupidity of the strategic hamlets program – had gotten a lot worse. The more American troops that the U.S. poured into the country, the stronger the Viet Cong became. Vann did his best with what he had, but it was a hopeless task. Sheehan makes it clear that the U.S. commander for Vietnam, William Westmoreland, was an idiot, a man who had been promoted way above his level of competency and had no intention of ever wavering from his plan to wear down North Vietnam through attrition. In reality, North Vietnam was wearing down the U.S. Vann didn’t live to see the end of the war, which was probably a kindness. By the time he died, he had succumbed to the same fantasies that drove the other Americans. He had settled on a pacification policy he was convinced would work and refused to admit that it would never be implemented.

If Sheehan had written the entire book right after Vann died, I’m not sure he would have included Vann himself as one of the bright shining lies that comprise the American experience in Vietnam. As it was, Sheehan was seriously injured in an automobile accident in 1974. Sheehan’s long recuperation from the accident delayed work on A Bright Shining Lie but may have also provided more time for him to reflect on Vann’s complicated life and its many contradictions. For a man who valued honesty in intelligence gathering, analysis, and policy formation, when it came to his personal life Vann was a consummate liar. He also had a remarkably strong self-destructive streak.

Some of the less savory facts about John Paul Vann, Vietnam war hero, were actually well-known long before he died. He openly bragged about his womanizing while in Vietnam. Although he had a wife back in Colorado, he kept two Vietnamese mistresses, both of whom were considerably younger than he was. In addition to the mistresses, he had numerous casual sexual encounters with women on trips to Saigon. Today he’d probably be labeled a sex addict; in the 1960s his friends and acquaintances simply marveled at his stamina.

What Sheehan apparently did not know about Vann when he first began researching the book included the fact that many of the anecdotes Vann told about himself were actually borrowed from other people’s lives. Vann told a story about learning from an experience in Korea, for example, that had actually happened to another officer. Vann had served with distinction in Korea, but what he actually did there and what he said he did there turned out to be very different. Sheehan also did not know that many of Vann’s actions in Vietnam that appeared to be grounded in moral outrage or strong principles were simply stage dressing for Vann’s departure from the Army. While he was being held up by many as example of someone who was willing to speak truth to power at the risk of being pushed into retirement, Vann already knew he’d be retiring after he returned to the U.S.

Vann had reached the point in his career where he either had to be promoted or retire. He knew that the promotion board would have access to his full personnel jacket and would discover a morals charge against him. There was no way he’d ever be given a general’s star when he’d come close to going to prison for the statutory rape of a 15-year-old babysitter, a charge which he managed to escape by training himself to beat the polygraph test (he learned he could lie most effectively when sleep-deprived). However, if he was perceived as a contrarian, someone who would not go along just to get along, he’d be encouraged to leave instead of being asked to proceed to the next step up the career ladder. He wouldn't have to experience the humiliation of being turned down by a promotion board. Before going to Vietnam, he had already reached out to defense contractors about possible employment when he retired. His criticisms about the way the war was being handled were accurate, but whether or not he would have been quite as vocal or as tactless if he thought he had something to lose is debatable.   

Conclusions about the book? It won the 1989 Pulitzer for Nonfiction for a reason. It was meticulously researched, is quite readable, and is unremittingly depressing. It provides a plethora of details about a war we all know now was a colossal error conducted using tactics that made it unwinnable. Does anyone really need more proof that Westmoreland was an absolute ass or that the military has a bad habit of rewarding incompetent officers with commendations and promotions?

I had a few minor quibbles, of course. Sheehan mentions a Foreign Service officer, Douglas Ramsey, who was captured by the Viet Cong in January 1966. At several points, he refers to the conditions of Ramsey’s captivity but then just leaves the reader hanging as to what happened in the end. There’s no mention of when or why Ramsey was finally released. He also mentions Vann’s last minute concern that his younger mistress and his illegitimate daughter be recognized as his heirs, but then doesn’t tell us what happened to them. He obviously knew because he includes interviews with both mistresses in the sources listed for the chapters where they’re mentioned.

Would I recommend the book to other readers? Yes, if you’re interested in military history, the Vietnam War, or still more proof that the U.S. should learn to mind its own business and avoid foreign entanglements. No, if you’d prefer to remain cheerfully oblivious to the fact that more things change, the more they stay the same. 

Friday, April 11, 2014

What's amusing me this week

The Stephen Colbert freak-out on the right. Who would have thought that the conservatives in this country would care so much about who replaces David Letterman? Based on the clips I'm seeing, Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity, and other right-wing talking heads have apparently never watched Letterman's show. They seem to think that Colbert will be bringing some radical left-wing agenda to CBS in an attempted liberal take-over of popular culture in a way that has never been seen before in the hallowed space of the Ed Sullivan Theater. From the way they're freaking out you'd think that it had been Dennis Miller sitting at that desk and bantering with Paul Shaffer for the past 20+ years. It's bizarre. Letterman has been taking shots at the conservative side of American politics for a long, long time. He was merciless in mocking George Bush, he's targeted Rush Limbaugh in the past, and he's been consistently irreverent when it comes to going after people in positions of power. In short, Colbert isn't going to be saying or doing anything that Letterman hasn't already said or done, albeit in a slightly different style.

