Huron Carol/Twas in the Moon of Wintertime

Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus:
Who, being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God:
But made himself of no reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men:
And being found in fashion as a man, he humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross.

Philippians 2:5-8

We all know the story, that's the problem.  We know it so well that we don't think about the story, and what it means.  It helps to put the story in a different setting to make us think on the meaning again.

Huron Carol is the oldest Christmas Carol from Canada, and perhaps from the New World.  It was written in 1642 by Jean de Brébeuf, a Jesuit missionary to the Huron tribes.  It tells the story of the nativity in terms that were familiar to the Huron: instead of a stable, the baby was born in a lodge of broken bark.  Instead of three wise men there were three chiefs from far off tribes.  Instead of frankincense and myrrh there were gifts of fox and beaver pelts.  He wrote in their native language, as necessity called for.  If you would tell a tale, you must use words the listener will understand.

Tomorrow is the feast of the Redeemer.  Amidst the holiday cheer, gifts, and yes, feasting, think on the familiar meaning as explained in a different tongue, a tale made new again.

Huron

The original words of the carol in the Wyandot language (Huron).

Ehstehn yayau deh tsaun we yisus ahattonnia
O na wateh wado:kwi nonnwa 'ndasqua entai
ehnau sherskwa trivota nonnwa 'ndi yaun rashata
Iesus Ahattonnia, Ahattonnia, Iesus Ahattonnia.

Ayoki onki hm-ashe eran yayeh raunnaun
yauntaun kanntatya hm-deh 'ndyaun sehnsatoa ronnyaun
Waria hnawakweh tond Yosehf sataunn haronnyaun
Iesus Ahattonnia, Ahattonnia, Iesus Ahattonnia.

Asheh kaunnta horraskwa deh ha tirri gwames
Tishyaun ayau ha'ndeh ta aun hwa ashya a ha trreh
aundata:kwa Tishyaun yayaun yaun n-dehta
Iesus Ahattonnia, Ahattonnia, Iesus Ahattonnia.

Dau yishyeh sta atyaun errdautau 'ndi Yisus
avwa tateh dn-deh Tishyaun stanshi teya wennyau
aha yaunna torrehntehn yataun katsyaun skehnn
Iesus Ahattonnia, Ahattonnia, Iesus Ahattonnia.

Eyeh kwata tehnaunnte aheh kwashyehn ayehn
kiyeh kwanaun aukwayaun dehtsaun we 'ndeh adeh
tarrya diskwann aunkwe yishyehr eya ke naun sta
Iesus Ahattonnia, Ahattonnia, Iesus Ahattonnia.

English

The 1926 English version by Jesse Edgar Middleton.

'Twas in the moon of winter-time
When all the birds had fled,
That mighty Gitchi Manitou
Sent angel choirs instead;
Before their light the stars grew dim,
And wandering hunters heard the hymn:
"Jesus your King is born, Jesus is born,
In excelsis gloria."

Within a lodge of broken bark
The tender Babe was found,
A ragged robe of rabbit skin
Enwrapp'd His beauty round;
But as the hunter braves drew nigh,
The angel song rang loud and high...
"Jesus your King is born, Jesus is born,
In excelsis gloria."

The earliest moon of wintertime
Is not so round and fair
As was the ring of glory
On the helpless infant there.
The chiefs from far before him knelt
With gifts of fox and beaver pelt.
Jesus your King is born, Jesus is born,
In excelsis gloria.

O children of the forest free,
O sons of Manitou,
The Holy Child of earth and heaven
Is born today for you.
Come kneel before the radiant Boy
Who brings you beauty, peace and joy.
"Jesus your King is born, Jesus is born,
In excelsis gloria."

Bruce Springsteen - Santa Claus Is Comin' To Town

Joe Diffie - Leroy The Redneck Reindeer

Wolfgang loves his walks near Castle Borepatch, not least because we see deer fairly often.  He never comes close, of course, and the deer never seem alarmed at a big, slow, galumphy dog, but he sure enjoys it.  This Saturday Redneck song is a shoutout to Wolfgang - and nobody does redneck like Joe Diffie, anyway.

Merry Christmas, y'all, and to y'all a good night!



Leroy The Redneck Reindeer (Songwriters: Stacey Slate, Joe Diffie, Steve Pippin)

Well, you've all heard the story
About Rudolph and his nose
But I'll tell you a Christmas tale
That never has been told
You may think you've heard it all
But you ain't heard nothing yet
About that crazy Christmas
The North Pole can't forget 

Well, Rudolph was under the weather
He had to call-in sick
So he got on the horn to his cousin, Leroy
Who lived out in the sticks
He said: "Santa's really countin' on me
And I hate to pass the buck."
Leroy said: "Hey, I'm on my way."
And he jumped in his pick-up truck 

When Leroy got to the North Pole
All the reindeer snickered and laughed
They'd never seen a reindeer in overalls
And a John Deere tractor hat
Santa jumped in and said: "Just calm down
'Cause we've all got a job to do
And like it or not, Leroy's in charge
And he's gonna be leadin' you." 

And it was Leroy, the redneck reindeer
Hooked to the front of the sleigh
Deliverin' toys to all the good ol' boys
And girls along the way
He's just a down home, party animal
Two-stepping across the sky
He mixed jingle bells with a rebel yell
And made history that night 

Before that night was over
Leroy had changed their tune
He had 'em scootin' a hoof on every roof
By the light of the neon moon
Santa wrapped his bag with a dixie-flag
He was havin' the time of his life
And you could hear him call
"Merry Christmas to y'all
And to all of y'all a goodnight." 

And it was Leroy, the redneck reindeer
Hooked to the front of the sleigh
Deliverin' toys to all the good ol' boys
And girls along the way
He's just a down home, party animal
Two-stepping across the sky
He mixed jingle bells with a rebel yell
And made history that night 

He mixed jingle bells with rebel yell
And made history that night

Joe Bonamassa - Christmas Boogie

The Call of Winter - A Brigid Guest Post

Going around - NOT an option.

