Perhaps the Trump Administration should just declare Ms. Perry persona non grata. If she wants to meet with mayors, they mayors can fly to the UK.The UK has started bypassing Donald Trump over climate change, talking directly to city mayors and other officials committed to trying to reduce greenhouse gas emissions, the new Climate Change Minister has revealed.Claire Perry, who was appointed to the post after the general election last month, said that British ministers had not “missed an opportunity” to tell the US President that they were disappointed he had decided to withdraw from the Paris Agreement on climate change, the news service Bloomberg reported.
Thursday, July 27, 2017
I had never known this. These articles are from a few years back, but Mrs. Jordan was alive 18 months ago.
Wednesday, July 26, 2017
Most interesting talks (to me):
Exploiting Network Printers (a target-rich environment)
Hacking Tesla from WiFi to CAN Bus
Breaking Electronic Door Locks like CSI: Cyber
Real-time RFID Cloning (remember my old post on RFID and Chiappa Revolvers? That talked about Black Hat in 2007)
Open Source safe cracking robots (I hope they name the robot "Feynman")
But we're almost to August, which means cool security stuff. Dwight breaks it down well.
You know that "31337" d00d? Don't be that 31337 d00d ...
There's video from 1946 Berlin that shows it in action, too.
The suitcase is empty, but it is not. There in the bottom, a small piece of paper with some writing on it. I read it and I smile.
The bag's opened up, some toiletries spread around the hotel bathroom. Another day on the road. I guess the wandering spirit runs in my blood, passed on my from Air Force father to me. Seems like ever since I got a control yoke in my hand I've been wandering across miles of land, across rivers and towns in whatever way I can, be it dromedary-like transport plane, raggedly land rover or sway back mule.
I have an anchor, over time it's been a large house, a small house, it's been simply a suitcase and someone I love. But when I'm there, I am thoroughly happy, for that anchor, instead of being a confinement, is simply the base from which I move, a fulcrum that amplifies the effects of my motion, the beat of my heart.
St. Expurey said, "He who would travel happily must travel light". And so I did, the earliest memories little more than the remembered feel of the starched uniform shirt I wore, the dense oily smell of jet fuel lingering on the tongue like smoke. It seems as if all my early years were reflected in the window of those moving airplanes. I see my reflection, my past, through bug splayed glass that tinted the world bright.
I started to feel like a bobble head doll and the 25 dollars I saved over a taxi was starting to look like one of those small decisions that had great, oversized repercussions. But perhaps I should have been more patient. I guess it was hard to concentrate on braking when one is texting while driving in heavy traffic.
I simply made sure my seatbelt was fastened and then bent down as if into a stiff wind, horns of the impatient exploding into the rain-split asphalt that opened and closed with opportunity. Like all traffic in big cities, we carried on, sharp with speed, and then trickling to a standstill, the road dipping into the fog, like a hand cleaving water, the headlights showing the gray bulk of streams of cars coming down the hill like rain.
He muttered something under his breath about what he had to do to get a big tip, and I replied -
"Вам надо научиться использовать торможения."
He was still standing there, mouth agape when I went up to my suite.
After a short walk back to the hotel, my partner making sure I got to my room safely, I made a couple phone calls to loved ones, wanting to let them know I was in and safe. My Dad always worries when I travel, even when I can't tell him where I'm going. So do friends, and I try and keep in touch. Then I took a long bath in a tub so deep you could hide a Mastodon in it and slept until it was 6:30 in the morning. Unfortunately, it was 6:30 in the morning where I wanted to be, not where I was at.
So I got up and made coffee and watched a stain of light snare itself between steel and rain, spreading until the stain grew light and the light became morning.
It is all there for the taking, multicolored flowers in bright density, the smell of fresh bread baking, laid out like fabric on the ground which you pick up and wrap around you, drawing in a breath through the scented cloth. This fabric, this essence of a place, that contains both the dead and the living, the blooms of lush flower, the decay of a building, the smells that are both the death and the birth of a city. You are a historian, you are a hunter free to explore and seek and find and then return home bringing memories to lay on your doorstep.
The suitcase is open on a simple wooden stand. It is empty, but in it there is so much, the smell of crushed sage as I bounced across the desert in a jeep, the wood smoked burnt woods of autumn, the smell that is untouched ground after a rain, the rich earthy scent of something being lit that had for so long been cold.