In any case, it is definitely weird that the right-wing pundits would worry at all about who's going to host a late night television program. Why do they care? Is Rush really that insecure about his growing irrelevancy and shrinking (dying?) audience that he feels obligated to rant about Colbert? Does Hannity actually believe that Colbert succeeding Letterman is still more proof of growing decadence in American life? It's all very strange. Amusing, yes, but still strange.

Monday, April 7, 2014

While I'm on the subject of idiots

I was wandering around Facebook recently and made the mistake of dipping into the Comments thread under the graphic shown to the right. What the Maddow quote does is state the obvious: there are structural reasons why most poor people are poor. No one is poor because they want to be; they're poor because they're stuck somewhere that's hard to escape from. That's not to say it can't be done; there are exceptional people in every strata of society.

Naturally, the usual libertarian-free-market-people-are-poor-by-choice trolls came slithering out of the woodwork. We'd all be just fine if we just got rid of those pesky government regulations that are keeping us all from becoming entrepreneurs and making a fortune operating our own small businesses. And the proverbial pigs will fly. Does it ever occur to any of those people that starting a business takes money? If you're down and out to begin with, where do you get your start up funds? Doesn't matter if there's a ton of regulations or none whatsoever; if you don't have enough money to keep gas in your car or to buy a Happy Meal at McDonald's, you're not likely to have the cash to start any business other than one involving your own underpaid labor (house cleaning, childcare, detailing cars, house painting, etc.). Even there you run into the issue of working capital. The lowest upfront investment would probably be childcare, especially if you're doing it in someone else's home. Everything else you have to buy some basic equipment. Painters need ladders, a van or truck to haul them, good quality brushes, drop cloths, etc. House cleaners need vacuum cleaners, dusters, various cleaning solutions, buckets, rubber gloves. In every case, you need reliable transportation. So where is that money to get started going to come from? And who are your customers going to be?

Those quibbles aside, do these libertarian idiots actually believe that everyone in this country could actually be an independent entrepreneur? Have any of them stepped into a typical business lately? If they had, they might have noticed that there's the owner and/or manager and there are the employees who do the actual work. The people who can run a one-man operation of any sort are rather rare. If your entrepreneurial spirit cries out for you to be the next Paula Deen, you're going to need kitchen staff, wait staff, and cleaning staff -- unless, of course, you plan to be content with a neighborhood diner with an extremely limited menu and the staff consisting of yourself and maybe your spouse or kids. You have a wonderful idea for a new type of widget? If you set up any sort of manufacturing enterprise, if it takes off you're going to need employees. Where are they supposed to come from if everyone else is also being entrepreneurial and going into business for themselves?

Of course, if a person could do a little digging and find out what's going on in the lives of the trolls who are so keen on the idea of everyone pulling themselves up by their bootstraps and going into business for themselves, it would no doubt turn out that the most vocal trolls are cubicle rats working for an hourly wage in the bowels of some mega-corporation. The libertarian fantasists might exhort the poor to take personal responsibility and become entrepreneurs, but it's not a path they ever plan to explore themselves. Why should they? It's so much easier to sit back, collect a paycheck, and waste time on the company's computer.

Saturday, April 5, 2014

Spring in the U.P.

video
I'm guessing we got about 20 inches of snow dumped on us yesterday. Today is lovely, clear blue skies and a predicted high of 40-something for the next several days, so maybe that storm was Winter's last gasp. Nonetheless, I'm happy we paid the driveway plowing fee and did not have to rely on the S.O.'s POS Jeep to open the driveway.

Actually, that storm better have been Winter's last gasp. The snowbanks have gotten high enough that even the grader is having trouble pushing the snow back.

The view out the back door this morning. 


Friday, April 4, 2014

They never learn

I am busy depressing myself this week by reading Neil Sheehan's A Bright Shining Lie: John Paul Vann and America in Vietnam. I'm barely one third of the way into it and must confess it's turning into a hard slog. It's remarkably depressing to read page after page describing how thoroughly government official after official, both American and Vietnamese, displayed astounding levels of incompetence and no one seemed to notice or care.

I may do a longer review once I've actually finished the book, for now suffice to say that all the same mistakes we're still making in the Middle East happened in Vietnam. We aided and abetted the Army of the Republic of Vietnam in creating recruits for the Viet Cong, we were sloppy with armament and munitions so it never took long for anything we gave to the ARVN to find its way into VC hands, and intelligence data were either cooked (wildly inflated body counts, for example) or deliberately misinterpreted.

The more I read of recent foreign policy and military history, the more I wonder just why agencies like the Central Intelligence Agency and the National Security Agency exist. If in any situation there is more than one possible explanation for anything, the CIA and NSA will consistently pick the wrong answer. If they have a choice of allies, they'll go with the most thug-like and corrupt. When they're ask to pick targets, they'll manage to kill off the local school teachers or bomb a convent full of nuns. They'll see threats where none exist and ignore ones that are real. A reader could substitute names (delete Saigon, insert Kabul) and it would read like it was reporting on events from this decade instead of 50 years ago. It really makes a person wonder just how on earth the U.S. has managed to muddle along without accidentally triggering a nuclear war or some other disaster for as long as it has.

As I've said in other posts, I'm sure both agencies have dedicated, competent employees who actually know what they're doing. In the section of the book I've finished, there is one intelligence officer mentioned who is really good at his job. Unfortunately, when he passes the information up the chain of command, no one higher up wants to hear it because it contradicts what they want to believe. So they ignore the facts and lie to the White House and the Pentagon. We all know how well that turned out.

The stupid, it burns.