“The Underwear Bomber failed.” [buahaha, in more ways than one]

We’re going to beef up airport security, because Umar Farouk AbdulMutallab allegedly snuck a bomb through a security checkpoint. We’re going to intensively screen Nigerians, because he is Nigerian. We’re going to field full body scanners, because they might have noticed the PETN that authorities say was hidden in his underwear. And so on.

We’re doing these things even though this particular plot was chosen precisely because we weren’t screening for it; future al Qaeda attacks rarely look like past attacks; and the terrorist threat is far broader than attacks against airplanes.

[I have the answer. After 9/11 we weren't allowed to bring box cutters or knives onto airplanes anymore. After the "Shoe Bomber" we have to take our shoes off. The most logical answer is the safest. It is being wrongly cast aside because of modesty, vanity and fear of being giggled at. We all have to take our clothes off. That's right folks... no more clothes on airplanes. The safest way to fly is when we have no where left to hide chemicals or weapons. We get to the airport, undress, put on FAA-Approved Flight Robes and make our way to the gate. Our clothing is tied up in plastic bags and checked with our bags. People with medications can check them in with the flight attendant and you are still allowed to bring reading material. Please, for all our sakes, don't forget to wear deodorant.]

We’re doing these things even though security worked. The security checkpoints, even at their pre-9/11 levels, forced whoever made the bomb to construct a much worse bomb than he would have otherwise. Instead of using a timer or a plunger or another reliable detonation mechanism, as would any commercial user of PETN, he had to resort to an ad hoc homebrew — and a much more inefficient one, involving a syringe, and 20 minutes in the lavatory, and we don’t know exactly what else — that didn’t explode.

[Dear Underwear Bomber,
Who convinced you this was a good idea? Did you come up with this plan all by yourself? You stuffed chemicals in your unmentionables. Any plan that involves chemicals near my hooha is going to immediatly be passed over. If, by some stretch, someone manages to ask me to reconsider, the mention of a syringe, an in-flight lavatory and the BURNING my hooha part would toss it right back into the realm of not-gonna-happen. Let's also take a look at your chances for lasting glory. The Underwear Bomber. Really? Was this how you wanted to go down in history? The Underwear Bomber? When you reach heaven, and folks ask you 'How'd did you go?' You could respond, "I exploded in my underwear." Also, you failed. How sad is that? You failed lighting your underwear on fire. I honestly don't think your heart was really in it.
Next time someone suggests a plan that niggles in the back of your mind... Just Say No.]

credit to this article: http://www.cnn.com/2010/OPINION/01/07/schneier.security/index.html?eref=igoogle_cnn

Cubicles are meant to be droneish for a reason. The less difference in one cubicle to another means the less the employees stop to chat about anything unique. It keeps things productive. But when you spend 8+ hours of your day in your office, you want to have things around you that make you happy.

Having an office that looks as awesome as This One: http://www.wired.com/culture/design/multimedia/2007/06/gallery_nemo_office  would be wonderful. However, that level of Steampunk Goodness is out of reach or impractical for most of us.

So, how do you steampunk your office into your happy place without driving your boss over the Edge?

Like all nice touches in life, the key is accessorizing.

A small industrial fan.

An Old Radio

A old library dewey decimal card cabinet for office supplies

Lightbulb with solar reactor

Venus Fly Trap

What are your ideas?

*sigh*

I could post about the fact that I did finally chop my hair off.

(Note to anyone considering it: don’t.)

I could post about a new year and new beginnings, but I do believe its been done.

I’m about as indecisive as ever. Still, after a year, wondering if I should attempt to make contact with my son’s father… who… I’m 90% positive is having a baby of his own right about…. now. (Late December? Early Jan. Based on a hunch)

And WHAT is twitter all about? Why am I the only one who doesn’t see the attraction? Seriously, what key thing am I missing about it?

Happy New Year. Don’t quit your day job. Or your Anti Depressants.

ten years healthy growth

gone one instant of impulse

chop chop went the blade

~

~

like samson i feel

that i’ve lost something vital

powerless, bereft

~

~

goodbye precious hair

make a sick child happy

sitting on her head

~

~

www.locksoflove.org

In a perfect example of “What Does White Balance Mean?”: A display of energy saving lightbulbs of different sorts. This is a photo I took at the California State Fair;  

White Balance; Taken with a Canon Rebel XTi, 1/640 sec. f/5.6; 200 ISO. 

 The room was actually very brightly lit; these ‘floating boxes’ are actually inset into a large white room partition. I’ve done nothing to enhance this photo at all.

White Balance ; an explanation.

 

Joss,

Oh Joss! How could you do it? Why??? Why did it have to end like that?

*sniffles*

I wanted him to get the girl.

~Liza-who-thinks-it-was-good-even-if-she-didn’t-like-the-ending.

Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog in three acts is available for FREE until July 20th. See it here: www.drhorrible.com

After that… you’ll have to wait for the DVD or purchase it on Itunes. Or just purchase it now.

…and have a frog!

