They Take After Their Masters

Sorry about the lack of posts, but right now I'm sort of holding down two jobs and I'm dog tired.



Next comes body mods and tats, I suppose.

I'm Too Easily Diverted

Ever on the lookout for more excuses on-line for procrastination under the guise of keeping the grey cells in tiptop form, I happened upon this simple, but maddening word game.

The object is to determine the appropriate five-letter word (I'm really practiced at the four-letter ones). Each time you guess, you will be shown whether your word was before or after the goal word alphabetically. Simple, eh? How many five-letter words are there anyways? Actually, a whole shitload when you consider that most four-letter words can be extended by an -s or -d or -y.

My best score is 10,893. What's yours?

And don't forget your blends, dipthongs and digraphs.

The Fire of 2008

It's easy to make jokes about buying marshmallows or having a caribou roast. Hell, I have a lot of problems with the administration of our local co-op and the decisions they make. But when you get down to it, they are a very major employer in town (including one of my daughters), they are "owned" by the members (including me), and the larger source of consumer goods in a very isolated community.

So when the whole complex goes up in smoke, it is a major concern for residents. Not only did we lose the larger grocery store, but we lost our post office (and my printer inks therein), our cable television distribution, our bank, our point of sale for Inuit artists, our fuel distribution administration, and a whole host of other important services.

I did not go down to see it burn - we were having a blizzard and I feel that the morbidly curious only interfere with efforts to contain the blaze. Also, if there are any heroes in a losing effort it has to be our local volunteer fire department, who contended with 100 kph winds, almost zero visibility, exploding tanks and ammo, minus 45 C windchill, a contorted maze of buildings, the evacuation and protection of many houses downwind, darkness and a fire which would not go out. I take my nassak off to every one of them. Personally, I would have bailed.

Unlike southern communities, there are no leaseable facilities available. And building from scratch means waiting for open water (July) before the first ship cannot come in with materials. Coping with a problem of this magnitude, therefore, requires different organizations coming together to find solutions. Our local community centre operated by the municipality, therefore, is going to become a temporary store for the next half year or so I believe.

Heaven only knows about the post office. For now, Canada Post is holding our mail up indefinitely in Kuujjuaq. Could we be going back to the old days of dog sled delivery? Wouldn't make all that much difference, actually, the bastards.

There are two things I hope we learn from this: from the Great London Fire of 1666, the Great Chicago Fire, the Great San Francisco Fire, and so on, is don't place buildings too close together; and let's pitch in together despite our differences, and help each other to build a better community.

Rudi on Ferrets

I came across this tape today of a radio phone-in show with then-New York mayor Rudi Giuliani losing it on the subject of ferrets.



Now I don't know what precipitated this tirade against one of God's creatures, but I think the US election would have gotten a lot more interesting if he had stayed on.

The Sorcerer's Apprentice

I may not be a rocket scientist, but I am certain I would be fired if I designed a satellite that had non-redundant systems or built-in kill switches. Those engineers who design a craft such as the USA 193 shot "down" a couple of nights back should be made to go up into low earth orbit with brooms and dustpans to collect any debris which is lingering too long before begin a fateful descent in our atmosphere.

Launching a satellite into orbit is a very risky proposition, with a myriad of things which could go wrong. Even getting the delivery rocket off the launchpad is no sure bet, as evidenced by the frequent mishaps by the European Space Agency, NASA, and whoever is responsible for the Chinese and Russian space programs these days. But at least launches have someone with a self-destruct button in hand to press if the rocket malfunctions.

Not, apparently, for the satellites themselves. I can understand that oft-times satellites spin out of control, antennae don't deploy, on-board computers freeze (I bet they're not Macs) power systems power down, or whatever. But when you are spending many tens of millions of dollars on these orbiting future debris fields, wouldn't you want to build in a number of ways to work around the problem or at least down the craft if things fuck up beyond redemption?

And the report of the impact "fireball" meant to allay fears of hydrazine being spewed over hill and dale simply translates into my mind as more small pieces of crap forming a fragmentary mine filed around our planet.