Tuesday, July 25, 2017
Let's looks at all the layers of fail compressed into this public transit agency:
1. Their coders were stupid enough to code in a 15 year old security vulnerability.
2. Their security team didn't thank him for reporting the vulnerability, but rather went to the local po-po.
3. The PR team didn't send everybody involved to their rooms without desert. Think I'm being too hard on them? Consider:
BKK management made a fatal mistake when they brazenly boasted in a press conference about catching the hacker and declaring their systems "secure." Since then, other security flaws in BKK's system have surfaced on Twitter."Secure". You keep using that word.
It's likely that hackers world wide are even now scouring the BKK's computer systems for vulnerabilities. There's quite a good chance that it's a target rich environment. This is quite likely to end in tears for BKK.
Marines met us at the airport and after some milling around all of us got on a Greyhound bus and rode into the night. It was still very rural and there were very few houses and no towns once we rode south on Hwy. 17. The road was dark. It was pine forests that gave way to swampland as we traveled.
We passed through the main gate and rode over the causeway.
Receiving at that time was still in wooden WWII barracks in the center of the main part of the base. The bus looped around past the Navy Federal Credit Union. It was 98 degrees and 2330 hours.
We were invited to unass the bus and find a set of footprints.
July 25th, 1977. Forty years ago today.
Let them speak, and then the rest of us will speak about whether they are professionals deserving of deference or human beings like the rest of us who can't keep our political preferences from skewing whatever it is we might think about some pressing issue of the day.Without experts, whatever should we do?
Go ahead, expose yourselves. Let us see all narcissism, impulsivity, poor attention span, paranoia, and other traits that impair your ability to lead.
Monday, July 24, 2017
Of course, all you read in the daily fish wrap is that each year is the HOTTEST EVER! How does this happen? Adjustments are made to the historical temperature databases:
There are two parts to the GHCN data: the raw temperature readings, and adjustments to the readings. The raw numbers are easy - they're just the instrument reported temperature for the weather station. Look outside your house at your thermometer - that's the raw data. Here Chez Borepatch, my thermometer says that it's 39°.What don't get changed are the records. Consider these:
Adjustments are modifications to the readings, to "remove inhomogeneities" in the raw data. You (like me) may look at that and say Whiskey Tango Foxtrot are inhomogeneities? CRU helpfully provides an answer:
Most long-term climate stations have undergone changes that make a time series of their observations inhomogeneous. There are many causes for the discontinuities, including changes in instruments, shelters, the environment around the shelter, the location of the station, the time of observation, and the method used to calculate mean temperature. Often several of these occur at the same time, as is often the case with the introduction of automatic weather stations that is occurring in many parts of the world. Before one can reliably use such climate data for analysis of longterm climate change, adjustments are needed to compensate for the nonclimatic discontinuities.OK, we don't want a jump in the historical record if you move a station or replace a thermometer with a better one.
But. All the Climatologists in the world will look at this data. How much do the adjustments change the results?
We don't know, but people are starting to look. They're starting to find that adjustments change the data a lot. They change the data so much that they show that the earth is warming when the raw data may show that it's cooling.
Let me say that again: Thermometers may be showing that the Earth is cooling, but adjustments to this data show a rapid temperature rise.
Chicago - 1934In fact, with all of this year after year of the HOTTEST YEAR EVER, no state has set a highest temperature record is more than 20 years. In fact, most (39 out of 50) state highest temperature records were set quite long ago - over 50 years ago, sometimes as long ago as 1888 (!).
Milwaukee - 1934
New York State - 1926
Boston - 1911
St. Louis - 1954
USA lower 48 states - 1913
Stop and think about that - if the science were as settled as people say, wouldn't there be at least one state that set an all time high record recently? What a strange warming that raises average temperatures but not record high temperatures.
In any case, if you look at unadjusted temperatures, the 1930s were considerably hotter than today.
