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This is one good way to explain it..

Really hi wi-fi

This blog posting isn’t anything more than some technical stretching and preening to demonstrate that one can make a blog post from in-flight wi-fi.

Streets of Kathmandu

Not my video. But pretty much what I saw.

Requiescat in pace

I did not agree very much with the late Senator Kennedy’s notion of what the good society was; and some of his policy notions such as using tax money to fund the killing of unborn children I find abhorrent. Yet I do not doubt that he loved his country and sought to serve her. Many things he set in motion like OSHA were well inspired, even if they have metastasized into things that he did not intend; but the same could be said, say, of the Iraq war or other conservative schemes. We are all in the same stew together, we Americans of all political stripes. R.I.P. Thank you.

’76 remembrances

Away back in 1976 – the Bicentennial Year – I travelled with a church youth group – Campus Life – from Boston to Washington D.C. — on a ten-speed bike. It took 7 days to go 500 miles. We had a support crew traveling alongside us with tents, food, etc. It was a super experience. I think this is where I began to truly notice girls, as well.

Jump forward to 1980 – Stationed at Two Rock Ranch in California, I and a buddy rented bicycles to ride the 20 miles or so to the ocean. It just about killed us. Those 20 miles were straight up and down Napa valley hills. ..And I wound up with an adventure at a sheep farm, as well. I digress. That day I got to see Bodega Bay, where the film “The Birds” was shot.

..So today I wind up doing a quick 180 in the roadster and backtracking a block to look at a ten-speed for sale in someone’s yard. 35$ and a stop at a gas station for air later, and I’m back in the saddle.

I have long thought that the military, who sent me in just the first six months of my association with them to exotic places like New Jersey, New York City, Milwaukee, and the North Pole, are the people who gave me the travel bug. But I can look back and see that my experience biking down the East Coast is probably the culprit. Looking at my new ride, I can see in my mind’s eye some pannier bags….and a day trip or two in the countryside of my adopted home state.

Security…

I had a bit of a scare yesterday in Baltimore City heading to a tango event…a group of about 50 motor-scooter and ATV drivers running amok, through red lights and around vehicles lawfully operating…a sort of mobile “wilding.” Popping wheelies alongside minivans with kids, nearly causing a few accidents, carefully negotiating their way past a police car stopped to help at the scene of an accident. Remarkable.

It so happens that long ago in the Reserves I was tasked with editing a rather classified document. My job was basically to take three versions of this thing and make a coherent single version, going to superiors when I needed content clarified or explained. I had to go through a cipher locked door, which required four digits. Somebody else removed a removeable hard drive from a safe, and I attached it to a computer which had been disconnected from even the in-house network, along with the usual lecture about security, blah blah.

So in my hospital work, because of the almighty JCAHO, there are six digits that I have to enter to open a door to get into the room where there are stacks of linen, bedpans, and also some IV solutions. It’s not like somebody can sneak past the nurse’s station to get to the door of the thing.. but rules are rules.

So… six digits to get to a stack of bedpans. Four digits, long ago, to get to a document that dealt with security issues around the harbor.

And yesterday……I saw lawlessness just this shy of violence that was not being checked… Security expert Bruce Schier, whose materials I read, is correct that most security schemes fail because we over-react to non-threats and do not perceive the real threats.

40 years ago…

Man walked on the moon. And I watched it, live, on TV, a grainy black and white image transmitted over a few relays from the lunar surface. My grandfather and father kept hushing me; as I recall.