A few months ago, when the weather was just beginning to warm up, we went to a park with a lake and caught some massively huge bullfrog tadpoles. We have a horse-trough-turned-backyard-pond with lilies and goldfish and its own little ecosystem. We thought it could use a new inhabitant. In went seven large tadpoles the size of large egg yolks. The scurried around, dipped underwater and I didn’t see them for several weeks. I thought perhaps our crawdads ate them or they just couldn’t stay near enough to the surface to stay warm or get enough oxygen.

But lo and behold! One morning I step onto our back porch and what is looking at me but my own tiny little kermit, sitting on a lily pad just like all good frogs should! Since then, we’ve created a secondary small pond with plants and it’s own stock of live food (mosquito fish are plentiful in both bodies of water). A new frog crawled out of the water last week and this morning we have yet another new frog! Two frogs are in the large trough and one has been relocated to a less cannibalistic atmosphere. He just doesn’t know what kind of lucky frog he is!

It's not that easy being green

Tank Brothers

If I can't see you, you can't see me

http://steampunkbitz.wordpress.com/2008/07/09/steampunk_resources/

I moved this to a blog of its own! Enjoy!

Last night, looking for something in my garage, I happened upon the large stack of papers that are all my court documents from when my son was small.

I understand my son’s father’s reaction to things better now than I did. Court proceedings can get ugly. Really ugly. I wish more steps had been taken previous to filing custody papers. Such a panic, to be served with court papers. Such a panic to think a judge has 5 or 10 minutes to decide the fate of your child on a He Said She Said basis. Pray for family judges. They don’t go into that field with a desire to wreck families but to help them. Their job is a great burden.

The papers said my son would be visiting his grandparents every other weekend. A practice I had put an end to after about four or five visits when they made it clear they would not respect my wishes or give me easy access to my son (I was still nursing). They were the only people my son ever showed any intense stranger anxiety with. And with him not being able to communicate yet, I had to do what I thought was in his best interest.

That is the over simplified version, but going into the nitty gritty details is… heart wrenching to me… and not the point of my post.

I wanted my son to have a relationship with his father. I trusted his father. Even when he was angry at me and had filed custody proceedings to restore his parents visits with my son, I still trusted *him*. I did not trust his parents. These were the people that had offered to pay for my abortion. I was younger and more reactionary. Being taken to court and being told by a judge I had to leave my child with someone I didn’t trust… Dear God, the level of panic…

I fought, as hard as I could. I still think the judge errored and the law clearly stated I could, as my son’s custodial parent, choose to deny the grandparents visitation. I spent hours researching. I had law and precedent on my side. But still, the visits were ordered. My son came home with a bruise on his back. Still the visits were ordered… I would have to take pictures after my son was injured, something that hadn’t occurred to me in time.

I did something desperate. I have mixed feelings about it now. I had run across a journal page his father had given me. It talked about his father hitting him when he was younger. I brought it into court. They couldn’t take it as evidence, she said.

But the grandparents stopped exercising their right to visitation. Too busy, something came up they said. Next court date, they withdrew their case. Did not want to face false accusations of child abuse, they said.

By bringing in that journal entry… such mixed feelings right now. I betrayed what small amount of trust that was left between my son’s father and I. I entered into court documents the fact that he had admitted, outside his family, that his father hit him as a kid. I’m sure his parents weren’t pleased with him about that. I betrayed the trust he had shown me by giving me the journal to begin with.  Personal, private thoughts, aired publicly and against him.

My only defense is, my son was small, unable to communicate. It was my job to protect him. Not being able to determine for myself what went on behind their doors… I could only go on the evidence presented to me. My son’s intense anxiety at being left with them, their disregard for my wishes, putting me down in front of family and friends, the history I knew existed, the bruise on his back.

Very mixed feelings. Regret. But feeling forced into a corner, my tiny son behind my legs, feeling like he was going to be snatched away from me, possibly hurt, needing to protect him. I lashed out with the only feeble claw I had. Still, deep regret. I know his father wanted a relationship with his son. I never wanted to interfere with that. By breaking that trust, I did. Disgusted and betrayed by me, he has not seen his son since. I understand my part in that. I wish things had gone differently, many steps of the way. I wish that, even if he is still justifiably angry at me, that he understood…  just a little…  I did what I did out of a deep desire to protect our son. I wish he knew too, how much I regret it. I wish I could go back now and use my older level headed self to tell my younger stupider skittish self that there are other ways to handle situations.

My son is at an age now where he can communicate. He’s ten. He’s articulate, he has a large vocabulary and I am blessed that he speaks his mind rather than misbehaves to act out what is frustrating him. He tells us, point blank, if something is bothering him. At this point, my son could say, “I don’t want to go there. I don’t feel comfortable.” or “Yes! Grandma’s house!” He has the ability to call me on his own if something is wrong. He knows my rules and he respects them, even when I am not present.

I would feel comfortable, now, sending him to visit. But that is not likely to ever happen. I regret that too. I’m sorry.

Come visit Sunny and Smoke Filled California! Home of the Unseasonally Early Harvest Moon!

I took these today, July 11th, with my Canon Rebel Xti. Cropped them a bit, but no other editing has been done to them.

 

Everyone else seems bothered by the air quality. I just think it makes things look pretty.

I also think that if you took a napsack of smores, grahams and some chocolate and a stick… you’d be able to make yourself a snack right quick as soon as you came across the nearest fire.