You could see the air mass coming on down from Canada.  I couldn't 'help but think of this one day some years ago wherein the local TV news channel had to substitute a regular reporter for their meteorologist.  She was obviously very pretty but of weather knowledge-- there was none.  But she tried.  What made me snort tea, was in her stress in relaying what was on the radar, she blurted out on the air.  "From the north comes a Giant Green Blob!!" (that would be precip, Miss)

Back when I was commuting from work in Indy to new husband in Chicago,  I relied on Accu-Cow weather for the drive.  If he was dry, it was nice out, if he was wet, it's raining. He was always there as I made my stop for gas on my way back and forth to my work week.

On my last winter drive on that route e Accu-Cow stood there in frozen silence.  I hated to lose a Sunday at home, but there was ice in the forecast if I waited to go in the morning.

For today, while warm some brandy and button the house up for the evening- a tale of exposed windswept places and hearts that withstand the cold.  You all be safe now.

The night is cold. And it is raw.

The icy wind blows down from Canada, mother nature pulling the chill deep out of the ground and throwing it in your face, daring you to fight back. It is a frigid mass of air we've not seen in my lifetime.

Looking out across a flat horizon I wonder why this view looks so different from where I grew up. Certainly, I can put on the scientist hat and say it was the glaciers that moved down from the north in the Cenozoic era, or the giant dust storms that followed that carried the soil away, then replaced by layers of volcanic ash from the West, creating a vista of fertility. But the difference is more how I live in it, as opposed to its geological origins.

There is something about being able to see so near and so far. Some people feel exposed out in the open land, I don't. I walk the fields, gun in hand, nothing more than a moving lightning rod for those things that might wish to strike me, but they don't. I feel a lot out here in the open heartland, my black lab by my side, and it is not fear, it's comfort. It follows me as I walk, the sound of my breath, the whisper of God there in the corn, the vista of open miles of ground in which I perceive the absolute truth about the past, a truth beyond the buildings and billboards of illusion.

Trees throughout much of the northern plains are few, taken down so that the soil may be tilled, only a few remaining as protection against the marauding wind that cuts through the land late at night like a Viking horde. The cold presses down, pressing deep, into layers of topsoil, and the bones of ancient buffalo, who bury themselves further down to get out of the wind, strataform of bones and life and death, forming the coal that drives much of this area.

Tonight, this close to the window, I can almost smell the cold, the odor of a whetted knife, carving shadows into the night. My body responds in a way as ancient as these lands, and I pull my black sweater across my chest, tight and warm, and turn away from the glass.

"You ought to move back to the south", colleagues say. "How about California or Florida?" I enjoyed as a youth, like anyone, days snorkeling, blue water dreams and tropical sun. But that is not where I want to live year round. I am not at home in such places all of the time, preferring these months of quiet cold, time to think, to write, to dream broad dreams, icy fingers down my neck making me shiver, the fire, melting marshmallow against my skin, melting me.

The lamplight dances along the walls, my shadow following. A black lab is asleep on the rug, feet in the air, exposing warm fur to a remembered sun of August, feet chasing dusk colored rabbits within a dream. I think back to tales of my ancestors on my Mom's side, who came to the United States settling in Minnesota. Of great grandpa, new to the country, moving a household across miles of land, risking all he had to form a new life out where winters are raw, beating miles of ocean and illness and pain, only to lose most of his money, belongings and food as wind-swept fire roared through where he lay sleeping one night. But he got out, accessed the damage, and gathered those small coins he had left to him, and moved on to safer ground.

The wind sings its siren song against the eaves, daring me to leave, to admit that moving to the Midwest, to the new land of my ancestors, where I had no family other than a cousin near Indy, or friends, was wrong. But I won't. The price that was exacted for learning my way alone out here left my heart an almost empty purse, with just a few scattered coins tinkling in the bottom. Yet I know it was a journey I had to make. You make decisions with what is in the heart at the time, and when the chill wind blows, you take stock of your life and your decisions and seek shelter elsewhere or you stand and fight for your life and heart, and what fuels it. To do otherwise is to wither and die. Out here, the price of innocence is high.

Outside, the wind howls, mute in its anger, with no breath now but a sigh. We flee inside with drumming hearts and warm hands and hoist a challenge to the cold as the fire ignites the night. Here and there faint windows glow, while the trees outside lay their shadows across my shirt like scraps of black velvet. I close the curtain and pour the wine and listen to my heart.

They say the Rockies are God's country, but so is this, a small juncture of trees and grass and an old easy chair inside a warm house. A small point in space among a great expanse of glory, where the Trinity is intact because it had never been otherwise, simply tested by the fragility of youth and the passion of yearning. God lost and then found, postulated here in the open miles of our faith and need.

I think I understand why my grandparents settled here and I find, more and more, that I am like them. I belong to this cold landscape, surviving like the small creatures outside, by wit and heart. As I turn back towards the fire, I listen to the wind, tapping the glass with the resonant sound of a few small coins that are left in my heart, ready to be spent. I know that I'm where I need to be, as snow brushes the window like a kiss and I wait for the knock of wind at my door.
 - Brigid



Yes, fanbois - Apple is screwing you

Yes, it's true that Apple's software slows down older iPhones.  They claim that it's to protect against over-draining older batteries.  They say that this is only in the last year or two that they've done this.  It seems that this is not true:

Apple hasn't explained why it didn't disclose the practice until now, after GeekBench released charts based on its data that showed how older iPhones were not performing as quickly as they had when they launched.

And people are looking more closely, and finding that this goes back to at least the iPhone 3G:

It seems that every time Apple releases a new iPhone model, Google searches for "iPhone slow" spike.  Hmmmm.

A class-action lawsuit has just been filed on this:

The complaint recounted how the various plaintiffs, frustrated by iPhone slowdowns, bought the latest models, unaware they could have just paid Apple US$79 for a $4.45 replacement battery to resuscitate their hobbled handset.

So fanbois, you know that you're getting fleeced.

A Deer goes shopping

A clerk at a Ft. Collins convenience store had a rather unusual customer:

So what does a deer like?

Despite store policy prohibiting feeding the deer — and against her betterjudgement — Lori Jones did the only thing she could think of. 

“I got a peanut bar and backed her out and took her down to the lower field.” She added “You can’t let them run all over your store.”

I see you slapping your palm to your face, and yes, a couple days later this showed up:

“There she was in the store and again I started laughing,” Jones said. “And there were her babies in the background.” 

Once again with a peanut bar in hand, she showed Mama and her babies away from the store.

