Octopodial Chrome

It’s not the things you do that you regret, but the things you don’t do. I’ve done things I wish I’d never even thought of, but I can write them off as learning experiences, or as the acts of a young fool, but the things which I’ve never done I can never do. As an example, several years ago the Righteous Brothers came through town; my mother mentioned it to me, but I didn’t want to spend the $40 on a ticket. Less than a year later (a few months later, IIRC), one of the duo was dead and there will be no more Righteous Brothers concerts ever. $40 could have bought me an unrepeatable experience, and instead I’ve a lifetime of regret.

Likewise, when my brother Tom graduated from the Naval Academy all the midshipmen jumped from the 30 foot diving board in their parade uniforms (the tradition owes itself to the fact that the Navy has no parade uniforms and thus that the men’s parade uniforms are superfluous after graduation). He and his buddies tried to get me to go with him, but I resisted. There were officials trying to keep civilians off the board, and I wasn’t exactly keen on the idea anyway—why, I’d have to walk all the way back to our rental home to change my clothes! Well, that was a mistake: my brother will never again graduate, and I’ll never be able to jump off the 30’ diving board with him.

Another example is pledging Tri-Gam. All of my friends in college were members of Gamma Gamma Gamma; I attended nearly every GTE (their Thursday party); I drank gallon upon gallon of their beer; and yet I never pledged. I dearly wish today that I could; indeed, I would give several thousand dollars in order to be one of their number. But I cannot: even if I gave the money and they called me one of their own I never would be one in truth.

A lesser instance was when several friends drove down to Shreveport to do some gambling (a 10 hour round trip IIRC). I forget now why I didn’t go—but I’ll never again have the chance to drive out to Shreveport with some buddies in college.

Then there was the girl who, in hindsight, was very interested in me—and I never even noticed. And I was interested in her! There’s an error to haunt me for the rest of my days, for even had things not culminated satisfactorily we would both have learnt a bit.

All this is part of why I went to Germany with my brother Stephen last week. Yeah, it may not be the wisest use of my money, but who’s to say that I’ll ever have the opportunity again? Maybe I’ll lose my job next year; maybe I’ll meet a wonderful girl and spend my fortune making her happy; maybe I’ll be hit by a truck and live out the rest of my life in a hospital bed. But this was a chance to go and spend time with one of my brothers (hopefully two, but that didn’t pan out, unfortunately). Had I not taken it, I’d have spent the rest of my life regretting the choice; even had I a rotten time (to the contrary, it was wonderful), I’d have merely regretted it for a year or two. The choice is easy.

The regret I feel for the many things I wish I’dnot done is nothing like that for the things I wish I had done. I have decades to repent what I’ve done, but there’s no second chance to do what I’ve not.

Anthony Bryant has created a beautiful set of SCA postage stamps. They are valid postage, albeit a touch expensive (almost thrice normal postage). If anyone wishes to send me an Outlands set, he’ll be my friend for life.

Johan Norberg writes about the good Nike has done in Vietnam. While it’s true that their wages and working conditions are poor by our standards, they are more than generous in Vietnam; indeed there are more seeking work at Nike than elsewhere, and local shoe factories are trying to learn lessons therefrom. Something you won’t here from anti-globalisation loons. Not that there aren’t some very good arguments against unwise globalisation, and not that there aren’t some excellent arguments in favour of what’s called fair trade (really a silly name, since any free trade is fair, else it wouldn’t be made).

Deroy Murdock tours to New Orleans after the floodwaters have receded and as the city very slowly returns to normal. I’m thinking that it might be nice to visit there in ’06, to see how it’s recovering and to contribute some of my tourist dollars.

Graham Hoyland will be climbing Mount Everest in replicas of 1924 mountaineering gear. It’s pretty cool: they have layers of silk, cotton and wool: the silk provides wind-proofing, and the silk and wool slide very easily against one another to facilitate movement. Their theory is that this clothing is in some ways better than modern clothing—particularly vis-a-vis weight.

Of course, I could have told ’em that: just look at a decent gentleman’s coat vs. a modern winter coat. The one is lightweight and warm; the other is heavy and alternates between too cold and too hot. Natural fibres rock, synthetics suck, period.

OTOH, I can’t say that I like anything which increases the demand for wool or silk. But perhaps increased demand could lead to increased supply due to entrepreneurial possibilities or something. What this world needs is wool at $1/yd.

The Amazing Still is a room-temperature distillation apparatus which produces ½–1 quart of 40–50% spirit per day. Pretty slick!

An inventor in Minnesota has invented coloured soap bubbles, the culmination of 11 years of work. The science behind it is very neat indeed.

