Every once in a while I wander over to the NASA page on the Mars rovers. You probably remember those guys - six-wheeled semi-autonomous robots we sent off to Mars several years ago, figuring they'd run for three months before the Martian environment killed them off. Well, they're still running around on the red planet, five years after their three-month warranty ran out, and I'm frequently amazed by that. When Mars and Earth are on the same side of the sun, 50 million miles separate them. Read that again: 50,000,000 miles, when the planets are close to each other.
Mars's temperature averages about -60 C, or -81 F. That's cold. There's little, if any, oxygen (though I suppose that helps prevent corrosion), and dust storms are fairly frequent, which is a problem if you're solar-powered (as the rovers are). And these guys are still running.
And then I think about the Voyager spacecraft. The Voyagers, who were launched when JFK was president, are each now over 8 Billion miles away - that's billion with a b (Voyager 1 is 9.9 Billion miles away). And they're still collecting and sending data back, and still fueling discoveries.
Wow.
Mars Rovers: http://marsrovers.nasa.gov/home/index.html
Voyagers Spacecraft: http://voyager.jpl.nasa.gov/index.html
Friday, September 25, 2009
The Water Bowl
I feel bad for Christian. Every time he finds a new hidey-hole (and hidey holes are important to a cat's sense of safety and well-being) Shadow comes along and evicts him, moving in herself (and abandoning her old hidey-hole (his old hidey-hole) to do so). His most recent find was his cat carrier, which lives nestled in a corner between two bookcases, behind the third book case that's been in the middle of the floor since the roof began to leak last month, and beside the box of papers that I don't know what to do with, but can't throw out because they're valuable somehow. But the point is that he found a place to sit quietly, which was protected but enabled him to see out, and once again Shadow ousted him. As I said, I feel bad, and I don't know what to do.
So about twenty minutes ago, when Christian discovered that his carrier was unoccupied, he went over to it and crept inside. He was mostly in - only his tail was poking out - when Shadow discovered him and headed over there herself. I stepped out of the kitchen to observe, and as I did, my foot caught something. The location of the object, and its weight, and the sound it made when my foot hit it all meant that I knew what it was before I looked down - it was the cats' water bowl - the one by the kitchen.
I have caught and spilled this water bowl before - it's really not in the best of locations, from the not-catching-it-with-your-foot perspective. The cats have upset it, too, when racing around and horseplaying. There was even the memorable time when they knocked into it, sloshing some water out, and then I did the same when stooping to clean up what they had spilled, sloshing yet more water onto the wooden floor. But we have never yet managed to empty the entire bowl onto the floor, until I tonight.
And this is no small bowl, either, because I am paranoid about the cats running out of water. I picture the power going out, and with it the air conditioning, and my poor cats, tongues hanging out, finally collapsing of dehydration because I didn't leave enough water. This is a bowl designed for dogs, which holds a liter of water when full, as it approximately was twenty minutes ago until I caught it with my foot.
(If that bowl proves to be insufficient, there is another, equally large bowl of water over by their water fountain, which itself holds over a liter of water when full, but more on the fountain in another post.)
So, there I was, with a liter of water on my floor, which is rented and wooden, and no doubt greedily drinking in all of that water because it's also unfinished. Or maybe it has lost its finish through years of deferred maintenance, not to say neglect, on the part of my landlord. More on that in another post, too. Either way, it's not protected from water. And apart from the water that was soaking into the Stop & Shop ad ("do you know an employee who deserves an A+?") and that which had soaked my jeans up to the knee, all of that water was on the floor.
No big deal, but all I can think of while stripping my bathroom of its towel and cleaning up the mess was "ooh, what a great blog post." And, "how do I wrap this post up?"
So about twenty minutes ago, when Christian discovered that his carrier was unoccupied, he went over to it and crept inside. He was mostly in - only his tail was poking out - when Shadow discovered him and headed over there herself. I stepped out of the kitchen to observe, and as I did, my foot caught something. The location of the object, and its weight, and the sound it made when my foot hit it all meant that I knew what it was before I looked down - it was the cats' water bowl - the one by the kitchen.
I have caught and spilled this water bowl before - it's really not in the best of locations, from the not-catching-it-with-your-foot perspective. The cats have upset it, too, when racing around and horseplaying. There was even the memorable time when they knocked into it, sloshing some water out, and then I did the same when stooping to clean up what they had spilled, sloshing yet more water onto the wooden floor. But we have never yet managed to empty the entire bowl onto the floor, until I tonight.