Pretty funny.

Eartha Kitt - Santa Baby

Everyone's done a cover of this song, but Eartha was the first.

Happy Solstice

The days will get longer from now until June, so yay.

LOL

This is awesome:

Sometimes you just wonder when people will get on with their lives.

(There's No Place Like) Home for the Holidays - The Carpenters

The Queen Of The World had (yet another) knee operation today.  Between her and me, this is 5 operations this year.  As you'd imagine, we're pretty tired of surgeons, and so I was pretty over the moon when she was out of the OR in 60 minutes.  The procedure couldn't have gone more smoothly (yay!) and she's back at Castle Borepatch now feeling pretty good, all things considered.

And this is the time of year to be home.  Here's looking forward to a less exciting 2018.

Holiday shopping security: watch out for tampered gift cards

Brian Krebs has a useful and timely overview of how to keep from buying bad gift cards.

The church: trading short term gain for long term loss

Cardinal Law is dead at 86:

Cardinal Bernard Law, the disgraced former archbishop of Boston whose years of shielding sexually abusive priests caused a generation of pain, has died at the age of 86, the Vatican said. 

Law served as arch­bishop of Boston from 1984 until his resignation on Dec. 13, 2002, after church documents revealed he was deeply involved in the shielding and moving of priests who had been accused of sexually abusing children — stunning Catholics and community leaders who had known him as a relatively progressive archbishop deeply concerned about racial issues, youth issues and outreach to Cuba, while also a doctrinal church loyalist.

What, you might ask yourself, was so important a problem that it convinced him to shuffle priests like Father Stanley from parish to parish?  It was the shortage of priests.

And so to keep one more (or a few more) parishes open and covered by a priest, (then) Archbishop Law turned a blind eye to the predators attacking our children.  Short term gain, right there.

The long term loss, of course, if the massive loss of trust (dare we say loss of faith) in the Church?  I don't believe that the Catholic Church in general and the Archdiocese of Boston in particular have regained that trust.  It didn't help by having the Vatican give asylum to Cardinal Law for these 15 years.

What a monumental, tragic miscalculation.  While I hesitate to speak ill of the dead, this is indeed his epitaph.

Remember, ammunition makes great, stocking stuffers!

The mistletoe bit is pretty funny, too.

Nice holiday you have here

Be a shame if anything happened to it.

Climate Change actually experimentally confirmed?

Maybe, maybe not.  But there is a major new paper showing how Cosmic Ray bombardment of the Earth's atmosphere causes cloud formation, and that changes in the Sun's magnetic field strength blocks more or fewer cosmic rays from reaching the atmosphere.  I've been following the climate change debate for a long, long time, and this seems like it's a big deal.  Just how big remains to be seen, but unlike most climate research papers, this includes actual experimental evidence.

What I find additionally compelling is that this explains one of the long-term climate mysteries: we've known for a very long time that the number of observed sunspots is inversely correlated to the price of wheat (no, really!).  When there are a lot of sunspots, wheat is cheap; when there are few sunspots, wheat is expensive.  I wrote about this a long time back, but this is a good occasion to report it.  The old post explains about the work of Henrik Svensmark, who is the lead author on the newly published article as well.

-----------------------------------------

(originally published on 16 June 2011)

What do Occam's Razor, Sunspots, Climate, and Ernst Mach have in common?

Lots of folks are commenting on the recent blockbuster announcement that solar activity is dropping off a cliff and we may be headed into a little Ice Age.  Basically, some of the most prestigious solar scientists have published a study saying that sunspot activity has dropped so low that the next 11 year solar cycle (Cycle 25) may not even happen.  The last time that this happened was the Dalton Minimum - a period of unprecedentedly cold winters around 1800 AD that included "The Year Without A Summer".

This would be very bad news - many more people die in cold events than in hot ones.  Most of those deaths have historically been from starvation, and there's really nothing to suggest that anything is fundamentally different today.  Sure, world wide transport is easy, but world food stocks are the lowest they've been in decades.  So it is much to be hoped that the American Astronomical Society is wrong.

They're probably not.  William of Occam tells us why.  Occam's Razor tells us that if you have two theories that both explain the same thing, the simpler of the two is almost certainly correct.  The classical lesson in scientific reasoning here involves the Ptolemaic Earth-centered view of the Solar System vs. the Copernican Sun-centered view.  The Ptolemaic theory had to resort to ever more rococo ad hoc tweaks like epicycles to explain the orbits of the planets.  Johann Kepler explained the Copernican system simply and elegantly with his mathematical laws.

Occam's Razor says that simple and elegant beats complicated and crufty 999 times out of 1000.

And so to sun spots and climate.  We have quite good records of sunspot activity going back to 1700 A.D.  We have decent records of the price of wheat going back much further - pretty good ones to 1500 A.D., and sporadic records all the way back to 1250 A.D. (!).  The reason is that bread is the staff of life - no bread, and people starved.

In short, grain prices are a pretty good proxy for climate, in the days before thermometers.  Certainly better than, say, bristle cone pine tree rings.  This is important for two reasons, and the combination is very bad news indeed for people who cling to the "Carbon Dioxide is killing Mother Gaia" theory.

First, the price of grain and the number of sunspots have been known to be very closely correlated for hundreds of years.  William Herschel (who discovered the planet Uranus) first published this, back around 1800.  When there are a lot of sun spots, he said, the price of grain is low - harvests are good.  When there are few sun spots, harvests fail and the price of grain soars.

Remember, we have records on this that are so old that this has been known for literally hundreds of years.  You might say that, err, the Science is Settled.

Second, there's a theoretical foundation that explains why these two are linked.  Henrik Svensmark has proposed that Cosmic Rays are linked to clouds.  Specifically, the very high energy (ionizing radiation) rays generate aerosols when they strike high altitude molecules in the atmosphere, and that these aerosols form the nucleation points for high altitude clouds.  These clouds reflect incoming solar radiation back into space, cooling the earth.

Everybody knows that when the Sun's magnetic field is strong, fewer Cosmic Rays reach Earth.  And when the magnetic field is strong, we see lots of sun spots.

The Svenmark Hypothesis was recently experimentally confirmed at CERN, where artificial Cosmic Rays were crashed into an atmosphere.  And aerosols were born.  Pretty cool when a scientific prediction is confirmed.

