I was at a news stand last night and took a look at all of the magazines that I could find.
# of covers with a picture of Barak Obama: 8
# of covers with a picture of John McCain: 0
Friday, October 31, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
Voyeurism
I'm watching a show on Discovery, called "Destroyed in Seconds". The whole program is things blowing up, crashing, collapsing, etc. It's fascinating.
Apple votes 'no' on 8
LA Times reports: http://www.latimes.com/technology/la-fi-apple25-2008oct25,0,4625386.story?track=rss
Go Apple!
Go Apple!
Saturday, October 25, 2008
STO'B 13
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
"Oh," said Philip. "Mr Wilkins, fetch Sergeant - fetch the sergeant of Marines. A breach of discipline, Mr Grey?"
"Yes, sir. Earlier, before the battle, Mr South had the bosun beat to quarters against my direct order not to do so."
"I see," said Philip. That must have been how his order to do the same had been carried out so quickly. He had wondered at the time. "Did he say why he did so?"
"He said the brig was under fire, sir, and the men needed to be at quarters."
"I see." Philip turned out to sea, away from all of the activity on deck, to consider. "I see."
The marine sergeant and two of his men charged up, muskets in hand, bayonets fixed. "Yes, Sergeant Harris, thank you," said Philip. "I believe you may stand down."
"Yes, sir," said Harris, saluting. He dismissed his men and retired to the lee side of the quarterdeck, where he wiped the sweat from his forehead with a brilliantly white handkerchief. How did he manage to keep his handkerchief so clean?
"Handkerchief, sir?" asked Mr Grey.
Philip flushed. "The brig was under fire, Mr Grey?" he asked quickly, hoping to cover his gaffe.
"Yes, sir, but Mr South disrespected my authority, sir. A master is subordinate to a lieutenant."
"I am aware of the niceties of rank, Lieutenant, thank you. Your reasoning for not sending the men to quarters was?" he asked, not unkindly.
Nevertheless, Lt Grey flushed, then turned pale. "It is for the captain to call to quarters, sir."
"I see." Philip turned to Midshipman Wilkins, who had returned to the quarterdeck. "Mr Wilkins, pass the word for Mr South."
The master appeared, wiping slush from his hands and saluting. "Mr South," said Philip, "I understand that you sent the sloop to quarters over Mr Grey's objections?"
"Yes, sir. That bugger was firing at us, sir, pardon me the expression, so I sent the men to quarters so as best to defend ourselves."
"I see." He was saying that a lot, he realised, but what in fact did he see? There was more to this than merely a disagreement over sending the sloop to quarters. "Mr South, you forget the authority of Mr Grey. There are times when it is appropriate to act of your own initiative, but you must apologize to the lieutenant for doing so."
The master stood straight, and assuming a blank expression, he saluted. "Mr Grey, I ask you pardon for sending the men to quarters."
The lieutenant blinked. "There are no times when it is appropriate to - to act of insubordinate, of your own initiative," he said, ignoring the master, who stood there stiffly, continuing to salute.
"Thank you, Mr South, you are dismissed," said Philip, and when the master had gone, "Mr Grey, are you questioning me? Are you questioning my authority?"
Grey swallowed. He saluted. "No, sir."
"Very good. In the future, the men will be set to quarters if we are under fire, without the necessity to defer to the Captain."
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
"Oh," said Philip. "Mr Wilkins, fetch Sergeant - fetch the sergeant of Marines. A breach of discipline, Mr Grey?"
"Yes, sir. Earlier, before the battle, Mr South had the bosun beat to quarters against my direct order not to do so."
"I see," said Philip. That must have been how his order to do the same had been carried out so quickly. He had wondered at the time. "Did he say why he did so?"
"He said the brig was under fire, sir, and the men needed to be at quarters."
"I see." Philip turned out to sea, away from all of the activity on deck, to consider. "I see."
The marine sergeant and two of his men charged up, muskets in hand, bayonets fixed. "Yes, Sergeant Harris, thank you," said Philip. "I believe you may stand down."