And this is no small bowl, either, because I am paranoid about the cats running out of water. I picture the power going out, and with it the air conditioning, and my poor cats, tongues hanging out, finally collapsing of dehydration because I didn't leave enough water. This is a bowl designed for dogs, which holds a liter of water when full, as it approximately was twenty minutes ago until I caught it with my foot.
(If that bowl proves to be insufficient, there is another, equally large bowl of water over by their water fountain, which itself holds over a liter of water when full, but more on the fountain in another post.)
So, there I was, with a liter of water on my floor, which is rented and wooden, and no doubt greedily drinking in all of that water because it's also unfinished. Or maybe it has lost its finish through years of deferred maintenance, not to say neglect, on the part of my landlord. More on that in another post, too. Either way, it's not protected from water. And apart from the water that was soaking into the Stop & Shop ad ("do you know an employee who deserves an A+?") and that which had soaked my jeans up to the knee, all of that water was on the floor.
No big deal, but all I can think of while stripping my bathroom of its towel and cleaning up the mess was "ooh, what a great blog post." And, "how do I wrap this post up?"
Thursday, September 24, 2009
The War of 1812
I'm going to give you a hypothetical situation to think about: what if an Iranian frigate (a type of warship) took - destroyed - a U.S. frigate?
Now, I'm aware of the attack on the U.S. Cole several years ago - and this is not what I'm driving at. Some crewmen died in that attack, but the Cole survived, was repaired, and returned to service in the U.S. Navy. As shocking as the attack was, the Cole wasn't destroyed, and she wasn't taken. But what if an Iranian frigate took a U.S. one?
In 1812, the United States of America declared war on England. The reasons for this are long and complex (as is so often the case on war) and are beyond the point of this post), but the outcome of the war arguably marked the entrance of the U.S. onto the world stage.
Before the war, the U.S. was merely a loose group of former colonies - a third-rate nation at best. They possessed little in the way of a navy, with 19 vessels, of which 16 were actually in service. Seven of these were frigates, with the remainder being smaller vessels such as brigs and sloops. England's navy (the Royal Navy) possessed over 600 in-service vessels, of which about 175 were ships of the line - a class of ships that would eventually come be known as battleships, and which were larger and heavier than the frigates that formed the largest ships in the American navy. So on paper, there was no contest: the American navy would be lucky to capture a few British Merchantmen before being captured itself, or at best bottled up by Royal Navy blockade.(1)
The course of history also seemed to be against the Americans. For the past 20 years, the Royal Navy had routinely routed every enemy it had faced. Nelson's victory at Trafalgar(2) had been notable only for the scale of the victory; the Royal Navy simply won and won, even when out manned and outgunned. It was a foregone conclusion that the war at sea would be swiftly over, with England victorious.
It was with supreme confidence, therefore, that Captain Dacres of the HMS Guerriere met the US Constitution (Captain Hull) on August 19th, 1812. He addressed his men, saying that he exepcted them to beat the Constitution in 30 minutes, and that he would be "offended with them if they did not do their business in that time." Dacres was not too far off in the length of the battle (Constitution ceased firing less than 25 minutes after she opened fire at 6:05pm) but he was wrong in his prediction of its outcome: Constitution destroyed the Guerriere, so badly shattering her that she was worthless as a prize and had to be burned so as not to be a menace to navigation. Besides their frigate, the British lost 23 killed, plus another 56 wounded. American casualties were seven killed, and seven wounded.
Let me pause here to see if I can put this in modern terms. England no longer rules the waves - if anyone does, I suppose it is America. So, what would we think if, say, an Iranian frigate engaged a U.S. frigate - and destroyed her in less than half an hour?
Of course, this only begins to approach the reality of what happened in the War of 1812, because the U.S. Navy hasn't spent twenty years defeating every other armed nation on earth. If the U.S. Navy were to tomorrow take on, say, the combined English and German navies, I don't know who would win. And, of course, not only did the Constitution take the Guerriere on August 19th, but a little over one month later the US United States took the HMS Macedonian. And then on December 29th, Constitution met and took the HMS Java. The United States, an infant nation with an insignificant navy, met and smashed the forces of the most powerful international force in the world. The world took notice.
(follow-up post: The War of 1812 revisited)
(1) This disparity is lessened by the fact that England was then also embroiled in the Napoleanic wars, which placed great demands on her navy, but the fact remains that the Royal Navy was much more powerful than the U.S. Navy, with larger, heavier ships and greater reserves of men and materiel.