To understand why this is so incredibly bad for the warmist crowd, you need to compare and contrast with the theory of Anthropogenic Global Warming (Carbon Dioxide heating the planet).  The theoretical underpinning of AGW predicts a warm zone in the mid-Troposphere (say, 8 miles up or so) in the tropics.  Essentially, this is a heat pump that cycles captured heat from the increased Greenhouse effect down to lower atmospheric levels (rather than radiating out to space).

The only problem is that with maybe a million weather balloons looking for the hot spot, nobody's found it.  Let's call this Epicycle #1.  But the plot thickens.  We're told that the correlation between CO2 and warming is clear.  It's not:

If I adopt this 10:1 ratio by looking at the last 100 years worth of data I find 1910-1940 temperatures rising while CO2 was not. 1940 to 1975 temperatures falling while CO2 rising, 1975 to 1998 temperatures rising while CO2 rising and 1998 to 2009 temperatures falling while CO2 rising. Three quarters of the period shows no correlation or negative correlation with CO2 and only one quarter shows positive correlation. I do not understand how one can claim a hypothesis proven when ¾ of the data set disagrees with it. To me it is the clearest proof that the hypothesis is wrong.

That's Epicycle #2.  But wait - we're not done yet.  CO2 is a very weak greenhouse gas.  There are a lot of GHGs, the most powerful of which is Methane, at 1400 times more powerful than CO2.  But the real action is with water vapor, which makes up 90% of all greenhouse warming.  So what's with all the focus on CO2?

We're told that it's positive forcings, where some CO2 leads to increased temperature, which creates more moisture in the air, which makes more greenhouse warming, which makes more moisture, and so on.

So why didn't we see this out of control increase in past warm periods, like the Medieval Warm Period which was at least as warm as now and likely warmer.  Why didn't it spin out of control into Thermageddon, instead of crashing into the Little Ice Age?

Epicycle #3, right there.  And the temperatures are diverging pretty spectacularly from the Climate Models' predictions:

We'll just call Epicycle #4 the Hide The Decline Memorial Epicycle.

At this point, you should hear William of Occam whispering in the back of your head.  The simpler explanation is better.

Or it could be shouted at you.  The most famous failed scientific experiment of all time was the Michaelson-Morley Experiment, which tried to measure the Luminiferous Aether.  The problem of the day was that light was known to be a wave, but space was known to be a vacuum.  A wave needs a medium to propagate through, like waves through water.  Obviously, there was no water in space (or air, for that matter), and so the Luminiferous Aether was proposed.  It was a mathematical formulation, and its properties were derived from the observed properties of light.  Those properties meant that it had to be an exceptionally rigid vacuum.

Ernst Mach (of supersonic fame) was contemptuous of the whole idea.  The whole edifice was constructed from cardboard and tape (err, or nineteenth century words to that effect), and anyone could see that it was wrong.  Michaelson and Morley set out to directly measure the Aether, and failed.  Completely.

Because Mach was right: there is no Aether.  Looking back, this is obvious, and scientists of the day should have thought that a simpler explanation would be forthcoming, as indeed it was (the photon).

And so back to the matter at hand.  William of Occam politely (as befits a church man) suggests that AGW is overly complex.  Ernst Mach sneers that it's plain as the nose on your face.  CERN shows aerosol formation.

Of course, I'm one of those Deniers (Epicycle #5) who don't recognize that the Science Is Settled® (Epicycle #6), and who should be locked up as an Enemy Of The State™ (Epicycle #7).

Or perhaps e pur si muove: and yet it moves. Instead of a bunch of epicycles, you can look at an elegant hypothesis backed up by experimental confirmation and 300 years of correlated observations.


The house of cards is only held together with tape after all.

UPDATE 19 December 2017 09:42: Updated model vs. temperature diagram and link due to Internet bit rot devouring the original version.

This is why we won the Cold War

Half a million lights on 4900 digital channels.  46 kW of power to light everything up.  Camera on a drone for that perfect recording angle.  All very high tech - except the piano was a regular one.

Oh, yeah - the cops were real, too.  Everyone got off with a warning, in the Season's spirit.

Hat tip: American Digest.

Letters to Santa

They're both easier and harder than when I was a kid.

Wreaths across America

I was sick last weekend, but thousands of volunteers laid wreaths on veteran's graves all over the country.

Chris Lynch has a roundup, including Arlington

Be careful about the DNA testing services

It seems like they like to mess with people.  Only "racists", of course:

Remember when white supremacist Craig Cobb found out that he was 14% black? Well as it turns out, there’s a possibility that those numbers could have been fudged with.

... 

What about this is acceptable? How does this turn a racist into a “non racist”?

The commercials are a bit off-putting, targeted at people who seem to want to wear their progressive bona fides on their sleeves.  This level of shenanigans is just the icing on the cake.

No thanks.  Of course, I don't need this sort of service, as Mom (and other Matriarchs of the Borepatch clan) did a lot of genealogy so my family history is well documented.

Jimmy Buffett - Mele Kalikimaka

The weather's been cold here at Castle Borepatch, but Jimmy brings the warm.

Have yourself a non-creepy Christmas

Even if you need a little help ....

O Gladsome Light

Christmas is the season of lights: lights on the tree, lights on the house, candles in the window.  As it turns out, the oldest hymn is about the Devine light.  This dates to Roman times - legend has it that St. Athenogenes composed this on his way to being martyred by Diocletian (ca. 305 AD).  However, it seems even older than this, dating back to possibly as early as 150 AD.

This hymn is still in use today, as part of the Eastern rites for Vespers, as well as Anglican and Lutheran services.

Have yourself a very hipster Christmas

Or not.

Brad Paisley - Santa looked a lot like daddy

Yo-Yo Ma and Alison Krauss/Anthony Kearns - The Wexford Carol

This is a lovely tune, dating back to the 12th century.  Mark Steyn featured this on his Christmas show last year, with a Anthony Kearns performing a traditional Irish tenor version.

Underachieving Christmas lights

Climate Scientists follow the money

In a very literal way:

French government broadcaster France24 claims President Macron’s offer of fifty grants is luring climate scientists away from the US to work in France.