"Yes, sir," said Harris, saluting. He dismissed his men and retired to the lee side of the quarterdeck, where he wiped the sweat from his forehead with a brilliantly white handkerchief. How did he manage to keep his handkerchief so clean?
"Handkerchief, sir?" asked Mr Grey.
Philip flushed. "The brig was under fire, Mr Grey?" he asked quickly, hoping to cover his gaffe.
"Yes, sir, but Mr South disrespected my authority, sir. A master is subordinate to a lieutenant."
"I am aware of the niceties of rank, Lieutenant, thank you. Your reasoning for not sending the men to quarters was?" he asked, not unkindly.
Nevertheless, Lt Grey flushed, then turned pale. "It is for the captain to call to quarters, sir."
"I see." Philip turned to Midshipman Wilkins, who had returned to the quarterdeck. "Mr Wilkins, pass the word for Mr South."
The master appeared, wiping slush from his hands and saluting. "Mr South," said Philip, "I understand that you sent the sloop to quarters over Mr Grey's objections?"
"Yes, sir. That bugger was firing at us, sir, pardon me the expression, so I sent the men to quarters so as best to defend ourselves."
"I see." He was saying that a lot, he realised, but what in fact did he see? There was more to this than merely a disagreement over sending the sloop to quarters. "Mr South, you forget the authority of Mr Grey. There are times when it is appropriate to act of your own initiative, but you must apologize to the lieutenant for doing so."
The master stood straight, and assuming a blank expression, he saluted. "Mr Grey, I ask you pardon for sending the men to quarters."
The lieutenant blinked. "There are no times when it is appropriate to - to act of insubordinate, of your own initiative," he said, ignoring the master, who stood there stiffly, continuing to salute.
"Thank you, Mr South, you are dismissed," said Philip, and when the master had gone, "Mr Grey, are you questioning me? Are you questioning my authority?"
Grey swallowed. He saluted. "No, sir."
"Very good. In the future, the men will be set to quarters if we are under fire, without the necessity to defer to the Captain."
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
Friday, October 24, 2008
Obama, behind the scenes
The 1st photo's a magazine cover, but scroll down: photos of Sen Obama show the man behind the candidate: http://digitaljournalist.org/issue0810/callie-bp.html
Found at http://ethanhein.tumblr.com/post/55893696/callie-shells-photos-of-obama
Found at http://ethanhein.tumblr.com/post/55893696/callie-shells-photos-of-obama
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
How many people have incomes over $250,000?
...less than five percent of the population: http://pubdb3.census.gov/macro/032006/hhinc/new05_000.htm
So, if Obama is proposing to raise taxes only on those making over $250,000, over 95% of people wouldn't see an increase to their tax rate.
So, if Obama is proposing to raise taxes only on those making over $250,000, over 95% of people wouldn't see an increase to their tax rate.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Interactive electoral college map
The LA Times has an interactive map of the US, where clicking on states makes them blue, red, or undecided, and totals the electoral votes as you go: http://www.latimes.com/news/politics/la-votemap,0,2338623.htmlstory
Monday, October 20, 2008
Electoral votes, a currentish view
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:McCainObamaMatchupTWINtop.svg
At present, the map at the above location gives Obama 270 electoral votes, and McCain 155 votes, if only the states where there is a >5% difference are counted. If Obama holds onto the 21 states he has, the election is his.
BUT: It's not over yet.
At present, the map at the above location gives Obama 270 electoral votes, and McCain 155 votes, if only the states where there is a >5% difference are counted. If Obama holds onto the 21 states he has, the election is his.
BUT: It's not over yet.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
STO'B 12
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
Badger was a floating example of the power of superior gunnery. Her rigging sprawled over her deck and the surrounding sea, tangled with broken spars and broken bodies. She had no wheel, and no rudder to attach one to. Her mainmast leaned drunkenly; her foremast was broken off two feet above the deck. Her sails were a stitched together collection of holes. But, she had won.