I look at my computer system at work - it has a plethora of backups for any of the works of genius I've produced (LOL), and if the power should cut out there is a battery and an UPS (uninterruptible power supply) to maintain some current long enough to save your data or, presumably, fix the problem.

Here is my main concern - the Kessler Syndrome. It posits that the amount of crap encircling our our blue planet will grow to such a degree as to render any incursion into space too risky, even for unmanned craft. The tinking is that space debris multiplies exponentially - a mere 1 cm piece could destroy another satellite creating another couple of thousand pieces of junk with the potential to destroy. And so on . . .

A number of solutions have been proposed here, but wouldn't it be much simpler to design satellite systems which have the built-in capacity to direct a whole satellite towards the earth if a certain set of instructions are not delivered with a requisite amount of time? Or hurtling out outwards beyond the earth's gravity to screw up some space craft from Alpha Centauri in a few thousand years?

But at the root of my consternation is the fear that I will miss the spaceship the next time comet Hale-Bopp comes around. I mean, look at all that crap circling earth right now:

The Canadian Way To Screw

Whenever Canadians get wood, we employ a uniquely Canadian approach to conjoining which minimizes, if not completely eliminates, stripping. And if your other hand is occupied doing something else, you can do it single-handed. Sure, our approach is square, but we always get the job done, and satisfaction is guaranteed.

Invented in the early 20th century, the Robertson square drive screw still remains as one of the single greatest innovations of the industrial age, Indeed, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation ranks it number 7 in its list of greatest Canadian inventions, ahead of the Blackberry and the zipper, but strangely behind five-pin bowling. Yet it is rarely found outside our borders. But I digress.

The system employs only five sizes of screwdrivers, each of whose handles have a unique colour: black, red, green, yellow and orange, ranging from largest to smallest. This comes in particularly useful when ordering subordinates (i.e. wives and children) to fetch the appropriate screwdriver - since terms like small and large are relative, and it is nigh on impossible to accurately determine Torx size with the naked eye, this colour coding completely eliminates possible screw-ups.

And, most importantly, you won't strip the head of the screw if you have the proper size of driver. IMHO, the good lord should open up a new level in the bowels of hell for those who invent or perpetuate the use of the Phillips or slotted head screws. I mean, if Wikipedia feels the article on the Phillips screwdriver necessitates having a section on how to choose the appropriate size, something is amiss:

Using too small a screwdriver for a given Phillips head screw is likely to damage the screw head, and may damage the screwdriver as well. The correct size screwdriver is the largest one that fits. If you have a full range of sizes available, start with the size one step larger than you think will fit, and work your way down one size at a time until you get to the first one that fits in the screw head. But also see the section on different national specifications for size and shape.

In these days of free trade agreements and globalization, more and more of our tools are being sourced offshore. Consequently, those all-in-one screwdrivers and screwdriver sets do not include the Robertson drive, much to my consternation. Almost all the cabinetry and other woodwork in this house use the venerable Robertson, but could I find any Robertsons in the numerous screw drive sets I've accrued over the years - NO! Sure, I have slot, Phillips, Torx and hex, but not my sainted Robertsons.

Not that I mind Torx and hex, which don't strip the heads of your fastener and will hold a screw or bolt singlehanded, but you need a multiplicity of them to ensure you have the right size. Torx, for example, comes in 24 sizes, ranging from T1 to T100, while hex (in both metric and SAE flavours) has at least 37.

So, woodworkers of the world - UNITE! Throw off the shackles of cumbersome and inefficient fasteners, and embrace your inner squareness.

Time to Unpack

I've been basically living out of a suitcase most of the last month, but now can look forward to at least three weeks at home before having to fly out again somewhere.

Having my first day off in a long time, I now have the serenity make the following observations:

1. The caribou stew which I made a few weeks back is still entupperwared in the back of the fridge. I guess the dogs will appreciate it if it hasn't become too moldy.
2. Utilities and credit card companies still want payment, judging by the stack of mail swaying on top of my dishwasher. Bills now join death and taxes as the only sure things in life.
   
3. Dogs are very quick to forgive long absences. Children and wives are not, especially when you are away on birthdays and St. Valentine's Day. Sidebar: candy and flowers are half price on February 15th.
   