US researchers flock to join Macron’s climate change project

Latest update : 2017-12-13

Eighteen climate scientists, 13 of them based in the United States, were on Monday named the first beneficiaries of the research grants linked to French President Macron’s “Make Our Planet Great Again” project, which will see them relocate to France.

On one hand, I can see why a scientist who is losing his US Government grant (and therefore likely his job) would look for a different (paying) gig.  On the other hand, it's hard to see how claims of "scientific independence" can possibly apply to the research done by these scientists.  The guy who pays the coin is the guy who calls the tune.

Remember this when some idjit blabbers to you about how Exxon has funded "Climate Deniers".

Why it's good that "Net Neutrality" is dead

Yes, it has a happy, fluffy, friendly name.  That hides a dark under belly of government control, and in fact a dark under belly that makes the 'net noticeably worse:

For example, one of the more common "net neutrality abuses" that people mention is AT&T's blocking of FaceTime. I've debunked this elsewhere on this blog, but the summary is this: there was no network blocking involved (not a "net neutrality" issue), and the FCC analyzed it and decided it was in the best interests of the consumer. It's disingenuous to claim it's an evil that justifies FCC actions when the FCC itself declared it not evil and took no action. It's disingenuous to cite the "net neutrality" principle that all network traffic must be treated when, in fact, the network did treat all the traffic equally. 

Another frequently cited abuse is Comcast's throttling of BitTorrent.Comcast did this because Netflix users were complaining. Like all streaming video, Netflix backs off to slower speed (and poorer quality) when it experiences congestion. BitTorrent, uniquely among applications, never backs off. As most applications become slower and slower, BitTorrent just speeds up, consuming all available bandwidth. This is especially problematic when there's limited upload bandwidth available. Thus, Comcast throttled BitTorrent during prime time TV viewing hours when the network was already overloaded by Netflix and other streams. BitTorrent users wouldn't mind this throttling, because it often took days to download a big file anyway.

If it's a good idea, you shouldn't need to lie to everyone to get it passed.  Now if they'd only get rid of the "USA PATRIOT" act ...

Bon Jovi - Run Run Rudolph

The future is stupid

Because in the future, everything will have a Bluetooth interface, including gun safes.  What could possibly go wrong?

• “The manufacturer’s Android application allows for unlimited pairing attempts with the safe. The pairing pin code is the same as the unlocking pin code. This allows for an attacker to identify the shared pincode by repeated brute force pairing attempts to the safe.”
• “There is no encryption between the Android phone app and the safe. The application transmits the safe’s pin code in clear text after successfully pairing.”
• “An attacker can remotely unlock any safe in this product line through specially formatted Bluetooth messages, even with no knowledge of the pin code…the safe does not verify the pin code, so an attacker can obtain authorization and unlock the safe using any arbitrary value as the pin code.”

You see, this is why we can't have nice things.

Dwight points out that the manufacturer is stepping up:

Somewhat to their credit, Vaultek says they are offering a patch, though it looks like you’ll have to send your safe back to get it. (Vaultek says they’ll cover shipping both ways, which can’t be cheap.)

I'll bet it's not.  Funny that there's never time or budget to do security right, but there is to fix it after you've cratered your company's reputation.

A Guest Recipe for the Holidays From Brigid

I got through the work week and too many meetings with the help of my favorite laser pointer (you have had to have seen the Austin Powers movies to appreciate) but I was SO glad it was Saturday.

Even better, we had our first real snow.  Abby the Labrador went out on the yard to roll in it twice, the bird feeder was filled and the water dish I put out for the critters (we live on the edge a very big city park system) was filled as I imagine the creek was icing over.

Since it is the Christmas season, it's eggnog pancakes, a recipe I make every December. They are almost pastry-like in texture and SO yummy.

click on photo to enlarge

Eggnog Pancakes

1 and 1/3 cups flour
1 tablespoon sugar
2 and 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
Small pinch of nutmeg

Mix together and make a "well" in the center of it in the bowl.

Mix in separate small bowl:
1 cup plus 3 Tablespoons eggnog
1 large egg beaten
2 Tablespoons clarified butter

THIS is the secret, clarified butter is butter that's been heated in a skillet until the butterfat and liquid separate a bit, it makes the pancakes extra light and fluffy, just heat the butter until it just starts to bubble and brown and add it to the rest of the liquids and immediately pour the liquid ingredients into the well in the dry ingredients. Mix lightly and cook on an oiled skillet til golden. The batter is fairly thick. If it's too thick to work with, then add a couple tablespoons of milk. Do NOT overmix.

Cook on medium heat. They are thick and take a little longer to cook than regular pancakes so don't let the heat get too high or they will burn before they are done and aim for lots of smaller ones, rather than big ones. Serve with real maple syrup.

With a little practice, you can prepare the batter in less than 10 minutes. This makes about eight 3-4 inch pancakes, enough for 2 or 3 people.

Couldn't Resist- Since I still have a Flip Phone This Probably Applies - Brigid

Why you don't ask the Forensic Anthropologist to make the Christmas Cookies - a Brigid Guest Post

Borepatch has advised that he wouldn't have much time for posting this week and asked that AMS826 and myself keep you amused until he returns. Since so much of what I write is fairly philosophical in nature, I thought I'd add something a little lighter tonight. You all should relate - Brigid
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Office building occupants, whether they are law enforcement or CPA firms, run drills throughout the year, to test evacuation and security. I've been in a building where the fire alarm was going off and people were saying "OK, just let me finish downloading this. . . ". That's not the way to get people to move quickly from their desks.

Simply have someone get on the intercom and say "there are Christmas cookies in the lunchroom".
Stampede!!

The average cubicle worker and free food go together like vultures and carcasses. Hmm, I had better rephrase that. Not implying that vultures have higher standards but in some offices, you could put throw some Purina dog chow in with some Chex cereal and put out a sign "free party mix" and people would start noshing. I know, I used to party with med students who thought Oreos and Jagermeister were "impress the ladies" party food.

But those of you stuck in an office or cubicle all day know the feeling. You're hungry, you're bored, you hear the word free and . . . (besides calories during the holidays don't count).

But how do the various office holiday foods add up? Our office get-together usually involves all of the wives providing hot dishes and the boss providing lots of roast pig so it's grand ( I bring my famous appetizer crack and some pies) but I've been to some in past jobs that left a little to be desired.