The first priority had been to herd the able-bodied prisoners into the hold of their ship. The Frenchmen were dispirited now, but they outnumbered the Badgers heavily, and given time and opportunity they might rise and retake the Chasseur, and possibly take the Badger as well.
Now the Badgers worked to plug the holes in their sloop's hull and pump it free of water. Gangs of men, under the carpenter, fitted plugs into those holes below the waterline and patched the holes above it. The assistant carpenter and the armorer worked on rebuilding the starboard pump, while the port pump flung gallons of water into the sea. The bosun, directing another party, hauled cordage in from the sea. Hammering, cries, and oaths filled the sloop.
Over on the Chasseur, things were much better. Apart from the foretopmast, her masts and spars still stood, though the mainmast would need to be fished if it was to bear any press of sail. Most of her rigging remained in place, and her hull was untouched. Briefly, Philip considered abandoning the Badger and moving into the Chasseur; indeed, his lieutenant suggested they do just that.
"No," said Philip, stung at the suggestion. "Abandon my Badger? Absolutely not. what would the hands think," he added after a brief pause, "if I asked them to abandon their home these last years, all because of a little work? Yes, Mr Scott?" he asked as the carpenter approached.
The carpenter had several questions regarding the relative priority of the many necessary repairs, and the sailmaker followed him with more questions of the same sort. By the time he finished with the Sails, Lt Grey had taken a party of seamen to brace the mainmast, with a lot of shouting and liberal starting, so Philip collected another group to see about extracting the stump of the foremast and finding a replacement.
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
Badger was a floating example of the power of superior gunnery. Her rigging sprawled over her deck and the surrounding sea, tangled with broken spars and broken bodies. She had no wheel, and no rudder to attach one to. Her mainmast leaned drunkenly; her foremast was broken off two feet above the deck. Her sails were a stitched together collection of holes. But, she had won.
The first priority had been to herd the able-bodied prisoners into the hold of their ship. The Frenchmen were dispirited now, but they outnumbered the Badgers heavily, and given time and opportunity they might rise and retake the Chasseur, and possibly take the Badger as well.
Now the Badgers worked to plug the holes in their sloop's hull and pump it free of water. Gangs of men, under the carpenter, fitted plugs into those holes below the waterline and patched the holes above it. The assistant carpenter and the armorer worked on rebuilding the starboard pump, while the port pump flung gallons of water into the sea. The bosun, directing another party, hauled cordage in from the sea. Hammering, cries, and oaths filled the sloop.
Over on the Chasseur, things were much better. Apart from the foretopmast, her masts and spars still stood, though the mainmast would need to be fished if it was to bear any press of sail. Most of her rigging remained in place, and her hull was untouched. Briefly, Philip considered abandoning the Badger and moving into the Chasseur; indeed, his lieutenant suggested they do just that.
"No," said Philip, stung at the suggestion. "Abandon my Badger? Absolutely not. what would the hands think," he added after a brief pause, "if I asked them to abandon their home these last years, all because of a little work? Yes, Mr Scott?" he asked as the carpenter approached.
The carpenter had several questions regarding the relative priority of the many necessary repairs, and the sailmaker followed him with more questions of the same sort. By the time he finished with the Sails, Lt Grey had taken a party of seamen to brace the mainmast, with a lot of shouting and liberal starting, so Philip collected another group to see about extracting the stump of the foremast and finding a replacement.
* * *
Once the immediate repairs were complete - once the Badger was no longer in danger of sinking - Mr South asked Philip's permission to light the galley fires and send the starboard watch, who were theoretically below at this time, to breakfast. Philip was dubious - much work remained to do - but he allowed it, and when the starboard watch had eaten he allowed the master to bring them on deck and send the larboard watch below to eat.
Thus fed, the hands returned to work with greater energy, and just before five bells in the afternoon watch Badger set her fore and main courses on her new foremast and a reshrouded mainmast. Over on the Chassuer, the hands set the maincourse on the fished mainmast, and the wind serving (for the Badger still lacked a rudder, and neither Philip nor the carpenter had yet determined how they might fit one) the two brigs set sail to the east.