(2) Nelson, with 27 ships of the line, trounced a combined Franco-Spanish fleet of 33 ships of the line, sinking one and capturing 17 while losing none of his own,
Sources:
* Battle of Trafalgar: Grant, R. G. Battle at Sea: 3,000 Years of Naval Warfare. DK Publishing, New York. 2008 @ pp 188-189.
* War of 1812:
- relative strength of the Royal and American Navies: Toll, Ian W. Six Frigates: The Epic History of the Founding of the U.S. Navy. Norton, New York. 2006. @ pp 331-333.
- Constitution:Guerriere engagement: Toll (ibid) @ pp 347-354.
- Constitution:Java engagement: Toll (ibid) @ pp 375-380.
- United States:Macedonian engagement: Toll (ibid) @ pp 360-365.
NOTE: this post has been cross-posted at http://badgersclassroom.blogspot.com/2009/09/war-of-1812-and-us-navy.html
Now, I'm aware of the attack on the U.S. Cole several years ago - and this is not what I'm driving at. Some crewmen died in that attack, but the Cole survived, was repaired, and returned to service in the U.S. Navy. As shocking as the attack was, the Cole wasn't destroyed, and she wasn't taken. But what if an Iranian frigate took a U.S. one?
In 1812, the United States of America declared war on England. The reasons for this are long and complex (as is so often the case on war) and are beyond the point of this post), but the outcome of the war arguably marked the entrance of the U.S. onto the world stage.
Before the war, the U.S. was merely a loose group of former colonies - a third-rate nation at best. They possessed little in the way of a navy, with 19 vessels, of which 16 were actually in service. Seven of these were frigates, with the remainder being smaller vessels such as brigs and sloops. England's navy (the Royal Navy) possessed over 600 in-service vessels, of which about 175 were ships of the line - a class of ships that would eventually come be known as battleships, and which were larger and heavier than the frigates that formed the largest ships in the American navy. So on paper, there was no contest: the American navy would be lucky to capture a few British Merchantmen before being captured itself, or at best bottled up by Royal Navy blockade.(1)
The course of history also seemed to be against the Americans. For the past 20 years, the Royal Navy had routinely routed every enemy it had faced. Nelson's victory at Trafalgar(2) had been notable only for the scale of the victory; the Royal Navy simply won and won, even when out manned and outgunned. It was a foregone conclusion that the war at sea would be swiftly over, with England victorious.
It was with supreme confidence, therefore, that Captain Dacres of the HMS Guerriere met the US Constitution (Captain Hull) on August 19th, 1812. He addressed his men, saying that he exepcted them to beat the Constitution in 30 minutes, and that he would be "offended with them if they did not do their business in that time." Dacres was not too far off in the length of the battle (Constitution ceased firing less than 25 minutes after she opened fire at 6:05pm) but he was wrong in his prediction of its outcome: Constitution destroyed the Guerriere, so badly shattering her that she was worthless as a prize and had to be burned so as not to be a menace to navigation. Besides their frigate, the British lost 23 killed, plus another 56 wounded. American casualties were seven killed, and seven wounded.
Let me pause here to see if I can put this in modern terms. England no longer rules the waves - if anyone does, I suppose it is America. So, what would we think if, say, an Iranian frigate engaged a U.S. frigate - and destroyed her in less than half an hour?
Of course, this only begins to approach the reality of what happened in the War of 1812, because the U.S. Navy hasn't spent twenty years defeating every other armed nation on earth. If the U.S. Navy were to tomorrow take on, say, the combined English and German navies, I don't know who would win. And, of course, not only did the Constitution take the Guerriere on August 19th, but a little over one month later the US United States took the HMS Macedonian. And then on December 29th, Constitution met and took the HMS Java. The United States, an infant nation with an insignificant navy, met and smashed the forces of the most powerful international force in the world. The world took notice.
(follow-up post: The War of 1812 revisited)
(1) This disparity is lessened by the fact that England was then also embroiled in the Napoleanic wars, which placed great demands on her navy, but the fact remains that the Royal Navy was much more powerful than the U.S. Navy, with larger, heavier ships and greater reserves of men and materiel.
(2) Nelson, with 27 ships of the line, trounced a combined Franco-Spanish fleet of 33 ships of the line, sinking one and capturing 17 while losing none of his own,
Sources:
* Battle of Trafalgar: Grant, R. G. Battle at Sea: 3,000 Years of Naval Warfare. DK Publishing, New York. 2008 @ pp 188-189.