Holiday Office Food explained.

To start, there are five types of office party eaters.

The Forklift: They rumble around the background, looking, slowly assessing the terrain, then add full power, reach in and scoop up half of the cheese dip If you see someone with a very large scooped Frito in their hand, watch out.

The shoplifter: They appear totally uninterested, then quietly reach down and grab a Slim Jim, stick it in their pocket and retreat to their cubicle to store it with the goodies from the last office birthday celebration before anyone notices what is missing.

The holding pattern: These folks just sort of make circular patterns around the room, never really stopping to eat. If you ask, they say "I'm trying to decide". While they count the sprinkles on a cookie to see if they'll get the best one, most of the food disappears.

The Homer: Male or female, they'll stare googly-eyed at the food with a "mmmm. . . . pimento loaf. . ." and then grab a portion and head for the liquid refreshments. They WILL be back.

The Hoover: A subspecies of the Homer, the Hoover will eat anything, and everything, sucking up even the last half of a peanut from the empty Chex Mix bowl.

I'm a Homer.

So let's review a sampling from a prior office I worked for, rating the food from most to least popular, with scientific comments. Seriously, add in the types of eaters and it was like watching an anthropological experiment before my eyes.

Chocolate espresso truffles - Have you ever seen one of those once a year bridal sales? Picture that and replace the brides with piranha. Yeah.

Chocolate and peanut butter buckeyes - Even those that hate the Ohio football team scarfed these up.

Bugles - What is it about bugles? They were brought in by one of the office bachelors. They're shaped like little dunce caps for a reason. A mixture of cornmeal, partially hydrogenated yard gnomes and salt, they are really bad for you. Yet once you eat one you can't quit. I leave some out for Santa.

Teriyaki beef sticks - A favorite despite being another store-bought treat.

Gingerbread men: Being homemade, they went quietly into the void rather quickly.

Cheese ball with crackers - Covered in parsley, it looked like a Magic 8 Ball Chia Pet. But with three kinds of cheese, red pepper, Worcestershire sauce and secret herbs and spices, it was a hit. Made by one of the few females in the office, there wasn't even enough left for a tox box.

Brownies - A disappointing performance from a usual birthday crowd favorite.

Mystery meat logs - I'm not sure what they were made of, but they were some sort of spiced meat mixture shaped into little sticks and baked. I could only refer to them as Spampons. They were as popular as the name infers.

Baby Carrots (no Ranch Dip) - You have a room full of hungry guys. This is not food, this is what food EATS. The crowd was less than pleased.

Clementines (golf ball sized oranges) - See above comment

Fruitcake - It and its twin disappeared, but only because I needed a set of wheel chocks for the Piper Cub.

Oh, the humanity

Pimento Loaf- I've not seen this product since grade school. Maybe someone brought it because it resembles bologna with a Christmas tree ornament ground up in it. The first few pieces were gone quickly, predators being tricked by the meat aroma. The remains lay pale and sweating, two hours later, til one of the shoplifters pounced on them.

Office punch - Some sort of juice served with sherbet and 7 up, served at weddings that don't allow dancing since 1954. The Exxon Valdez spill was more popular. Colleagues were observed swilling warm diet coke directly from the 2-liter bottles to get rid of the taste of the pimento loaf, rather than drink the punch.

Gluten Free Rice Cakes - coasters!

Candy canes - They are called "candy canes" because "mint infused glass shards" doesn't sound as appealing. Most of them were still remaining the morning after, even Hoover didn't polish them off. My faith in my fellow coworkers was restored!

You all enjoy whatever festivities come your way!
- Brigid

Anticipation - A Brigid Guest Post

Sometimes the waiting for something is the best part.

Christmas was like that as a child, the build-up to the big day, shaking the presents under the tree, many which had been rigged with marbles or rocks inside to throw us off. Mom would make a couple of different types of cookies every few days, something new to taste and try with a plate set aside with a sample of everything to eat after the Christmas meal.

It's not just Christmas - there are many events in our lives we anxiously await. The birth of a baby, a holiday, a wedding, awaited with great longing, then suddenly over, vanished as if an illusion.

But Christmas Eve, as children was the best.  We weren't allowed to open any gifts until Christmas morning.  We'd be up before the marked light of dawn, seeing the unwrapped gifts that Santa had left for us on the mantle around the fireplace, Mom and Dad trailing down the hall stifling yawns.

I spent Christmas Eve and day some years back with neighbors who let the kids open the gifts on Christmas Eve.  They didn't go to church so Christmas Day was simply watching sports while the kids played non stop video games.  I appreciated the invite but it felt no more like Christmas than the 4th of July.

No, waiting for the morning was anticipated glory.  I'd sleep in a little trundle bed next to my brothers, trying to stay awake to hear Santa. Mom would come in and lay the sunset colored afghan she had crocheted on top of me for warmth.  Outside, the big, fat 1960's Christmas lights would shine through a window, curtains swept aside so we could see.   Overhead, an aircraft went on its way, solitary and swift like a shooting star.  We'd  speak in low tones, as if in church, as outside the door, our wiener dog Pepper's toenails click-clacked on the hardwood floor as she patrolled her domain.

We would always fall asleep too soon, and wake before the sun rose with that flaming stare of quiet curiosity.

But Christmas isn't the only thing we look forward to.  It may be graduating from college.  It may be retirement.  I think of those people that have a countdown calendar to the day they can walk out the door.  Some come back to the workplace by to say hello, as if tethered to that place they spent so many, many years. Some we never see again, that place nothing more than a coat they have now flung off in warmer lands.

You think what you wait for will take forever to get here.  Then, when it is behind you, those days seemed as they raced past, brilliant and quick, nothing more than a flash of light in the distance, the nights as short as fragmented dreams. Too soon, what you waited for is memory, never to be reclaimed but in thought.

Dad does not wish to celebrate Christmas as anything more than the quiet communion in his home with the minister in celebration of Christ's birth. By his choice, there has not been a tree for a traditional Christmas celebration since my Mom died over 30 years ago. The aluminum tree and color wheel were packed away, never to be seen again. In the years before he remarried, there was neither light nor breath in that house for my Dad and he just wanted Christmas to be over with, once my brother and I were out of the house.