Basically, Net Neutrality subsidizes video companies at the expense of everyone else:
Throttling high-bandwidth services preserves all the other low-bandwidth ones (like email, Facebook, etc). Here's an example:Comcast's throttling of BitTorrent is likewise clearly in the customer interest. Until the FCC stopped them, BitTorrent users were allowed unlimited downloads. Afterwards, Comcast imposed a 300-gigabyte/month bandwidth cap.Internet access is a series of tradeoffs. BitTorrent causes congestion during prime time (6pm to 10pm). Comcast has to solve it somehow -- not solving it wasn't an option. Their options were:
Option 3 is clearly the best. BitTorrent downloads take hours, days, and sometimes weeks. BitTorrent users don't mind throttling during prime-time congested hours. That's preferable to the other option, bandwidth caps.
If you've never thought much about Net Neutrality, this is a great introduction.Take GoGoInflight's internet service for airplanes. They block access to video sites like NetFlix. That's because they often have as little as 1-mbps for the entire plane, which is enough to support many people checking email and browsing Facebook, but a single person trying to watch video will overload the internet connection for everyone. Therefore, their Internet service won't work unless they filter video sites.GoGoInflight breaks a lot of other NetNeutrality rules, such as providing free access to Amazon.com or promotion deals where users of a particular phone get free Internet access that everyone else pays for. And all this is allowed by FCC, allowing GoGoInflight to break NetNeutrality rules because it's clearly in the customer interest.
Sunday, July 23, 2017
For tonight - a little memory that wasn't in any of the books.
There's a boy in the Cello section of the orchestra that you like, but he's always hovering around the delicate, blond flowers of the flute section. You are part of the posse of math and science geeks that occupy the wind and brass section that plays with the orchestra one day a week. But there, you are with friends, armed only with overbites, wit and lung capacity, as you sit outside of the strings and the flutes, moving clumsily around like bespectacled bumblebees among the flowers.
There's a dance coming up, a Sadie Hawkins one, in which the girls ask the boys. Your Dad will have to drive you but it's almost like a real date. With hopeful eyes, you bumble over and ask him to go with you. The blond next to him looks at you with a withering giggle. He says "uh. . I'll call you later" with an expression that is not so much a smile as a dismissal. But you are too young and naive to see anything but the smile.
You rush home, anticipation lingering around you, waiting to be breathed in and let loose in a sudden exhale as you rush to your room to wait. You will sit there in your room in silence for hours as the family eats without you, as dinner dishes are put away, and the room grows cold, your breath vaporizing in the growing dark.
Waiting for that phone to ring.
You remember the night she was born, ten pounds, six ounces, after 34 hours in labor, her head crowning, her body bursting forth onto the sweat and blood soaked sheet. You remember only getting to hold her once, for just a moment before she is handed over, in your pain, to her adoptive parents, incredulous of her soft hair, perfect fingers, smelling of the womb, of warmth, of love. She looked at you with a peripheral glance, while you uttered the name you would give her and the words you were not able to say again for years, for in fear of their utterance, the object of those words would be lost to you. I love you, don't forget me.
You bring nothing home from the hospital, even as you left something there, not a baby, but something you could have lived your entire life with, without ever having known it was inside of you.
But huskies are born to run, and with them, they will take your heart. But you are determined to ensure he wouldn't be lost again; getting him vaccinated and tagged, with good food to eat, and a warm bed to sleep in. He spent the next month trying the escape the prison that he viewed his home and your ministrations. Even with long bike rides, and a big yard, he was determined to escape. He'd dig under the fence, climb over it. He was good with family, he behaved well inside the house but he was forever a compass between the far horizon and your affection, both implacable.
You try the big pet store dog training, you tried pleading and tears, which works neither on men or dogs, and for good reason. You tried walking him morning, noon and night. Finally, one day, he got out past your legs at the front door and ran and ran, not looking back. All you could do was put up fliers and worry.
Waiting for that phone to ring
He was found and returned safely. You would have asked him why if you could, were you not a good "Mom"? Was as he searching for the home he was lost from? All you got back was an inarticulate gaze, behind which could be either sadness or yearning, though he never let either show. You'd give him all the exercise you could so he wouldn't run away. But it wasn't as if he was exhausted. He simply surrendered, as if he'd given over and released completely that grip upon the horizon that called, if only for now. It was a relinquishment that in some souls would mean death, but for this dog, was simply a deep, soft sigh and a longing gaze out of a window as he rests his head on your arm.