* War of 1812:
- relative strength of the Royal and American Navies: Toll, Ian W. Six Frigates: The Epic History of the Founding of the U.S. Navy. Norton, New York. 2006. @ pp 331-333.
- Constitution:Guerriere engagement: Toll (ibid) @ pp 347-354.
- Constitution:Java engagement: Toll (ibid) @ pp 375-380.
- United States:Macedonian engagement: Toll (ibid) @ pp 360-365.
NOTE: this post has been cross-posted at http://badgersclassroom.blogspot.com/2009/09/war-of-1812-and-us-navy.html
Monday, September 21, 2009
The Smoke Assassin - or whatever they call it now
There's a relatively new anti-smoking device out there they called the Smoke Assassin. Actually, they now seem to call it something else - just about the same ad with a new product name, but the name Smoke Assassin came first, and stuck in my head, so that's the one I'll run with here.
So here's the deal with the Smoke Assassin: the commercial tells you that the product doesn't actually work. "We won't tell you that you'll quit smoking, but thousands quit every day." Very nice - I support quitting smoking, but the fact that thousands quit every day doesn't mean that the Smoke Assassin had anything to do with it. In fact, if Smoke Assassin did help these people quit, I suspect the ad would say so. So between the lines, the message is: buy this device! - it won't help you quit smoking.
Accoding to the Smoke Assassin website, the gas you inhale from the device contains no nicotine, so switching from cigarettes to Smoke Assassin would be the equivalent of quitting cigarettes cold turkey, with nothing to help you face the nicotine cravings. The Smoke Assassin does give you an opportunity to maintain the oral habit, but the refils aren't cheap. Each refil is the equivalent of a pack and a half of cigarettes, the website tells us, and they sell for $70 for 20, or $100 for 40. That's cheaper than real cigarettes, but its still nothing to sneeze at. Why not switch to carrot sticks instead?
Looking for customer service? See this post. (Added 4/4/2010)
So here's the deal with the Smoke Assassin: the commercial tells you that the product doesn't actually work. "We won't tell you that you'll quit smoking, but thousands quit every day." Very nice - I support quitting smoking, but the fact that thousands quit every day doesn't mean that the Smoke Assassin had anything to do with it. In fact, if Smoke Assassin did help these people quit, I suspect the ad would say so. So between the lines, the message is: buy this device! - it won't help you quit smoking.
Accoding to the Smoke Assassin website, the gas you inhale from the device contains no nicotine, so switching from cigarettes to Smoke Assassin would be the equivalent of quitting cigarettes cold turkey, with nothing to help you face the nicotine cravings. The Smoke Assassin does give you an opportunity to maintain the oral habit, but the refils aren't cheap. Each refil is the equivalent of a pack and a half of cigarettes, the website tells us, and they sell for $70 for 20, or $100 for 40. That's cheaper than real cigarettes, but its still nothing to sneeze at. Why not switch to carrot sticks instead?
Looking for customer service? See this post. (Added 4/4/2010)
Monday, September 14, 2009
STOB 43
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
GLOSSARY
By now she was a total wreck, with her foretopmast gone, her mainsail full of holes, and her hull half-filled with water. She had slowed to two knots or less, so her grounding on the soft, sand bar was gentle enough that the men didn’t even stagger as she came to a halt. “Into the boat,” said Philip, and as his men piled into the cutter he found a lantern and tinderbox, lighting the lantern and then using it to light the frayed ropes, smashed barrels and crumpled canvass at the base of the mainmast. A bucket of tar caught, and by the time he raced across the deck and into the cutter the flames were already climbing the mast.
They pulled for the Badger, which had slowed to allow them to catch up and dropped a line over her stern. The bowman made the line fast and they pulled in under the counter, climbing aboard through the stern gallery of the officers’ dining cabin.
Philip found the master on deck, conning the ship at the sloop. “Welcome aboard, sir,” he said, saluting. He paused to shout an order forward, to the group of men working about the foremast rigging prior to sending up a new yard, then, “welcome aboard. What course, sir?”
“Northeast by east. Wilkins,” he called, “where is Wilkins? How are you both manning the con and seeing to the foreyard?”
“In the waist, sir, with the cannon that were unseated, like,” said South.
