Rinse-lather-repeat

It's been a busy couple of weeks at school/work/home for me, thus the lack of posting. Every day brings a new challenge, an old one, a frustrating one, and one that shouldn't be there but just is to add to the overall aggravation of things. The primary centerpiece for these challenges is my digital project, for all intents and purposes my "senior" project - an automated pet feeder. For geeky types, I'm having to build it using an 8051 microcontroller and must incorporate a 16-key keypad, two line LCD, analog to digital converter, external RAM, stepper motor plus controller, and whole bunch of buttons, switches, LEDs, and all sorts of other crap to give it that whiz-bang factor Satan my professor wants.

At this point, after one cup of coffee, I'm not sure how I'm going to do that. I'm not sure I'll know after a whole pot of the tar, either. Number of circuit rebuilds at this point: 4.

Just the facts

I've got to admit, this whole mess in Jena, LA hasn't been on my radar for quite some time. Earlier in the year, I remember thinking to myself that the charges brought against the six black teens were harsh - but I didn't look any further in to it at the time (school and all). Now that it's been thrust toward us in the media, though, I think it's time to separate fact from fancy.

• Six black teenagers - Beard, Bell, Bailey, Jones, Purvis, and Shaw - were charged originally with attempted and conspiracy to commit second degree murder for the Dec. 4 beating of Barker, a white teenager. Five of the six were charged as adults; Beard, 14 at the time, was charged as a minor.
• All of the charges were reduced: Bell was convicted of second degree battery and conspiracy in June (the conviction was overturned and given to the juvenile court)
• The jury that convicted Bell was all white. 150 summons were sent out; only 50 reported for duty. "There is no entry in the juror database for race to ensure that bias isn’t used in jury selection, a court official said."

This is where lines start to blur a little, at least from my perspective of outsider looking in. Interestingly enough, this is where Jackson and Sharpton begin to get involved, too.

• In September 2006, a black student "jocularly" asked if he could sit under a tree that mostly white students sat under; this was done in a question-and-answer assembly at the school - not as a person seeking permission. The principal answered that he could sit anywhere he wanted.
• That Friday, two nooses were found hanging from that tree. Three students were found to be a part of it, and the prinicpal recommended expulsion. A district committee suspended each of them for three days. Barker, the student beaten on Dec. 4, was not one of those found to be involved.
• Only the parents - and some others in front of cameras - have asserted that the Dec. 4 fight was due to the noose incident.

Seems to me that these are two different incidents. Sure, there's racial undertones abound in it, some of it likely quite real - but some of it made up. It's always been my opinion that Jackson, Sharpton, et al. are old soldiers trying to relive the "glory days", times when things they did really mattered and made a difference. In my opinion, though, they undermine the things already done by many before them - Parks, Evers, even Dr. King - by taking events such as this is Jena and blowing them out of proportion, just for another run at glory.

I'm not saying people shouldn't be upset in Jena or around the country about the situation there. Some terrible things have happened - and I'm including the teenager's beating in this; he was beaten unconscious - and justice, in some ways, doesn't appear to have been done - the jury convicted Bell of aggravated battery, which means assault with a deadly weapon; the "deadly weapon" was the shoe!

What I'm trying to say is this: justice isn't (and won't be) served on the basis of half-truths, misdirection, and blurred lines. Folks that dabble in those types of things want their agenda - their ego? - served.

So, what would be justice?

The three who hung the nooses should have been expelled - no argument there. Charged? With what? It's not illegal to do such a thing just as it wouldn't be illegal for a Christian group to post the Ten Commandments on a tree where atheists ate lunch. Tacky and rude, yes. Criminal, no.

The six who attacked the one should be charged as juveniles. I don't buy the conspiracy bit (lack of evidence) and I certainly don't buy the second degree murder nor aggravated battery. Charge them with assault - absolutely. Let them go "free" - hardly.

Phantom of the Fox

This will mostly be of interest to those local to Atlanta. Did you know that somebody actually lives at the Fox Theater?

Joe Patten sees a side of the Fox Theatre no one else sees — even longtime employees — because for the past 26 years, it has been his home.

Whenever he wants to watch a show, he opens a door in his bedroom, walks through a secret passageway and up 30 steps to his private "box" in the balcony — a former spotlight platform almost within touching distance of the Fox's famous deep blue ceiling with its tiny twinkling-star lights.

Neat read.

Happenings at the Intergalactic Student Center

Normally, I go for a study room at the library, someplace to escape discussions of Superman's true origins, Batman's place in the superhero world, whether or not Order 66 truly wiped out all Jedi... things of this nature. However, study rooms are hard to come by in the mid-afternoon at Southern Poly, so I ended up in the student center, jacked in with the rest of gen-pop. I've got to say, today, I'm glad I did...