Just saw a link to video of a Harrier hovering over a crowded beach—and then failing to hover anymore. Fortunately the pilot was unhurt and the plane crashed far enough from onlookers that no one was injured. Must have been quite exciting, though. Happened in August 2002; Google for Tony Cann to learn more…

My brother & I found German food very agreeable. It’s quite hearty and savoury, with a great emphasis on meat & potatoes—but rather more flavour than one might expect from those ingredients. E.g. there are boiled potatoes—called salzkartoffeln—which I believe must be boiled in broth; they are rather more delicious than just simple boiled potatoes. Or possibly it’s just the use of heavily salted water, as the name suggests. However they’re cooked, they are wonderful.

The sausages, of course, were quite tasty. Even the cheap hot-dog class wursts (such as the famous Berliner currywursts) were a cut above what one might expect. And the good ones were simply superb.

We also had the German versions of Thai, Spanish and Italian food, and were never disappointed therewith. In fact, the Thai and Italian meals were particularly memorable during our stay.

Then there was the Kaufhaus des Westens, an immense department store with two floors devoted to food & drink…

All in all, I can heartily recommend Berlin to anyone with an appetite.

Americans tend to think of Germany as the home of excellent beer; I’m sorry to report that I can’t concur. It’s good, no doubt, and far better than American beer, but it’s just not all that interesting. English beer is far superior: much more complex. German beers are a study in cleanliness of flavour, while I prefer something busier. Still, it was good to have and drink.

An interesting fact is that beer, wine & liquor can be bought nearly anywhere in Germany: bars; restaurants; grocery stores; juice stores; sandwich stalls—anywhere. Apparently they haven’t the licensing laws which we’ve inflicted upon ourselves. The drinking age is 16 for beer and 18 for liquor, but doesn’t really seem to be enforced; it appears that one can drink in a restaurant with a meal with one’s parents. One can even drink beer openly on the street: my brother and I shared a lunch of bread, cheese, sausage, juice and beer directly in front of a police station. The bars can stay open as late as they like, and yet nearly every one is closed by midnight or one. You see, despite their lax drinking laws (or perhaps because of them?) Germans just don’t seem to drink all that much. I don’t believe that I saw anyone drunk while in Germany, to tell the truth.

No doubt Berliners get drunk, but they seem to do it far less than Denverites.

My brother and I both noticed that the girls in Berlin are for the most part much prettier than those over here—more attractive even than Texas girls. They’re not quite as attractive as London girls, but aren’t nearly as stylish. Their features are finer than ours, more distinguished and rather more interesting. I think that gals over there are so good looking because the German gals are German and the English, English. Over here we’re all mutts (I more than many), and IMHO it hurts our looks.

There is now a blog value calculator which is somehow based on the value of the AOL-Weblogs, Inc. deal. Apparently Octopodial Chrome is worth $2,822.70. Given the number of hours I’ve put into it (1,205 articles, assuming 4 minutes per article), that works out to roughly $35/hr. Not too shabby!

Well, my previously reported Berlin trip is now officially over: after a long set of delayed flights my brother Stephen & I have returned to the good ol’ US of A. It was a wonderful trip, and I'll be certain to give a full accounting over the next several days. For now, I’m gonna hit the sack.

Allin Cottrell believes that word processors are stupid & inefficient. While those might not be the exact words I'd choose, they are quite true. For the vast majority of computerised document preparation, word processors are not the correct tool to use.

I just shelled out quite a few shekels in order to have my furnace repaired. Worth it, though, especially as it’s snowing tonight.

Golly, is ownership fun! Were I still in an apartment, it’d be the owner’s responsibility to fix such things (and thus I’d have had air condition this summer); instead, I get to put them off until the very last moment and pay for them with my own hard-earned cash. And in return for the additional headaches, I get a residence which I cannot leave on a month’s notice, but for which I must pay until I can sell it to another. Whoopee!

Most folks don't realise that mandatory direct election of senators is relatively recent. It used to be that each state could choose its senators however it wanted: some chose direct election and some appointed their senators. In fact, early on I believe that senators served almost like ambassadors: they had to vote as their states directed. I don't believe that governors ever regularly appointed senators, although I could be mistaken in that regard.

This is a system to which we ought to return. The populace already have a directly-elected body: the House of Representatives. Moreover, direct election of senators obscures the fact that ours is a federal republic, a union of states rather than a simple national government. Returning to the earlier system would reinforce that fact, and perhaps do some good in forestalling those who think that every law should be passed in Washington rather than in the state legislatures.

Jeffrey Carver has put up Writing Science Fiction & Fantasy, a nice guide to writing that most enjoyable form of fiction. Seen on jackdied.com.

While searching for information about rithmomachia, I discovered The Game Report, which has reviews of various unusual games & such. Naught about rithmomachia, but that’s just my luck.