No sooner had this occurred than Mr Grey approached his captain on the quarterdeck, where he was deep in conversation with the carpenter regarding the rudder, and reported a breach of discipline.
Once the immediate repairs were complete - once the Badger was no longer in danger of sinking - Mr South asked Philip's permission to light the galley fires and send the starboard watch, who were theoretically below at this time, to breakfast. Philip was dubious - much work remained to do - but he allowed it, and when the starboard watch had eaten he allowed the master to bring them on deck and send the larboard watch below to eat.
Thus fed, the hands returned to work with greater energy, and just before five bells in the afternoon watch Badger set her fore and main courses on her new foremast and a reshrouded mainmast. Over on the Chassuer, the hands set the maincourse on the fished mainmast, and the wind serving (for the Badger still lacked a rudder, and neither Philip nor the carpenter had yet determined how they might fit one) the two brigs set sail to the east.
No sooner had this occurred than Mr Grey approached his captain on the quarterdeck, where he was deep in conversation with the carpenter regarding the rudder, and reported a breach of discipline.
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
Friday, October 17, 2008
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Cut and paste error
I lost a paragraph in transferring STO'B 11 into Blogger - now it's back. The new paragraph is the one beginning "Gun two was ready to fire again."
Monday, October 13, 2008
Term limits
New York's Mayor Bloomberg wants to run for a third term. The city has a term limit of two terms, though, so if he's going to run again that term limit will need to be overcome, and there seem to be some powerful emotions in the people opposed to that change. "It's undemocratic!" they say. "The people have spoken: they voted for the term limit. Overturning it is undemocratic."
This is a democracy, yes: if you don't want him to have a third term, then don't vote for him.
This is a democracy, yes: if you don't want him to have a third term, then don't vote for him.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
STO'B 11
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
With her rudder gone, Badger fell off the wind, bringing her starboard guns to bear. But the gun crews were still over at their port guns, peering for the enemy that was now behind them. Worse, the starboard guns had not even been cast loose.
"Other side!" shouted Philip, and he saw Wilkins and Smithers shoving the hands over to starboard. Philip leapt onto the nearest gun, ripping out its tompion and kicking open its port lid as it crew cast off the lashings that held it tightly to the sloop's side.
Badger continued to turn before the wind. The Frenchman - the Chasseur, for Philip could now make out her name in the growing light - continued to pound them. She was using chain now, and her shot screamed through the Badger's rigging, tearing it to pieces,
But now the Badger's gun's were free, and they started to fire: two, four and ten together, six, and a muffled roar and an immense cloud of smoke from eight: wet had gotten at the powder. Gun twelve suffered the same misfortune, and Philip watched its ball fall from its muzzle, straight into the sea.
In one of those strange silences that sometimes appeared in battle Philip heard six bells strike aboard the Chasseur - Badger's bell was gone, shot off by one of the Frenchman's earlier raking shots - and then the guns started in again. The Badger's wheel shattered, throwing the helmsmen right and left. On board the Chasseur, Philip saw the foretopmast, scored deep by at least one shot, start to teeter, but held by its shrouds it refused to fall. "Chain, chain! Aim for the foretopmast shrouds! Wilkins," he said, catching sight of the midshipman's red hair, "tell the for'ard guns to aim for the foretopmast shrouds."
Over at gun ten a splinter ripped open a flannel cartridge, spilling the gunpowder onto the deck, where it soaked up the wet. Philip climbed back to the quarterdeck and surveyed his sloop; several deep grooves marked the mainmast, and its starboard shrouds hung in useless ribbons, but the sea was steady and the mast remained upright. Near the foremast one of the guns lay on its side, and smears of blood marked where injured men had been carried below to the surgeon. Several bodies still lay on the deck, however, and near Philip the upper half of a man lay tangled in the wreckage of the starboard pump.
The carpenter was waiting. "Three feet of water in the well, sir, but we've a comfortable plug in the worst of the holes." Philip nodded, then turned his attention to the French brig. Badger, with no rudder, was now running before the wind, a course that would soon have her aboard of the Chasseur's port bow. The Chasseur was ripping Philip's sloop to pieces, but if he could board, the situation was not lost. "Boarders!" he cried, pulling his sword free and running forward to where the brigs would meet, "Badgers, prepare to board!"