Within the past year, the geek universe that is my chosen university has begun sharing it's campus with Georgia Highlands College. In other words, a whole ton of cute girls have started hanging around the school, most likely not because of the stimulating conversation. Starting this semester, the young damsels of GHC have been populating the student center/cafeteria more; as they are cute girls, or just girls, they travel in packs, like womprats. These packs do not go unnoticed by the herds of nerds; and, being so nerdy and wanting to always quantify stuff, they have timed when said cuties come feast. I kid you not.

This brings me to yesterday. A clan from an untold dimension sits across from me, monitoring and commenting on the comings and goings of all things intergalactic. An Elflord from Downthestairs comes to them with a report: "Uhhh... there's like a whole table of hot Georgia Highlands chicks down there talking to LadiesMan217 about his laptop." A fellowship transports itself Downthestairs, leaving the Elflord and others too afraid to venture forth.

A few moments later, the remaining Counsel are treated to a glorious scene - a Queen of GHC, outfitted in a blue see-through dress, comes in from the harsh climate seeking sustenance. She obviously has traveled far, as her legs tremble with each step in her stylish-and-unaffordable high heels. The Counsel gazes longingly, their eyes following the outline of her way too tight and blatantly visible thong long wavy hair, which she run her hands through, giving them ample sight of her nearly fully exposed busom hand. "Are you done now?" Gorgo, the lone female of the Counsel, sighs as the Devil Angel in a Blue Dress disappears from view. The Elflord, first to regain speaking ability, grunts and returns to the sickly pale glow cast upon him by his laptop.

And then she returns, Coruscant Deathstick pinched between index and middle finger as she once again hobbles towards the cruel outdoors. Shaking his head, the White Mage takes a break from leveling up his ninja to speak to Elflord: "Dude, she's hot." Blue Dress, pretending not to hear such speak, in fact does (as does everybody else on the upper west side of Atlanta), and proceeds to crack a smile as she attempts to run her hand through her hair again, hoping to incite more...

... and then she fell, tripping over her until-now-unseen two left feet in stilletos, her shoulder hitting the floor first, with her legs absorbing most of the recoil and bouncing up. While wearing a dress. And other stuff.

My initial instinct is to quickly hold up a sign that displays "9.5 - stuck the landing!" But then, my gentlemanly self overrides and I start to offer a helping hand... when a wormhole opened and geeks from all other dimensions appeared. Wizards, elves, Jedi, Starfleet Captians, two pirates, and a dude in an AC/DC shirt that was in the wrong place at the wrong time all converge on the scene, hoping to get a peak offer a helping hand to the Queen, still sprawled on the floor, lying still. Or, as my Grandma used to say, playing possum, hoping this too shall pass.

Order is thusly restored, Queen Blue Dress deciding that today is not the day to continue her Deathstick habit. The scouting party returns from the nether-regions of Donwthestairs, asking questions of the commotion heard. The Elflord, having been blinded from being in the prime seating position to watch the queen's downfall, ignores their question: "I'm going back to my room," he says as he quickly moves off, cables from his laptop dragging behind him. Gorgo sits, thoroughly satisfied with the outcome of the situation.

Three words

Tissue warning...

T-minus 100

Today is the 100 day mark until I graduate. I just thought you'd all like to know.

Oblivions II: Rise of the Obliviots

You've been there before. We all have. You're in a theater enjoying a movie or a play. You've already seen and heeded the polite request to silence your cell phones. Sure, inevitably one goes off, things are mumbled about the person's mother or something about bamboo reeds and fingernails, but if the movie is truly good enough, you soon have your attention redirected and no longer care about the Oblivion that can't find the off mode of their electronic ball and chain.

Then, below and to the side, a large firefly appears. Then another. Then another. Soon, what was once darkness only lit by the flicker on the screen is awash in a pale blue glow of cell displays. Thinking it is simply the death screen as they are being switched off, you ignore it... til you realize they're not going away. They're texting. Everybody.

You've just encountered an Obliviot. This is a special kind of oblivion - a person who walks through their daily life with no idea whatsoever that they are surrounded by other people. Obliviots are a hybrid; part normal, reasonable person, and part oblivious idiot when combined with a cell phone. Separate the two, and after the withdrawal period (that can include tears, death threats, and the shakes) they revert to their normal semi-productive selfs.

Fellow blogger (and gun-nut) Xavier recently had a run-in with some Obliviots while attending a play:

Last night I suffered through a play in which I was surrounded by cellphone users. No less than five were on either side of me and in front of me, yakking into the damn things, text messaging into the damned things, and ruining the experience of the theater for everyone around them. That theater held over 300 people. I have to wonder how many cellphone minutes were used during the time that these morons had paid to see a play. A play is supposed to be a means of escaping the drudgery of one's life. Why would anybody even consider going to the theater and talking on a cellphone the entire time? What was so damned important that those calls could not be avoided?If the matters were that important, then why did the person stay at the play and yammer into their link to their pathetic little worlds? Why not leave and go take care of the problem?

