Change We Can Believe In?

I hear this a lot lately. The battle cry of the American Left reverberates like the sickening thud of two automobiles colliding. So far, the "change" Obama speaks of is just as hollow, just as sickening. And just as void.

If changing the R in the White House to a D is the great change to which Mr. O refers, I think otherwise. More laws, higher taxes, ACLU-blessed Supreme Court appointees, further erosion of free speech rights via the inaptly named Fairness Doctrine, abolishing our military. These are the changes I see the big D invoking should Mr. O seize power for the next four to eight years.

Any such change will hasten my change of venue to deep within a solidly red state.

Thanks For the Memories

Four thousand deaths, a trillion dollars in red ink, and the price of a gallon of gas is spinning ahead faster than my car's odometer. Now we're shown the door and told to go home.

I was originally for this war and never did the Kerry two-step. With this latest development, however, I can't help but think that we've been handed a big bag of crap.

Did I miss something?

Flash! EMP In the News Again

Every time I try to push the ugly Achilles' heel of the United States out of my mind, something brings it roaring back.

Today (depending on your time zone), our peace-loving friends in Iran test fired another missile. The exact range of this weapon is unclear, but it is believed to be "up to 2,000 km."

But 2,000 km is barely over a thousand miles, and Iran is halfway around the world. How could this possibly affect me?

A nuclear warhead of modest size, secured as the payload of such a missile and fired from the back of a cargo ship (or one disguised to look like a cargo ship) a hundred miles off either US coast, then detonated at sufficiently high altitude, could have the effect of overloading and burning out all electronic circuitry it "sees." Typically such a detonation needs to occur at a height of about fifty miles over the continental US.

The Shahab-3 missile can reach such a height.

But won't the nuke backfire on whoever lights it off?

No. That's the one of the horrors of it. In typical terrorist fashion, it can be used against civilian populations with little or no recourse to the attacker. Since the curvature of the earth shields Iran from direct view of the nuclear blast, they will not experience any of its effects, which will be limited mostly to North America and, perhaps, portions of Central America.

I first read about electromagnetic pulse weapons (EMPs) in Popular Science in the late 1970s. At that time, only the Soviet Union was thought to be interested in such a tactic, and they already were deadlocked with the US in a strategy known as Mutually Assured Destruction -- MAD. Since the Soviets had the capability of going toe-to-toe with America in a massive nuclear exchange, the need for EMP was deemed superfluous, the threat was cast aside, and we pushed it from our collective consciousness as we turned up the volume of the World Series.

Not everyone discarded the fanciful threat posted by riding shock wave of a nuclear blast.

A decade or so later witnessed the dawn of the Information Age and the birth of the cell phone era, creating an insatiable appetite for electrons and all the fragile silicon upon which they ride. Today, an entire generation has been hard-wired and hooked in and wouldn't have the first clue how to survive without the fix provided from an electrical wall outlet. How far we've come in thirty years can only be gauged by the size of the hole we've plugged ourselves into, a hole from which we likely could not emerge without enormous personal sacrifice.

The same dunces who can't seem to build a simple border fence or provide the American public with a bona fide civil defense system couldn't possibly be expected to protect us from the high tech wrath of the turbaned fools of Iran.

So, who are the real fools?

A Pleasant Winter Day in Washington

This is one of the most pleasant winters I've spent here in Washington state, even though it seems to have arrived four months early.

Yesterday afternoon I drove to tiny Heisson store, where I have my PO box. With a sack lunch and an iced tea stashed in my backpack, I headed down the railroad tracks from the 279th St crossing to the one at 259th St, a distance of one mile. Reaching my first goal, I turned around and began the walk back.

This was to be the first of the eight or so miles I had planned to walk.

Mid-way to 279th St is a trestle overlooking a stream. I usually stop on the bridge and take in the nice view before continuing. Yesterday, however, the sky opened up and dumped rain all over my parade. Finding refuge under a row of trees, I attempted to wait out the unexpected deluge, but found myself to be the intended meal of a swarm of mosquitoes.

I don't know about you, but I'll take getting rained on to getting eaten pretty much any day of the year.