4. I never ran out of water or sewage once while on the road, but as soon as I got home the warning light came on the sewage tank. I am now resigned to living in a red light district.
   
5. There are nearly a dozen unfinished posts on my Blogger dashboard. I should stitch them all together for a mega-posting but it will end up reading a bit like Joyce's Ulysses, not that my completed posts are all that much better.
6. It only takes about a quarter inch of snow to obliterate months of dog poo, at least until the spring comes a few months from now. I should plan a vacation for spring thaw, and hope that the rains will wash the blanket up dog crap away from our house.
   
7. Northern "chic" is not appreciated when traveling in the south. Something about the rubber boots, I think. Or my "Gras agé de la Phoque" cologne.

Anyways, it's good to be back!

This Trick Has Lost Its Cuteness

My 10-month old labrador pup has figured out a way to open two doors and let himself outdoors. Now this newfound skill would be worth applauding, except for the fact that he doesn't close the doors after himself.

Saturday morning was a case in point. I came downstairs around 5:00 AM and nearly froze to the floor. He had left the doors agape and the temperature outdoors was below minus 30 Celsius. Upon closing the doors I thought, well, if he wants to freeze his soon-to-be-surgically-removed testicles off, that's fine by me - I might even save on his airfare and veterinary fees.

I went back to bed, only to be awoken at 7:30 by a banging on the doors. By the time I got downstairs I met a rime-coated black lab bouncing around, exulting in his prodigious accomplishment of not only letting himself out, but letting himself back in.

Here is what he does: we have latched doors which are opened by pressing down on the latch, which raises a lever and unhooks the door from the strike plate. He had figured out how to open the door which swings outwards when he was only about 4 months: he simply gets up on his hind legs and bangs away at the latch until the door swings open under his weight. But the second door which swings inward until recently defeated him - the pressure he exerted upon the door would always close it before he could get out.

Here is the new approach he employs on the tricky inward swinging door. He now stands up completely straight on his hind legs, looking like lion rampant emblem on the old heraldic coat of arms. He still pounds away on the latch faster than Gene Krupa, but tries to pull the latch towards him. As soon as the door opens a crack, he gets down on this side to paw or nose the door wide enough to escape.

Before you start thinking he is some kind of wunderhund, I must report he is abysmally dull in all other respects: you throw a frisbee at him and he doesn't budge until it hits the floor, whereupon he starts kicking it around - most undignified for a retrieving dog.

So, what to do? I can't let a hyperactive pup let himself out whenever the mood strikes. Not only does this consume a huge amount of heating oil, but up here, loose dogs are often shot. A keyed deadbolt is not feasible either, since we would need seven sets of keys, one for each family member. And a conventional round doorknob is not available in the requisite size up here.

Any suggestions?

Batten Down The Hatches

It was too good to last.

This winter, although colder than a gravedigger's arse, had been storm-free. But last evening the house we live in began to tremble, wisps of snow snaked down the streets, snowdrifts developed a surface coating of last year's vegetation, and I knew we were in for a good blow.

Now I like a good blow same as most men, but when the temperature is already at the bottom of the thermometer the cold sneaks in everywhere, through every stitch of your clothing, through every crack of your house (even through the walls), and into your soul. This storm is different though: not having much in the way of snow - we've had almost none all winter long - the visibility isn't zero/zero, more like 50 feet/zero. Had this been an average year you'd have difficulty in seeing the neighbour's house lights.


So I cut my outside dog free to find shelter, but checking up on him a few hours later I found him playing with the other local outside dogs. But at least he's moving around, and can find a sheltered niche somewhere should he want to lie down. I think next summer I will build him a dog house with an internal heat light so he'll be more comfortable. He's getting old now (12 years) and I notice he seems to be getting a little arthritic. I'll also store up some cardboard for the floor since it seems to have great insulating abilities.

The satellite television is basically unwatchable, since the wind not only deforms the dish but my house actually moves off satellite regularly. Internet seems to be working, but we have a very beefy dish and it would take more than a mere 100 kph wind to cause problems (touch wood and cross fingers).