He then goes on to offer this dead-on assessment, that I'm not going to censor (contains mild language):

No, in our hedonistic Paris Hilton wannabe wonderland of self indulgent egotistical bullshit existence, digital dialogue has become an emotional crutch, a reminder that a person exists, that a person matters, insurance that a person's life will not run away without them if they step away for a while. It's a pathetic ego stroke for the co-dependent ranger, who cannot exist for a couple of hours without contact with the mothership. Hell, today 10 year old children have cellphones! Who is paying the bills on this stuff? Who is making the money? Why do people think they need it?

Believe it or not, there was a time that people, even children, ventured forth without electronic umbilical cords. People took vacations to get away from their telephone. They got away from their house. They went places with people they loved, spent time with them talking face to face, and they built enduring relationships rather than cellphone debt. What have we become? We have been sold a false bill of goods, a surreptitious nihilistic bill of goods, and our society is lapping it up like blind puppies lapping up antifreeze. Cellphones do not bring us together, No. They drive us apart. They do not build society, they destroy the possibilities of functioning in a society without them. For one day, if you are a cellphone ranger, turn it off. You will live.

Name change

In a previous post, I published the recipe to our version of homemade chocolate ice cream, dubbed "Better Than a Wendy's Frosty." As of this past weekend, I have been informed that we must change the name...

... Award Winning Better Than a Wendy's Frosty!
(Note the addition of the exclamation point. Oh - and the fact that it won an award!)

Last weekend, my wife and I entered our home churned goodness in Miss Mary's Ice Cream Crankin'. This is an event put on by the Drake House, a sort of halfway house for homeless mothers and their children. Our church has been involved with the women there for a few years now, and this has always been one of their biggest fundraisers.

Only one problem with the day - it rained. Hard rain. Scaring away most of the people who were eating ice cream rain. Nevertheless, we knew we had something good going when our's was the first churn emptied. However, no awards were announced, as most people had fled to their cars once the lightning started popping.

Fast forward to this past Sunday morning, and a fellow Sunday School member greets us with "Congratulations!" I looked at my wife - "Hmmm... is there something I should know?!?" - but then thought better of once I saw her confused glance. Taking our seat, we opened the bulletin to see the announcement: The Drake House had raised $35,000 at the Crankin'... and we won for the best chocolate!!!

I shot Jack Bauer's gun

This past Sunday was my first ever shoot with the group at GeorgiaPacking.org, a group I've been involved with for some time. After church, I tucked my little wifey-poo in for a long afternoon nap and off to Bulls Eye Marksman I went.

The way this works is everybody that has guns to share sets their stuff up on the table at each lane. Then, you basically just wander back and forth until you find something that you want to try.

This being my first trip to an indoor range that allows shotguns, the first I tried was a Remington 870 with #00 buckshot - essentially, the most effective manstopper load ever devised. I will say this, though - the "point in the general direction and pull the trigger" advice that generally comes with shotguns is not advised. At about 20 feet, the spread was only four inches around. Point is - aiming is still quite necessary.

After this and running a few mags through my own Walther, I looked down at the bench I was at and noticed a nice, big Colt King Cobra .357 Mag. Solid gun, built like a tank; shooting medium powered factory loads was pleasant, relatively speaking.

I moved a lane over and tried another friend's Sig GSR, another one that was built to withstand a nuclear blast. Capping off round after round of big ol' .45 ACP was downright enjoyable, though ironically I had less accuracy with this than I expected. Almost alarming considering I grew up shooting a 1911 style pistol instead of a brick Glock.

And then, the Precious called to me. Seven lanes away, amongst all other manner of hot rain flinging itself downrange, I heard it beckon me. A light from heaven opened into the range and shown upon lane 6. I stepped my way down cautiously, through the firings of Sigs, Beretta's, even another Walther, until I reached the source.

Jack Bauer's gun - an H&K USP Compact. The target knew no mercy. The mag practically loaded itself. The first mag I put through it, all single-action, all target sighting; every round touched a kill zone. I'm not that good of a shooter; it's that good of a gun. Natural pointer, good sight picture, a recoil spring that must have been fabricated by God - I really didn't feel a thing.

The second mag, I decocked for the first round, wanting to feel the double-action trigger pull. Apparently, H&K forgot to put it in - aside from the extra travel length, it felt exactly the same as the single-action. I finished the mag, having jerked one round out of the kill zone. I think I heard the gun growl at me for doing so. I put Jack's boom-stick down, and backed away.

Honey, I've added a new gun to the list.

Other guns tried:

• Walther P22 - the baby brother to my P99. Apparently picky on ammo, but a joy (and cheap) to shoot. Very accurate for only having a 3.5" barrel.
• CZ83 - an old Bond gun clone. Not bad, but I think at this point I prefer the Bersa if I'm shooting .380.
• Glock 31 - this was my first time shooting anything chambered in .357 Sig, and it was really a pleasant experience - even if it was a Glock.