Up at the bow he stepped around the wreckage of gun four and shared a few quick words with the remaining gun crews, switching them over to case shot, and the Badger bore down on the enemy. On board the Chasseur, Philip saw consternation appear among the men at the bow, and slowly spread aft. Some men began to retreat, joined by several others as Badger's forward guns sent dozens of metal shot into their midst. Several remained, however, gripping pistols, sabres and axes.
Gun two was ready to fire again. "Wait for it," said Philip. "Wait, wait." He felt the thump as gun six ran up against its port. "wait, wait! Now!" he cried, just before the brigs grounds together. The guns went off, cutting two awful red swathes through the Frenchmen clustered on the Chasseur's bow. Blood poured from the brig's scuppers, and bodies lay thick on the deck. "Badgers, to me, to me," cried Philip, leaping onto the barrel of one of the Chasseur's run out guns, and then onto her rail as grapnels flew past him on either side.
There were few Frenchmen left alive to meet him, but one of these fired a pistol at Philip, hitting a man behind him, then flipped the gun over and raised it as a club. Philip brought up his sword, parrying the blow, then gave the man a tremendous kick, throwing him down. Philip jumped down to the deck and the Badgers flowed around him, roaring. Philip found himself propelled along in front of the mob of Englishmen flooding onto the foc'sle and spilling into the waist.
Here it was close-packed fighting, barely room to move, with quick cuts, the combatants often chest to chest, pushing and heaving. Philip thrust at a small man with a axe, catching the man's blade and disarming him, then crushing his face with the pommel of his sword and leaving him for the next Frenchman. He felt several wounds: a half parried sword thrust on his thigh, something blunt had struck his shoulder, and his head rang with the noise of a pistol someone had fired off by his ear. "Rendre! Rendre!" he shouted, slowly working his way aft to the tafrail and its ensign staff.
A space opened up before him, and before he could react a French officer ran forward, slipping on the blood - no sand to save his traction - and sliding into Philip's legs, bringing him down. "Rendre, rendre!" roared Philip again as he grappled with the man. "No!" replied the Frenchman, breaking free and standing just as the foretopmast finally fell, covering them both with its sail and its tangled rigging.
"She's struck, she's struck!" Philip heard someone shouting as he fought with the canvas, and by the time he worked himself free the fighting had stopped. Men stood uncertainly, their weapons held awkwardly, except for a small group forward that Smithers and another man stepped in to break up. Over by the mainmast Philip saw Lt Grey pointing another French officer in Philip's direction and the officer limped up to Philip, offering his flag and sword.
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
With her rudder gone, Badger fell off the wind, bringing her starboard guns to bear. But the gun crews were still over at their port guns, peering for the enemy that was now behind them. Worse, the starboard guns had not even been cast loose.
"Other side!" shouted Philip, and he saw Wilkins and Smithers shoving the hands over to starboard. Philip leapt onto the nearest gun, ripping out its tompion and kicking open its port lid as it crew cast off the lashings that held it tightly to the sloop's side.
Badger continued to turn before the wind. The Frenchman - the Chasseur, for Philip could now make out her name in the growing light - continued to pound them. She was using chain now, and her shot screamed through the Badger's rigging, tearing it to pieces,
But now the Badger's gun's were free, and they started to fire: two, four and ten together, six, and a muffled roar and an immense cloud of smoke from eight: wet had gotten at the powder. Gun twelve suffered the same misfortune, and Philip watched its ball fall from its muzzle, straight into the sea.
In one of those strange silences that sometimes appeared in battle Philip heard six bells strike aboard the Chasseur - Badger's bell was gone, shot off by one of the Frenchman's earlier raking shots - and then the guns started in again. The Badger's wheel shattered, throwing the helmsmen right and left. On board the Chasseur, Philip saw the foretopmast, scored deep by at least one shot, start to teeter, but held by its shrouds it refused to fall. "Chain, chain! Aim for the foretopmast shrouds! Wilkins," he said, catching sight of the midshipman's red hair, "tell the for'ard guns to aim for the foretopmast shrouds."