“Well,” said Philip. Rogers and Adams, the other true midshipmen (as opposed to supernumerary boys, though the difference was at times difficult to discern, particularly when relieving the watch early in the morning), were aboard the Chasseur, leaving only himself, the Master, and the two men at the wheel on the quarterdeck, aside from the usual Marine. “You,” said Philip, “What’s your name?”
“Crowe, sir,” said the Marine, saluting stiffly.
“Crowe, hail the Chasseur and tell them to follow. Take a speaking trumpet from the binnacle - the binnacle, man, where the compass is, and tell them to follow.”
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
GLOSSARY
GLOSSARY
By now she was a total wreck, with her foretopmast gone, her mainsail full of holes, and her hull half-filled with water. She had slowed to two knots or less, so her grounding on the soft, sand bar was gentle enough that the men didn’t even stagger as she came to a halt. “Into the boat,” said Philip, and as his men piled into the cutter he found a lantern and tinderbox, lighting the lantern and then using it to light the frayed ropes, smashed barrels and crumpled canvass at the base of the mainmast. A bucket of tar caught, and by the time he raced across the deck and into the cutter the flames were already climbing the mast.
They pulled for the Badger, which had slowed to allow them to catch up and dropped a line over her stern. The bowman made the line fast and they pulled in under the counter, climbing aboard through the stern gallery of the officers’ dining cabin.
Philip found the master on deck, conning the ship at the sloop. “Welcome aboard, sir,” he said, saluting. He paused to shout an order forward, to the group of men working about the foremast rigging prior to sending up a new yard, then, “welcome aboard. What course, sir?”
“Northeast by east. Wilkins,” he called, “where is Wilkins? How are you both manning the con and seeing to the foreyard?”
“In the waist, sir, with the cannon that were unseated, like,” said South.
“Well,” said Philip. Rogers and Adams, the other true midshipmen (as opposed to supernumerary boys, though the difference was at times difficult to discern, particularly when relieving the watch early in the morning), were aboard the Chasseur, leaving only himself, the Master, and the two men at the wheel on the quarterdeck, aside from the usual Marine. “You,” said Philip, “What’s your name?”
“Crowe, sir,” said the Marine, saluting stiffly.
“Crowe, hail the Chasseur and tell them to follow. Take a speaking trumpet from the binnacle - the binnacle, man, where the compass is, and tell them to follow.”
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
GLOSSARY
Set your computer free
Historically, music has been mixed with a rack of filters, amplifiers, and such, and many computerized mixers seek to reconstruct the tactile mixer. Ethan explores a simpler method: using the computer to set the software free from the hardware. It's a design technique that might work well in other arenas, too.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
STO'B 42
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
GLOSSARY
But now, with all three vessels turning north out of the harbor, the fortress battery opened up again. Shot, some of it heated, rained down on them at an unbelievable rate as they approached the narrow channel between the bar and the opposite shore, and one of these plunged through the Citoyen Pierre’s decks, through the bottom of her hull, and into the water below.
This was the end. Water surged in through this new hole, overcoming the pumps, which were already struggling to keep the snow afloat. “Steer for the bar, Kent,” Philip said to the man at the tiller, “we’ll beach her.”
“Yes, sir,” said Kent.
“Sergeant Quinn,” Philip called his junior Marine sergeant over, “take your men and move the prisoners into the snow’s jolly boat and set them adrift. Gather up all of the combustibles you can find and place them around the main mast.”
“Yes, sir,” said Quinn, saluting and then tasking off men to search different parts of the snow. Philip stepped below to the cabin to rifle, found a speaking trumpet, the logbook and a few other papers that might prove useful if they could be translated, and returned to the deck just as the Citoyen Pierre ran up on the bar.
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
GLOSSARY
GLOSSARY
But now, with all three vessels turning north out of the harbor, the fortress battery opened up again. Shot, some of it heated, rained down on them at an unbelievable rate as they approached the narrow channel between the bar and the opposite shore, and one of these plunged through the Citoyen Pierre’s decks, through the bottom of her hull, and into the water below.
This was the end. Water surged in through this new hole, overcoming the pumps, which were already struggling to keep the snow afloat. “Steer for the bar, Kent,” Philip said to the man at the tiller, “we’ll beach her.”
“Yes, sir,” said Kent.
“Sergeant Quinn,” Philip called his junior Marine sergeant over, “take your men and move the prisoners into the snow’s jolly boat and set them adrift. Gather up all of the combustibles you can find and place them around the main mast.”