You do what you can to keep him happy and safe the rest of his life, but tell yourself you're not going to get another rescue dog after he's gone. Or any dog, you can do all right all by yourself
You're in your late 30's, happily playing kerosene warrior, loading up a transport plane, simply getting ready for your responsibilities that night, the four bars on your shoulders a reminder of your duties. You don't know if it was pain or illusion that drove you to the skies, leaving broken hearth and home for that greed of adventures that flutters out there somewhere beyond. You don't look inward too closely, being more focused on what is outside, for what is there behind the darkness is more final than simply the loss of one's illusions.
You're all aware of it and one night, while waiting for the fuel guy when we get word a plane is down, Isn't that the one that John? . . .
You pause for the rest of the words, there in that moment before the sun plunges into the edge of the earth, the shapes and forms of aircraft fixed by that already fading explosion. But you can't stop what we're doing, each of you has one ear tuned to the task, men moving and working, shadows on the wall, not of flesh and blood, which is so fragile, but shadows of enduring hope and will, quiet as the murmur of your breath as you work, one ear still listening.
Waiting for that phone to ring.
The thump of the tires takes you back to those days on the back of a motorcycle, riding with your brother. You think of him, his arms strong in command of that bike, his hands calloused but delicate as he tended to your father all these years. You think back to your last night together, sitting out on the deck, birds twittering above as they built nests for their young, their sounds that of the chirp of a clock, counting off each and every second of Spring. You could not imagine him so sick, even as you can't imagine him not being here now, talking to you each night, the cell phone silent in your pocket.
But it was time for other thoughts as you're nearing your destination, the blue and read lights guiding you to where you are called. For now, you can't think of the future, you can only drive through avatars that mark the accumulation of tears
Waiting for that phone to ring.
On the nightstand are two phones, your personal one and the one that tethers you to duty. You never know when that one will ring, a call signaling the exorbitant burden that is nature, fate or someone's personal jihad. Tonight, you somehow expect it to go off, thinking of swinging out of bed and grabbing the bag, jumping into the truck. Gear in the back, teetering as if to fall, you accelerate too fast, the high beams blinding more than illuminating as they cut through fog that coils in the lows in the road like a snake.
You do this, as the world sleeps, in that state of blessed forgetfulness in which the most fragile of senses can slumber, free from the godless dark intents of man and nature. You go because it is what you do, as much as who you are.
He'll call when he gets into his hotel, so you know he's safe. You will smile, and you will both laugh, happy to be connected again. Till then, you lay in the embrace of the sheets, all the thoughts of what is going on in the world tickling your senses like electricity, a flicker of current before darkness.
Among the photos on the nightstand is one of a little girl, with eyes the color of a storm-tossed sea, shaped just like yours and just like her mothers. There's photo after photo of a young redheaded girl, all of those many years that you missed, a dance outfit, a soccer game, a graduation, there in scraps of memory you can now safely hold and breathe in. All you have is the photo to show for those years you simply waited in silence, in stone.
Somewhere out there trouble may stir, shadows may rouse themselves from sleep. But somewhere far above and far away, someone slumbers aloft, their breath, in and out, a rhythm which not the mind, but the heart, marks and calls the measure for. Somewhere far away, your child and her children sleep safely in their beds, as safe as a scared teenager, turned protector of those that have no voice, could make them.
The clock ticks off one more notch of breath as you lay in that big bed in a quiet room, a too-long empty dog bed lying in the corner.
Waiting for the phone to ring.
You see, people got confused about the whole litres vs. gallons thing, and didn't gas it up enough.
Fortunately, the pilot was a glider ace, and the co-pilot realized that they were within gliding distance of a decommissioned RCAF base that he had been stationed at. They brought the bird in safely, even though there was a car race on the old runway.
And so the moral of the Gimli Glider incident is to make very sure that change isn't just being made because it's a popular change.
Paredes is a great example of how Portuguese guitar differs from Spanish guitar. It has more of an eastern influence, perhaps from Portugal's moorish past, and delights in sad, minor keys - an echo of the Fado songs that have been the Portuguese equivalent of the blues.
Saturday, July 22, 2017
Friday, July 21, 2017
When worked at Interior, a quarter century ago, I was told that bird deaths due to wind farms were massive, but orders were to do and say nothing, because wind power was fashionable.General Electric and T. Boone Pickens make money off of windmills, and donate generously to political campaigns. Eagles do neither.