In 10 days time I'll be going to warmer climes - Quebec City, Montreal and Ottawa - so in the meantime I'll just crawl under the covers, take some Dramamine for motion sickness, and hang on.

Something's Watching Me

For the past month or so, I have become acutely aware of the red eye of Mars glaring at me all night long. When I leave my office at 5:00 PM I see it start to rise in the east, the brightest, ruddiest and most ominous celestial object in the sky. Its presence will pursue me all night long.

We earthlings are apparently as close to Mars as we will get for another eight years, and to be honest it has been the first time in my life that I've been able to pick the planet out among other heavenly objects. Now it has become an obsession with me.

You would think that living in the Arctic and hundred of miles distant from any sources of pollution would make stargazing a national sport, but such is not the case. Light pollution abounds up here. If the moon is past the first quarter the light reflected off the snow allows only the brighter stars to be visible. Add to this the Northern Lights and all but the most brilliant stars are obliterated. So in the pristine Arctic, we end up with about as much of the night sky as visible as in a city park down south. I have never, for example, seen the Milky Way up here.

Lately I've been challenging some Inuit to name stars and constellations. So far, all I have learned is that Orion's belt is called the Three Racers, or something like that. But in the old days, travelling at night by dog team was not avoided on clear nights, and what we call Polaris or the North Star was used for directions. With the moonlight reflected on the snow landmarks could be recognized fairly easily as well.

But back to Mars. Each time I go out I am aware of its taunting gaze, seeming to assessing my strengths and finding me wanting. All night long it climbs a celestial ladder and by the time I go to sleep it is almost overhead. If I open my eyes while abed I can see it peering in through my bedroom window, omnipresent and ever-threatening, not to mention rude.

I just hope Mars gets hit by that huge asteroid at the end of the month, something it seems to have forgotten about because it spends all its time staring at me. A nice massive poke in the eye would be fitting pay-back.

Ever Wanted To Get A Legal Name Change?

I mean, I'm very proud of my name, but every once in a while I want to pimp it up a notch. I don't mean by adding a few eyebrow-raising middle names, or doing away with any trace of your original name - simply taking most of your name up to the next level.

I read through a Fark link that some musician in Ohio went before a judge and had his name changed from the rather mundane Daniel Michael Miller to the psychedelic The Dan Miller Experience. Holy Haight-Ashbury, man, that's really far out!, man, and way past groovy.

So I've concocted a new meme, and you're all tagged. I want you to come up with at least one name change for yourself or your avatar per decade from the 1950s through to the new millennium. I'll kick off:

1950's - Frankie Nanuk and the One Season or The Nanukettes
1960's - Seals and Nanuk or The Loving Nanuks
1970's - Bruce Springstein and the Ashbury Nanuks or Nanuk and the Whalers
1980's - Nanuk Goes to Hollywood or Nanuk's Midnight Runners
1990's - Vanilla Ice feat. Nanuk or Porno for Nanuk
2000's - Nine Inch Nanuk or Nanuk's Chemical Romance

There, I've had at it - your turn now.

A PSA from Nanuk

I don't know about you, but I kind of feel left out after seeing all the cool people in this 1970s advertisement. The lyricist certainly deserves a golf "clap" for this effort.

My apologies to those viewing this from my net, but the smaller files were pixelated beyond recognition. Footage found at archives.org

Frigidology - An Intro Level Course

There's been no warming in our little corner of the globe recently.

This has been one of the colder winters I've experienced in my 20 plus years of living up in the Arctic. The lows at night are dipping into the minus 30s, and with even a bit of a breeze the windchill plummets to near minus 50. I don't think we've been above the freezing point since way back in October. Last night was so cold I set my husky free to warm up by running around all night. And considering the amount of garbage bags he "recycled" in front of our house, he was quite active.

Since many among my faithful readership have not yet had to cope with such temperatures yet, I think a frank discussion of a few of the more popular concepts about cold is in order.

When you relieve yourself outside at extremely low temperatures, your pee will freeze in mid air.
FALSE. USUALLY. Sure, if you pee out the door of an airplane flying at 5,000 feet it probably will be crystals by the time it hits the ground. But under normal urethra to ground ratios you will end up carving yellow holes into the snow. Actually, the real trick about peeing outside at cold temperatures is getting about 1" of extremely retracted organ to stick out through 2" of outerwear.