When I arrived back at the 279th St crossing, I was soaked and angry and punctuated the misty air with well-chosen cuss words, the volume of which I attempted to keep below the threshold of hearing of any humans who were stupid enough to be caught in the same rain as I. Hoping for sun but expecting clouds, I ended up all wet, now in no mood to continue my journey to the crossing at Hantwick Road, a distance of about three more miles. I planted my wet ass in my car and drove home.

I already have visions of sugar plums dancing in my head.

Rules of the Men's Room

I recently had the occasion to respond to a question on Difster's blog in which the unwritten "Men's Bathroom Rules" had come up. There was some confusion as to the existence of the rule(s), as well as what constituted permissible behavior while urinating. (This time the ladies have it much easier.) Following is my personal take on the matter at hand:

Rule #1: When confronted with several available urinals, always select the one which allows for the maximum number of urinals between you and the next guy.

Rule #2: Keep your eyes riveted on the wall or flushing mechanism directly ahead of you. Never let your eyes wander toward another user.

Rule #3: Do not speak to another user unless absolutely necessary (trust me, it never is). Even if you know him very well, always observe rules #1 and #2.

Rule #3a: (US only) Never pee with your father.

Rule #4: The men's room is not a place to gather or gab. Always do your business and get the hell out with as little fanfare as possible. Zip up and leave quickly, flushing with your elbow when appropriate.

I hope this clears things up somewhat.

Storm Chases of May and June, 2008

I drove twice this chase season for Tempest Tours and have included some pictures for your viewing pleasure, disdain, or amusement. The links can be found on my personal website by following the appropriate link below:

Tornadoes in Kansas on May 22, 2008

My chase log for that great day in May:

On the last full day of the Tempest Tours storm chase, our group of twenty-three finally hit pay dirt. The Storm Prediction Center had been touting Thursday for nearly the past forty-eight hours as having a risk for severe weather all the way from the Texas Panhandle to southeastern Wyoming.

Who says those weather guys never get it right?

Our group, which consisted of guests from all over the English-speaking world, had been patiently awaiting D-day on the Plains while cooking under a large ridge of high pressure for over a week. When the ridge finally broke down and allowed an upper level trough to deepen over the Rockies, the Tempest team brought the paying customers right into the playground of several tornadoes!

The particular storm we followed put down its first tornado near Grainfield, KS at around 5:45 in the afternoon. This tornado appeared ghostly white against a light gray background as it raced off to the north at nearly fifty miles per hour. I could best describe the shape as being that of an elephant tusk, complete with a pretty debris cloud that dragged along behind it. As we headed north, we continued playing leap frog with a convergence of other storm chasers, jockeying with them for position along the shoulder of the two-lane highway. After gracing the western backdrop for nearly ten minutes, the tornado decayed and vanished.

This storm was just getting organized, cycling itself north into a beautiful mesocyclone which quickly spit out a second tornado, appearing at first like a large black wedge to the west, then standing proudly as it moved gracefully northward at a more reasonable pace of perhaps thirty miles per hour. Fifteen minutes and several hundred photographs later, the second beast became history and was swallowed by the sky.

But the parent thunderstorm again cycled to the north and wound itself up into an ominous dark coil in the sky. That's when the show really began. We were treated to five more tornadoes in a ground-hugging merry-go-round that displayed nearly every type of tornado imaginable. Regrettably, I missed several key photo opportunities because of my primary responsibility of driving.

We ended the day in Salina, KS, arriving at our hotel after midnight, exhausted but filled with stories of a lifetime.

Note: The final picture in the sequence was taken by one of the Tempest drivers. Note the debris cloud to the right of the two cars ahead. We are the first car. Now THAT was close.

The second storm chase began in Denver on June 21 and had us playing mostly in the western Dakotas, western Nebraska, and northeastern Wyoming. The scenery consisted mostly of interesting clouds, bison, and a few geographic (and not-so-geographic) wonders. Compared to the May chase, it was an uninspiring event; but it was not without its good moments. (The pictures from this chase did not warrant their own folder, so I lumped the best of them along with those of May.)