My buddy Dean recently turned 30; he & his wife threw a great party to celebrate yesterday evening. They brought in a company to do a casino night: craps, roulette, blackjack & poker tables. It was a blast. I played roulette all evening to test out a system. With a large enough bankroll, one should be able to do well at roulette (that is, the odds of losing in any one night would be infinitesimal); the problem is that with that much money the winnings would be hardly worth it. Still, it’s a fun way to spend a thousand dollars!

Today is Armistice Day, popularly called Veterans’ Day, when we mark the sacrifice paid by those who have fought for this republic.

It is the soldier, not the reporter, who has given us freedom of the press. It is the soldier, not the poet, who has given us freedom of speech. It is the soldier, not the campus organiser, who has given us the freedom to demonstrate. It is the soldier, who salutes the flag, who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag, who allows the protester to burn the flag.

Chaplain Dennis Edward O’Brian, USMC

Chaplain O’Brian is correct; although certainly these soldiers were sent forth by other men, and those men were encouraged to actions by others still, in the end freedom is often won not by persuasive words or mutual consent, but by forcing those who would withhold it to submit.

May God defend our soldiers in all their battles, and may those battles not be against His will.

Jewish Chaplain Carlos Huerta writes about the death of an Iraqi boy during Ramadan, the day before Yom Kippur. It’s a revealing account of the world of a military chaplain: a Jewish rabbi taught by a Moslem imam to pray Islamic prayers over a dying boy, and comforted by a Catholic priest.

I don’t know that I’m comfortable with the idea of saying the words of another faith’s prayers, though. I’m not certain, but I would be very surprised if the canons of the Church didn’t forbid such a thing. But could one pray with a dying man who will not convert, and then do one’s penance for such an action?

I suppose it comes down to the question of what other religion’s gods are: are they demons, or do they not exist? If they don’t exist, then it doesn’t do that much harm to pray to them—it’s just a bunch of empty words. But if they exist, and are demonic, then to pray to them is evil and to be avoided at all costs.

And of course the martyrs refused to pray to false gods and suffered death for their actions; it seems a much smaller thing to refuse to pray to a false god and be thought unkind by others. OTOH in the world of the martyrs their form of witness (and martyr means witness, after all) was effective in winning others to God; folks saw the Christians dying for their faith and were impressed. In our world such a form of witness would be more likely to drive others away; someone would likely see a Christian refusing to pray with a dying man (even if offering every other form of consolation and comfort) and be turned away from God thereby. In the modern world’s eyes, it’s more admirable to be nice than to be principled. But of course we cannot reject principle simply for convenience.

Perhaps one could prompt the dying man; that is, not pray with him, but merely read aloud the words for him to pray to himself. But even still the idea of helping a man to pray to demons is repugnant, and thus if false gods are demonic then even that action would be evil. But would that evil be worse than the evil of turning others from Christ?

The best thing is to discuss this with one’s spiritual father, and to do as he directs. A relatively ignorant layman such as I (well, I’m a reader and thus in one reckoning minor clergy, but you know what I mean…) doesn’t have the familiarity with all the relevant issues that a more learnéd clergyman has.

Regardless, it’s a moving article—and of course my own concerns are not those of a Jewish rabbi, who is the one involved in this case.

Now you too can construct your own mind control ray deflecting hat. Make one for each member of your family, just to be safe.

Today is the 230th birthday of the Marines; Mackubin Thomas Owens commemorates it in his own way.

Well, recently I’ve become embroiled in a family crisis of sorts. I’ll not name any names, but essentially an elderly couple (Couple A) to whom I’m somehow (won’t say how…) related have apparently become incapable of taking care of themselves. I was first contacted by a distant member of the family (Person B—unrelated by blood) whom I’ve never met, and who thought that my phone number was that of a nearer family member (Person C). I passed the information on to Person C, who consulted with another relative (Person D) took the steps which seemed appropriate at the time—and then continued on a trip out of the country.

Well, while C was out of the country, I was contacted by yet another party (Friend E), a longtime friend of Couple A and who also believed me to be C, with the bad news that A had been taken to a hospital, but that there was no immediate need for C to return, as they were doing well. I gave D a call, and sent C an email, with this information, and thought my part done.

Well, I just got another call from B, with bad news about A and a caution against a Person F. Of course, I have never met either B or F, and cannot judge between them. Mine is not to reason why; mine is but to pass on data. So I called D, who wanted me to try to get ahold of C and find out what course of action to pursue. This I did, dealing with obstreperous Third World porters and such before finally consulting with C, and then called D back with C’s thoughts. And then B called me back with more information. Which I also passed on.

Oh, and did I mention that C & D have been estranged from A for several years now, while B & E are quite fond of A?

What a bloody mess. And somehow I get stuck in the middle of it all, simply because some people got ahold of my number instead of Person C’s. Still, one hopes that things turn out well for Couple A, Persons C & D and Friend E. As for Persons B & F, they may both be dastards or both be heroes; only time will tell.