Things start to break at very cold temperatures.
TRUE. Around minus 35 metal gets really brittle, so unless you are careful it is easy to snap the head off a bolt. Most plastics fare no better: a 25 foot extension cord will try to snake itself back into a 4 foot snarl of coils. And forget about putting up Christmas lights when it gets frigid - better to start in July, the only month up here without snow.

The colder it gets, the less slippery ice becomes.
TRUE. USUALLY. It is actually a thin film of water caused by friction which makes ice so slippery. So it follows that the colder it gets, the less water will be produced by walking over it. The one exception is when I walk on ice - it is slippery no matter what the temperature.

After a really hot sauna, you can roll around in the snow for a few minutes without getting cold.
UNPROVEN. Someone else try it, not me.

Hell can actually freeze over.
TRUE. I can see the proof out my window right now.

Sound travels further in cold weather.
TRUE. UNFORTUNATELY. Now I could go into a lengthy explanation concernig relative air densities and humidity, but suffice it to say I can hear every freaking snowmobile whine up and down the four quarters of this burg. All freaking night long.

So I think I've touched the basics, but if any of you guys have any questions I'd be happy to answer them. In the meantime, be sure to button up - there's to end in sight.

Ring Out The Old And Ring In The New

Happy 2008 everybody!!

The celebrations up here are a little subdued for me, feeling my age I guess. Generally I stayed in, cranked up the motorola and listened to the latest Bessie Smith 78 - Give me a pig foot, and a bottle of beer . . . I should have been so lucky.

Last night I managed to make it to the front steps of the community centre for the stroke of midnight. As in other years, our small town turns into a battle zone as rifles of all calibers are shot off into the sky. And at minus 35 Celsius, the sound cascading off buildings and the hills has an extra sharpness and crispness. Needless to say, all the dogs in town hide beneath the houses fearing a canine version of Armageddon.

This year someone seemed to have a near inexhaustible supply of roman candles, bright red hand-launched roman candles. And the were letting them off right in front of the community centre with a growing mass of midnight revelers. Now again this is probably a function of the extreme cold, and also a result of discharging the fireworks at a medium trajectory rather than straight up into the air, but none of the pyrotechnics had consumed itself before striking the ground. Indeed, some continued to burn bright crimson against the white snow for a good five seconds.

I saw a whole battery of them land on roofs of nearby building and I started to yell "incoming" if any trajectories seemed to be heading our way. The kids started chasing them until one was nearly hit, ending up arse over tea kettle in a cloud of bloody red smoke, a scene worthy of any Hollywood war movie. All the while the northern lights looked down, disapproving of our folly.

All ended peacefully, and the casualties were nil.

But as I look out over the town this morning - with nothing moving save the occasional dog doing border patrol on its patch of real estate - I assume there are many suffering the effects of last night.

Curse them!! All I had was a snifter of cheap madeira, but as a consequence I am able to make these observations without the slightest tremor or heave of nausea. Every dark cloud, I guess.

2007 - A Pictorial Retrospective Part III

Cheney's Latest Technique For Winning Hearts And Minds

"Waterboarding is so 2006", proclaims US veep Dick "The Love Machine" Cheney. "We simply force feed anyone we dislike terror suspects plate after plate of Bush's Beans, then lock them into the aroma chamber. I haven't had this much fun since burning ants with a magnifying glass".


FEMA Rolls Out Latest Emergency Trailer

Answering critics of the cramped conventional emergency housing,
FEMA agency Administrator R. David Paulison states "There are those who maintain that those who work within the Washington DC beltway have a sheltered view of the world. This design proves once and for all that we have the proper perspective."


New Statuary Unveiled at Tennessee Courthouse

After the removal of all artwork with references to Judeo-Christian themes, concept artist Jorge-Wolfram van Schwellingberg won the commission to replace them with more more belief-neutral images. "She is called 'Justicia' ", declaimed van Schwellingberg. "She is blind, cold, rigid, and has small tits".