Over at gun ten a splinter ripped open a flannel cartridge, spilling the gunpowder onto the deck, where it soaked up the wet. Philip climbed back to the quarterdeck and surveyed his sloop; several deep grooves marked the mainmast, and its starboard shrouds hung in useless ribbons, but the sea was steady and the mast remained upright. Near the foremast one of the guns lay on its side, and smears of blood marked where injured men had been carried below to the surgeon. Several bodies still lay on the deck, however, and near Philip the upper half of a man lay tangled in the wreckage of the starboard pump.
The carpenter was waiting. "Three feet of water in the well, sir, but we've a comfortable plug in the worst of the holes." Philip nodded, then turned his attention to the French brig. Badger, with no rudder, was now running before the wind, a course that would soon have her aboard of the Chasseur's port bow. The Chasseur was ripping Philip's sloop to pieces, but if he could board, the situation was not lost. "Boarders!" he cried, pulling his sword free and running forward to where the brigs would meet, "Badgers, prepare to board!"
Up at the bow he stepped around the wreckage of gun four and shared a few quick words with the remaining gun crews, switching them over to case shot, and the Badger bore down on the enemy. On board the Chasseur, Philip saw consternation appear among the men at the bow, and slowly spread aft. Some men began to retreat, joined by several others as Badger's forward guns sent dozens of metal shot into their midst. Several remained, however, gripping pistols, sabres and axes.
Gun two was ready to fire again. "Wait for it," said Philip. "Wait, wait." He felt the thump as gun six ran up against its port. "wait, wait! Now!" he cried, just before the brigs grounds together. The guns went off, cutting two awful red swathes through the Frenchmen clustered on the Chasseur's bow. Blood poured from the brig's scuppers, and bodies lay thick on the deck. "Badgers, to me, to me," cried Philip, leaping onto the barrel of one of the Chasseur's run out guns, and then onto her rail as grapnels flew past him on either side.
There were few Frenchmen left alive to meet him, but one of these fired a pistol at Philip, hitting a man behind him, then flipped the gun over and raised it as a club. Philip brought up his sword, parrying the blow, then gave the man a tremendous kick, throwing him down. Philip jumped down to the deck and the Badgers flowed around him, roaring. Philip found himself propelled along in front of the mob of Englishmen flooding onto the foc'sle and spilling into the waist.
Here it was close-packed fighting, barely room to move, with quick cuts, the combatants often chest to chest, pushing and heaving. Philip thrust at a small man with a axe, catching the man's blade and disarming him, then crushing his face with the pommel of his sword and leaving him for the next Frenchman. He felt several wounds: a half parried sword thrust on his thigh, something blunt had struck his shoulder, and his head rang with the noise of a pistol someone had fired off by his ear. "Rendre! Rendre!" he shouted, slowly working his way aft to the tafrail and its ensign staff.
A space opened up before him, and before he could react a French officer ran forward, slipping on the blood - no sand to save his traction - and sliding into Philip's legs, bringing him down. "Rendre, rendre!" roared Philip again as he grappled with the man. "No!" replied the Frenchman, breaking free and standing just as the foretopmast finally fell, covering them both with its sail and its tangled rigging.
"She's struck, she's struck!" Philip heard someone shouting as he fought with the canvas, and by the time he worked himself free the fighting had stopped. Men stood uncertainly, their weapons held awkwardly, except for a small group forward that Smithers and another man stepped in to break up. Over by the mainmast Philip saw Lt Grey pointing another French officer in Philip's direction and the officer limped up to Philip, offering his flag and sword.
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Right on the money: 99 red baloons
From http://www.irregularwebcomic.net/2085.html
Not sure how to compare that with today, where there is no known nuclear superpower targeting us, but terrorism lurks as a more amorphous, just as ever-present, fear.