I did find that when talking with Persons C & D I sounded an awful lot like my old man does when he lays out options for another to consider. Kinda proud of myself, to tell the truth.

Today marks the 16th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, known as Freedom Day (which I’ll admit is a rather silly-sounding name). My entire childhood we all believed that the day would come when we & the Soviets would come to blows, and that the world would be destroyed—and then in a great rush their entire totalitarian edifice crumbled, Germany was reunited, Eastern Europe was freed and Russia cast off Communism. It was a heady time, and even though I was but a kid I knew something very important was going on, something which is probably the most momentous event in my lifetime.

As some of my friends & family know, I’ve recently (back in August, IIRC) started learning the guitar. It’s tough work, but the reward—hearing a song one knows by heart come out of one’s own instrument—is well worth it. Progress is unfortunately slower than I’d like. I’ve hit the first real plateau, and haven’t gotten any better in about a month. Not certain what I need to do—or can do—to resolve this issue.

While at the Denver Museum of Natural History this weekend we saw a very neat collection of gems & minerals. Most of the were retrieved from mines deep below the earth, and it occurred to me how wonderful it must be to be the first man—the first living creature—to set eyes on them. But I was also saddened, because apparently many of these beautiful crystals are ground up and used for industrial and medical purposes. Certainly, it’s important that industry progress, and I’d willingly sacrifice tons of pretty rock to save a single life—but it’s still sad that something which has been forming since the dawn of time should be so abruptly destroyed.

I highly recommend seeing the collection; it’s well worth the time.

On Sunday my friend Shaima & I took a stroll around Confluence Park. What should we find but an eddy in the Platte River which collects garbage? It’s truly disgusting: a pleasant, semi-natural scene spoilt by refuse.

Something should be done.

Girls smell nice; I first noticed this back in college, when I found that Baker Hall where I lived smelt mostly of urine and BO, whilst Clyce Hall (where I & my friends chased the gals resident there) smelt nice. Well, this was brought home to me once again this morning. After my friend had completed her ablutions, I performed my own---and when I entered I discovered that my bathroom smelt nicer than it ever has. It's really quite amazing how they do whatever it is they do. Perhaps they use nice soaps or something?

This complete set of hematite dice (4, 6, 8, 2x10, 12 & 20 sided specimens) is just too cool for words. The same vendor makes obsidian, rose quartz, jade, agate and other semi-precious stone dice, but I want hematite. And amethyst. And carnelian. And (synthetic) opal. And…

A nice side effect of having a friend visit is that it gives one the impetus to clean one’s place, and so my condo is finally rather nicely squared away. I’d really like to have more folks by, actually, so that I can show it off in a good light.

What I’d like to know is why it always takes two days to clean my place. It doesn’t matter if I spend a month cleaning ahead of time, but it’s always a disaster area until two days beforehand, when suddenly my cleaning starts to work, and I end up finishing with 4–6 hours to spare. It’s really quite remarkable.

An old friend of mine was in town this weekend and so we got to spend some time together, which was very nice. It’s funny: we don’t agree about a lot of things (the joke is that each thinks the other completely, horribly, awfully wrong about everything—save for the things we agree on), but nonetheless we’d a very pleasant day (yesterday evening & most of today).

Something I’ve realised with Shaima’s visit, and my own visit to see Phil & Jess in Texas (along with all the others I saw) is that friends—not acquaintances, but real friends—are one of the few key things in life. It’s not so much the frequency that one sees them, but that one sees them at all, that one has a few kindred spirits out there. C.S. Lewis wrote much more eloquently on φιλία than I ever could, and his words are worth reading.

One of the bad things about seeing one’s friends so rarely, though, is that it takes time to fall back into things, although as I’ve noted given a short amount of time it all works out. That’s definitely an issue which more time together rather than apart would help.

So if someone would just break the laws of the universe and invent a teleporter so that I might see my friends every week, no matter where on the globe they are, I’d be much obliged.

The Grey Kangaroo is a charcoal filter designed for alcohol; it is supposed to filter cheap vodka and make it taste like expensive stuff. Somehow I don’t really see it. All I can say is that things have changed since I was in school.

Someone actually produces Menger Sponges for sale. I desperately want one.

My folks left for a tour of Greece following St. Paul’s footsteps yesterday. I drove them to the æroport—from their office. Yes, the day my parents left for another continent they worked a half day! What sort of insanity is involved therein? What sort of man goes to work when he should be on vacation? My parents are really and truly bonkers.

Yes, you really can use a soda can & a chocolate bar to start a fire. The chocolate is an abrasive, which is used to polish the dimple in the bottom of the can; this polished dimple is a parabolic mirror, which focuses the sun’s rays and starts a fire. Sweeet!