When Dad did remarry, to a widow who had herself lost a beloved spouse- they usually spent Christmas at his sister in law's condo in San Diego - enjoying the warmth.  Dad did not wish to spend Christmas day in a house in which my Mom's laughter had gone silent.   I understood, spending Christmas with friends, later volunteering for extra flight duty so those with children could have the day off.  I understand it even more after losing my brother.

Today, I look up at the flash of a light, here in the fading light.  It is is an airplane, the tiny blink of its passing no different than the ones we viewed as children. I know too well, the feeling of that crew, anxious to get to their destination, hoping they won't have weather or a mechanical issue that precludes their making it home in time for Christmas.  I know the sense of relief of the last flight of the night, launching into a sky, that like man, in one embrace can assume and appease, even as it cannot forgive.

Many a night I flew on Christmas Eve, eliciting a chuckle from the crew chief when he glanced up at the Cockpit and saw my Santa hat as we prepared to depart.  We were only anxious as to the day and time until we were aloft, then like seaman have probably felt since time began, we settled down, finding the true Peace of God and Earth somewhere over 35,000 feet, finding the storms and turbulence, not as some heavenly punishment for our selfishness in wanting to be home but rather a gentle rebuke to curb an impatient heart.

At altitude we'd talk of Christmas past and the hope for Christmas future, perhaps one with a family, our voices quiet, no louder than expelled breath, as the miles ticked under us.  Those in the back of the airplane were subdued, anxious to get home, looking down on cities that twinkled like Christmas lights, clouds bunched over some of them, like warm flannel blankets. Some nights the wind would be so strong aloft we felt like we'd stopped, going forward not with will or strategy but simply that groved habit to endure,

The recorded weather data that we'd confirm receipt of, instead of Delta and Echo and other letters of the phonetic alphabet were Dancer and Prancer and such.  On more than one Christmas Eve, my copilot would confirm Information "Santa" received and we'd made our final descent, not to a city where loved ones awaited, but simply a hotel room with all the ambiance of a dental lab, it's emptiness bringing that quick sharp sting that I could taste in my mouth as I opened the door.

There, I would sleep like a soldier in the field without shelter but for stiff, cotton sheets, waiting to wake up to the fight and the firing.

Tonight I look up and outside. There will be no Christmas light at home, too many commitments of work and family to get them up this year. But there will be a 1960's aluminum tree with an antique color wheel, found at a garage sale, repaired and set up by my husband.  There will be the click-clack of Abby's toenails on the hardwood floors as she patrols her domain. In the kitchen, there will be cookies and a pot of tea set to boil  And on the shelf, there will be found a framed picture of a little auburn haired boy and girl sitting in their Dad's lap, Christmas decorations in the background, as he reads them a story.

It was a story of a baby, one not born of passion or pleasure but one born so that more than a Mother's suffering in his birth would be eased til the end of days.  It was a story of forgiveness we often can't receive from man, but that is His promise in eternity.

This Christmas season, I'm grateful for the anticipation of days.  Christmas will too soon be here and gone. Those that I spent the Christmas of my youth with are gone, but for Dad, his own days drawing to a close. What is left now may just be a fleeting illusion, but illusions, like memory, are as true as flesh, bone, and blood.

Rather than wish that Christmas was here, I'm going to wish it would wait, that I can savor this time of quiet peace, the smell of ,warmth, the laughter of my husband, and the hearkening of a family of angels who calm this impatient heart with a touch as soft as a caress.

Going Home - A Brigid Guest Post

One thing I made sure was working properly on my last visit out West was Dad's chair that lifts him up to the standing position, then, he can lean into it and gently have it sit him back down (and I have to say the DeBeers Diamond  "three months salary" marketing staff have nothing on the folks that sell furniture for older folks).

He loves it, one more thing to help him stay in his home. He recovered from his stroke a few years back better than anyone thought, but he now has a hard time standing and sitting without a little help.  Every morning, he gets up and gets settled in it and reads the daily message from "Our Daily Bread" and then the Bible.  That's something he's done every day since retirement after his morning work out (Dad was a Golden Glove Boxer and still has a very strict exercise regiment that included swimming and Nautilus at the YMCA with my Step-Mom well into their late 80's.  Then it's time to get dressed and get about enjoying the day. I provide a full-time home health nurse (do not ask what that costs) so he can stay in the home he's outlived two kids and two wives in.  They make sure laundry and housework are done, prepare a hot meal every day, and play board and card games with him or take him for a drive.  Myself, his oldest grandaughter and my cousin have invited him to live with us but he wants to die in this house he's had for 60 years.

Actually, I checked the chair out when he was sleeping in one day, it's quite comfortable and seems to be built better than some of my expensive yuppie furniture.

But dang, I was hoping for an auto-launch feature that would get me airborne. 

Initiate Launch Sequence!  (that's it??)

The family room, where the chair is housed, has barely changed since I was in sixth grade.  My parents built it onto the house over what was most of our huge cement patio.  We took a vote as a family one year when I was in grade school. Vacation to Hawaii with the kids (the parents had already gone on their 25th anniversary alone) or add on a family room?  The kids decided it.  Family room!  We can play!  We can make noise.  We can spill stuff!  We can take the TV set completely apart with tools while they're at the grocery store (oh, dang, busted)

It has the previous living room carpeting down over the original harvest gold linoleum now and the drapes have been updated.  But much is unchanged. The 1970's fixtures for the fluorescent lights that Dad crafted by hand. Still there. That Mexican hat on the Wall?  A VERY embarrassing River dance gone South episode from some tap recital of mine.  The barre built into the wall where I did my ballet warm-ups was removed and replaced with paneling.  It was there under the kitchen window that Mom once took out with a golf ball from the backyard when that was the back window to the house. Fore! (hey, I didn't know Mom knew that other word!)

On the walls are funny tin signs and Montana art.  On another wall are numerous awards and mementos from the community and  Uncle Sam, every single member of our family - Mom, Dad, brothers, sister, serving in Defense, Local or Federal Law Enforcement or the Armed Forces, with the Air Force and Navy battling it out for the best space. And the picture of Jesus, which has witnessed slumber parties, ping pong games (we'd set the table up inside in the winter) Loony Tunes, and probably cursing during that 1983 Minnesota-Nebraska college game.