And in some ways, I'm still terrified of AIDS (also discussed on the linked page)
Boy, do I remember that.Many people today are worried about global warming; some people are extremely worried about it. But global warming is something that will most seriously affect our children and our grandchildren. We certainly should be concerned about problems we may be leaving for them. But in the 1980s, we were worried about something that would affect us.
That would kill us.
At any time.
With little or no warning.
Not sure how to compare that with today, where there is no known nuclear superpower targeting us, but terrorism lurks as a more amorphous, just as ever-present, fear.
And in some ways, I'm still terrified of AIDS (also discussed on the linked page)
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Don't know where to vote?
Try this search: where to vote site:.gov (http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&client=firefox-a&rls=org.mozilla%3Aen-US%3Aofficial&hs=RoS&q=where+to+vote+site%3A.gov&btnG=Search) and scroll down for your state or locality.
For general info that applies to all states, and links to state offices try http://www.usa.gov/Citizen/Topics/Voting/Register.shtml. If I can find a grand list or locator I'll put it up. -B
For general info that applies to all states, and links to state offices try http://www.usa.gov/Citizen/Topics/Voting/Register.shtml. If I can find a grand list or locator I'll put it up. -B
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Ice
from: http://ethanhein.tumblr.com/post/53495287/via-randominternet
Alternate title: New data suggests that not all polar bears can read English
Sunday, October 5, 2008
STO'B 10
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
Philip awoke to violent shaking and the sound of a crash far forward. "Christ," he said, "stop shaking my cot, Mr Wilkins, I'm awake. Mutiny?" he asked as another crash reverberated forward, "Is it mutiny?"
"No sir, no." said the pale-faced midshipman, "Mr. Grey's compliments and there is firing on the port bow. Shall he beat to quarters?"
"Yes!" cried Philip, swinging out of his cot. "He has to ask?" The midshipman scurried out and Philip grabbed his breeches from the chair and hurriedly donned them, then opened the skylight and pulled himself through to the quarterdeck as the drum broke out an urgent call, followed immediately by several shouts and the thunder of rushing feet. A dull thump sounded somewhere, followed by another splintering crash as part of the port rail disintegrated into a shower of splinters, one of which knocked Philip down. It was nothing, he found, but as he stood up a spent cannonball ran crack against his ankle. An eighteen pound cannonball, he saw. Badger mounted only four pounders.
He peered into the darkness to port, and after a moment he made out a shape. "Mr Grey," he called his lieutenant over. The lieutenant was clearly angry about something, and opened his mouth to speak, but Philip cut him off. "Your glass, if you please." He grabbed the nearest set of shrouds and pulled himself up onto the rail, out of the way of the seaman who frantically splashed sand and water over the deck against the danger of spilled gunpowder, and leveled the telescope at the enemy. She was a brig, similar to his own, wearing French colors and ghosting toward them under topsails alone.
In the waist, coming to life with battle lanterns, the gun crews cast loose their charges, and Philip saw two hands heaving on crowbars to open their port lid. Two more sailors lay a damp fearnought screen over the hatchway to the magazine, where the gunner was no doubt filling cartridge from his deadly little kegs.
Another shot from the Frenchman, and a man fell, screaming, half of his abdomen ripped out. "Port guns, fire as you bear!" Philip cried, and guns one, three, and seven went off almost simultaneously with a brilliant flash that half-blinded him. Peering around the spots in his vision he climbed down from the rail, handed the lieutenant's telescope back, and found the master. "Bear up, Mr South."
The Badger's new course brought the rest of her broadside to bear on the enemy, and all of her port guns except three and seven, which were still reloading, and five, which hadn't yet managed to open its port lid, went off at once.
The Frenchman now bore up as well, and the two brigs ran, the Badger a little ahead, on parallel courses. The Frenchman fired again, two guns at once, one ball splashing into their wake, the other striking their hull with a dull crash.
Gun five's port was still jammed shut. Philip yelled to the gun's crew to fire - to blast open the lid with the shot - but he could not get their attention over the noise of the battle. "Sir, sir!" cried Emmet, the tallest and thinnest of his midshipmen, "Sir, I'll go!"