Thursday, July 20, 2017
The village nestled in the shadow of Castle Borepatch has a volunteer fire department. This week is the annual fund raiser carnival. Infield rides, bingo, and carnival food. It has a delightful small town feel to it.
The band was way better than you'd expect - not one but TWO quite credible guitarists.
Last year I won a big stuffed thing for the Queen Of The World at the shooting gallery. Alas, no infield for us as she's hobbling around on crutches.
But it sure is fun to come out to the local carnival. Fireworks is next.
Carrier aircraft during this time were capable of very long-range missions even when relying only on the fuel they carried. The A-6E could fly 1,000 nautical miles from the carrier without being refueled while carrying up to 18,000 pounds of ordnance, and the F-14 could loiter on a combat air patrol almost 800 miles from the carrier. The S-3 could operate for nearly six hours before needing fuel, as it patrolled the waters surrounding the carrier battle group, identifying surface contacts and searching for submarines.This is a pretty in-depth article that discusses what happens when shorter range, lack of air tanker capability, and longer range (1000 mile) anti-ship weaponry collide. Given that a complete carrier Battle Group costs around $20B, this is a big problem.
For the carrier air wing the Hornet was an opportunity to replace the aging A-7 with a more modern, less maintenance intensive aircraft. However, the more modern Hornet would prove during testing that it could not match up with the 608 nautical mile combat range of the A-7, being able to only fly 370 nautical miles with the same weapons load before having to turn back to return to the carrier.
Navy test pilots recognized the Hornet’s short range for what it was: a significant decrease in the ability of the air wing to conduct long-range missions while keeping the carrier far enough away from potential threats.
* For those of you who aren't hip to what the youngsters are up to, the reference is to this.
Wednesday, July 19, 2017
Have the election of Donald Trump to the presidency of the United States and Trump’s first few months in office altered your priors about concentrating power in the federal government? Do you believe that the only, or the only sensible, response to Trump’s ascendancy is to work harder to ensure that the like of Trump is never again elected to high political office – that is, to work harder to ensure that power is forevermore in the hands only of ‘good’ people? Or are you now more open to proposals to reduce the reach and the power of at least the national government? If not the latter, why not?
This data are stark. We have a policy in this Republic that has clearly and utterly failed - the data do not lie. We have powerful incentives for Government to try ever more controls (the Attorney General's idiotic plan to ramp up civil asset forfeiture is offered as Exhibit A only due to the fact that it is the most recent example). The people advocating for more control have no new ideas that can plausibly work, and so fall back on "do it again, only harder!"But in Portugal, the numbers paint a different story. The prevalence of past-year and past-month drug use among young adults has fallen since 2001, according to statistics compiled by the Transform Drug Policy Foundation, which advocates on behalf of ending the war on drugs. Overall adult use is down slightly too. And new HIV cases among drug users are way down.Now, numbers just released from the European Monitoring Centre for Drugs and Drug Addiction paint an even more vivid picture of life under decriminalization: drug overdose deaths in Portugal are the second-lowest in the European Union.
The comparison to gun control is more than a little uncomfortable: target something that people don't like (drug use/gun possession), make a bunch of ineffective laws that empower the State at the expense of the people without "solving" the "problem", repeat the stupidity for 30 or 40 years.
When you consider the vast amount of money flowing to drug gangs, when you consider Attorney General Sessions - the highest Law Enforcement official in the land, for crying out loud - advocating seizing citizens' property without charge or trial or conviction, when you consider the body count from gang turf battles over drug sales, and when you consider the lack of any sort of effective detox programs (like Portugal seems to run), we're left with the conclusion that the War On Drugs is simply evil. I don't see how any other word fits.
Tuesday, July 18, 2017
The reality is that I am time traveling. The pictures take me there. Sometimes I can remember the day, the events surrounding the moment I took the shot, with some others, I see the picture and had no memory of it until that moment, but it comes flooding back. So image by image, I go back to my 20s and 30s, back to the Corps, to the births of the children, to the events that seemed important enough to get a camera and record it, holidays, beach trips and so on.
The ones that seem to really catch me are the pictures taken on ordinary days. Something is there that takes me back vividly to who we were and what our life was.
We didn't have any money at the end of the month but we were in love and full of hope and had a trust in the universe that things would work out.