The couch is new, but the quilt is one my Mom crocheted in the 70's.  There is another one, but it sits in my linen closet at the Range, where I can occasionally hold it, smell the scent of Chanel No. 5 that only exists in my memory.  It's where I can remember her hands working away on it while we kids watched westerns on TV and tried to outshoot Marshall Dillon with our little cap guns under the watchful eye of our Lord.

We've made just a few changes in the house.  The main bathroom, tub, and shower were outfitted with handles and bars and a shower chair for ease of bathing. The waterbed was replaced with a quality regular mattress that makes it easier for him to get out of bed, but with a heated mattress pad so it's warm through the night.

The small bath by the family room, though, was in dire need of help.  It was always the "utility" bathroom, old faded paint, bare window, no storage at all, and small and hard to get around in as there was nothing for him to hold onto if his balance or strength waned.  But it's the one he uses the most.

Before he died, Big Bro took care of the construction and I took care of the paint and the decorating.

Still, with the full-time home nursing aide and lawn service that comes weekly I am happy he can stay in his home. He originally said he wanted to move in with me when my Step-Mom was diagnosed with cancer and I bought an old money pit of a big house on some property with a view of a small lake, a single story, no steps, "mother in law set up" outside of town, the original "Range." I hoped he'd be happy there. But she went into remission, with great thanksgiving, but was then diagnosed with Alzhemers.

He cared for her in his home through that, until her death, years more than we expected, but not easy years for him.  But as she was his cross, she was also his salvation and he refused to put her in a nursing home, even when she acted out in anger against her children, not recognizing her own life, but somehow, always recognizing him.

But after she was gone, he changed his mind. His Mom was from Indy, and he enjoyed it there, but he didn't want to leave where he's lived all these years.  He wanted to stay where his memories are, good or bad, in his own church, in that old house.  I  understood and sold the place I had bought, at a loss, but one I gladly bore.

This is the home in which his memories reside, in every furnishing that's 30, 40, 60 years old.  There have been other houses, for summer vacations and the old family home in Montana, but this modest little place was always the center of the family.  Outside, is the bed of my Mom's rose garden, replanted with other flowers now, yet still containing for him, those pink and red and coral buds and blossoms, long after they've fallen to dust, no more dead to him than the hands that tended them, the drops of blood they sometimes drew.

In that family room, he sits in his recliner and watches his favorite sports, while around him are the artifacts of loves never lost, triumphs and defeats, as well as the living laughter of what little family remains and the friends he holds dear. Few of them are related to him by blood, but rather by the strongest bond - love.

My room at home is virtually unchanged and that was not by my request, but his will. Photos of family and family and extended family all around.  The rainbow I painted on my walls in junior high. Dad said I could, but I had to use leftover paint which is why my rainbow is every shade of totally tacky 1970's paint we had.  (yes, we had rooms painted those colors!)

There is no view. There used to be a view of beautiful mountains, but they are hidden from where we sit by tall, big box marts. He refused to sell when they literally bought up several blocks, RE-zoned residential and commercial, so we look out the windows to the vast walls of a commercial business, their parking lot lights illuminating the place like Attica Prison during a break. Curtains keep the light out at night, sort of.  Dad realizes the value of the home just went to zip, but he doesn't care. It's his home,  it's our home.  It's where we lived, and it's where he will pass, hopefully, and quietly in his favorite chair, his Bible open and a can of cold beer waiting for when the game is called.

He knows his days are short, we all do. But he's very happy, lousy view and all. The pastor comes and gives him communion regularly.  His neighbors have him over for meals and their children come and play board and card games with him.   I fly out as often as I can, becoming an expert on the cheap air-fares (how many stops?)  My step brother and his wife drive three hours to take him to lunch. My cousin Liz drives up from California several times a year (her partner's Moms live an hour from Dad).  He has friends, good ones, but new ones, as all of his original group has passed on. He still works out each day, including an exercise bike and he eats very well with a hot meal daily from the sweet ladies that are his home health aides and the snacks and small meals I leave for him in little freezer containers between visits.

Around the house are small sayings, quotes that mean things to him, verses from the Bible.  "This is the Day the Lord hath Made, Let us Rejoice and Be Glad in It" is one that always makes me think of him. Each day is a gift from the Lord, he says, and I can't disagree.

I can't say what the future will bring, but one thing my brother and I both agreed on before he left us. Dad has outlived two beloved wives and two children (he and Mom lost a baby when they were first married) and I'm going to fight to make sure he does not experience any more loss of what he holds dear.
 - Brigid

Draining the swamp

Scientists are submitting 40% fewer grant requests for "Climate Change".

Bon Jovi - Run Run Rudolph

The problem facing AI is the same as the problem facing security

There are people who actively try to fool the system.  Consider facial recognition.  Even babies are very good at this, so it's been a highly visible research area for AI for decades.  The facial recognition systems have gotten pretty good, and so AI researchers get a well-deserved pat on the back.

Or do they?

Researchers from the Max Planck Institute for Informatics have defeated facial recognition on big social media platforms – by removing faces from photos and replacing them with automatically-painted replicas. 

As the team of six researchers explained in their arXiv paper this month, people who want to stay private often blur their photos, not knowing that this is “surprisingly ineffective against state-of-the-art person recognisers.”

AI can beat blurring, but not the inpainting adversarial model. 

The researchers went a step further by constructing a realistic “fake face” that replaced the original image, but was perturbed enough to beat the AI while still looking “right” to a friend perusing the image.

The problem facing (so to speak) the AI researchers is that it's not just good enough to be accurate in regular use, you have to be accurate even when someone is trying to subvert your algorithms.  It's the same problem that Internet Security faces - the QA teams test for "correct" feature/functionality, but then the Bad Guys look for bugs that don't effect feature operation but which do effect security.

I'm not at all optimistic that AI will win this one.

Alert readers will notice that to really fool big Social Media, there are some very significant OPSEC issues that you would have to take.  As with most things, OPSEC is security's Achilles' Heel.  However, as more and more people get fed up with Social Media spying, expect more ways to automate things like this - for example, a photo archive tool that modifies all faces to defeat facial recognition.

Smells like an arms race to me.

Eric Clapton - Cryin Christmas Tears

Something seems to be happening in North Korea

Hmmm.