"Do!" cried Philip. He had to shout to be heard at all above the guns. The midshipman saluted, then scrambled down to the gun deck.
Philip turned back to the enemy, which to his surprise was not there and, indeed, he noticed the the guns had stopped firing. "Has she sunk?" he asked aloud. It could not be true.
It wasn't. A flash in the smoke aft revealed the enemy: he had fallen off and was crossing the Badger's stern, and now she would rake them. The first flash was followed by several more and a hail of iron struck the Badger, one ball smashing her rudder, the rest traveling the length of the brig, plowing through the men, decimating the crew.
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* CHAPTER TWO *
Philip awoke to violent shaking and the sound of a crash far forward. "Christ," he said, "stop shaking my cot, Mr Wilkins, I'm awake. Mutiny?" he asked as another crash reverberated forward, "Is it mutiny?"
"No sir, no." said the pale-faced midshipman, "Mr. Grey's compliments and there is firing on the port bow. Shall he beat to quarters?"
"Yes!" cried Philip, swinging out of his cot. "He has to ask?" The midshipman scurried out and Philip grabbed his breeches from the chair and hurriedly donned them, then opened the skylight and pulled himself through to the quarterdeck as the drum broke out an urgent call, followed immediately by several shouts and the thunder of rushing feet. A dull thump sounded somewhere, followed by another splintering crash as part of the port rail disintegrated into a shower of splinters, one of which knocked Philip down. It was nothing, he found, but as he stood up a spent cannonball ran crack against his ankle. An eighteen pound cannonball, he saw. Badger mounted only four pounders.
He peered into the darkness to port, and after a moment he made out a shape. "Mr Grey," he called his lieutenant over. The lieutenant was clearly angry about something, and opened his mouth to speak, but Philip cut him off. "Your glass, if you please." He grabbed the nearest set of shrouds and pulled himself up onto the rail, out of the way of the seaman who frantically splashed sand and water over the deck against the danger of spilled gunpowder, and leveled the telescope at the enemy. She was a brig, similar to his own, wearing French colors and ghosting toward them under topsails alone.
In the waist, coming to life with battle lanterns, the gun crews cast loose their charges, and Philip saw two hands heaving on crowbars to open their port lid. Two more sailors lay a damp fearnought screen over the hatchway to the magazine, where the gunner was no doubt filling cartridge from his deadly little kegs.
Another shot from the Frenchman, and a man fell, screaming, half of his abdomen ripped out. "Port guns, fire as you bear!" Philip cried, and guns one, three, and seven went off almost simultaneously with a brilliant flash that half-blinded him. Peering around the spots in his vision he climbed down from the rail, handed the lieutenant's telescope back, and found the master. "Bear up, Mr South."
The Badger's new course brought the rest of her broadside to bear on the enemy, and all of her port guns except three and seven, which were still reloading, and five, which hadn't yet managed to open its port lid, went off at once.
The Frenchman now bore up as well, and the two brigs ran, the Badger a little ahead, on parallel courses. The Frenchman fired again, two guns at once, one ball splashing into their wake, the other striking their hull with a dull crash.
Gun five's port was still jammed shut. Philip yelled to the gun's crew to fire - to blast open the lid with the shot - but he could not get their attention over the noise of the battle. "Sir, sir!" cried Emmet, the tallest and thinnest of his midshipmen, "Sir, I'll go!"
"Do!" cried Philip. He had to shout to be heard at all above the guns. The midshipman saluted, then scrambled down to the gun deck.
Philip turned back to the enemy, which to his surprise was not there and, indeed, he noticed the the guns had stopped firing. "Has she sunk?" he asked aloud. It could not be true.
It wasn't. A flash in the smoke aft revealed the enemy: he had fallen off and was crossing the Badger's stern, and now she would rake them. The first flash was followed by several more and a hail of iron struck the Badger, one ball smashing her rudder, the rest traveling the length of the brig, plowing through the men, decimating the crew.
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
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