“Yes, sir,” said Quinn, saluting and then tasking off men to search different parts of the snow. Philip stepped below to the cabin to rifle, found a speaking trumpet, the logbook and a few other papers that might prove useful if they could be translated, and returned to the deck just as the Citoyen Pierre ran up on the bar.
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
GLOSSARY
Saturday, September 12, 2009
X-Ray vignette
The tall, pillared nave of the stone cathedral was filled with the moving sound of Bach’s “Saint Mathew Passion.” The singers, 20 or so of the congregations oldest members, plus two younger members, understood the true nature of the piece, having practiced all year, and most of their audience sat in rapt admiration of the beauty of their singing.
In the middle aisle, however, rather closer to the front of the nave than to its back, a small group of people was not paying attention. One of them was a young woman, very beautiful but clinically dead. Two were EMTs, vigorously performing CPR to revive the young woman, and two more were paramedics, who struggled feverishly to provide the young woman with an airway by fitting a tube into her trachea.
In the middle aisle, however, rather closer to the front of the nave than to its back, a small group of people was not paying attention. One of them was a young woman, very beautiful but clinically dead. Two were EMTs, vigorously performing CPR to revive the young woman, and two more were paramedics, who struggled feverishly to provide the young woman with an airway by fitting a tube into her trachea.
Friday, September 11, 2009
STO'B 41
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
GLOSSARY
Philip hailed the Chasseur just as one of the Chasseur’s shot tore through the foretop shrouds and another slammed into her hull just below the main chains. Citoyen Pierre was lightly built, and she could not take much more of this. Nevertheless, she would last longer against the Chasseur’s guns than against the fortress, with its plunging fire and exploding shells, though to be true, the fort seemed to have left off for the moment. He saw Lieutenant Grey call for a speaking trumpet and put it to his ear. “Ahoy, the Chasseur,” Philip called again. “Lieutenant Grey, we have taken the snow. Cease fire!”
“Captain Fitton!” came Lieutenant Grey’s voice. “Is that you, sir?”
“Yes,” replied Philip. “What is your condition?”
“Seven men down, sir, one quarter gallery destroyed, several holes in the deck,” replied the lieutenant.
Philip could also see several cracked or leaning spars. A steady flow of water flowed from each of the forward scuppers, no doubt fed by pumps working to clear out water rushing in below. “Set a course for Pont du Chat. We must get out of range.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the lieutenant, saluting and giving the orders that would take the Chasseur out of the harbor. The Badger, observing the motions of the other two vessels, set a similar course, and soon all three vessels were leaving Arcades in their wake.
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
GLOSSARY
GLOSSARY
Philip hailed the Chasseur just as one of the Chasseur’s shot tore through the foretop shrouds and another slammed into her hull just below the main chains. Citoyen Pierre was lightly built, and she could not take much more of this. Nevertheless, she would last longer against the Chasseur’s guns than against the fortress, with its plunging fire and exploding shells, though to be true, the fort seemed to have left off for the moment. He saw Lieutenant Grey call for a speaking trumpet and put it to his ear. “Ahoy, the Chasseur,” Philip called again. “Lieutenant Grey, we have taken the snow. Cease fire!”
“Captain Fitton!” came Lieutenant Grey’s voice. “Is that you, sir?”
“Yes,” replied Philip. “What is your condition?”
“Seven men down, sir, one quarter gallery destroyed, several holes in the deck,” replied the lieutenant.
Philip could also see several cracked or leaning spars. A steady flow of water flowed from each of the forward scuppers, no doubt fed by pumps working to clear out water rushing in below. “Set a course for Pont du Chat. We must get out of range.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the lieutenant, saluting and giving the orders that would take the Chasseur out of the harbor. The Badger, observing the motions of the other two vessels, set a similar course, and soon all three vessels were leaving Arcades in their wake.
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
GLOSSARY
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Lily the Pink
LILY THE PINK
"Lily the Pink"
Chorus:
We'll Drink, we'll drink, we'll drink
To Lily the Pink, the Pink, the Pink
The savior of (the savior of)
The human ra-a-ace
She invented
A medicinal compound
Most effective
In any case
Henry T-Tammer
Had a t-terrible stammer
He could hardly say a wo-o-ord
So they gave him
Medicinal compound
Now he's seen but never heard
(chorus)
Uncle Paul
Was very small
He was the smallest man in town
Till they gave him
Medicinal compound
Now he's nowhere to be found
(chorus)
Ebenezer
Thought he was Ceaser
So they put him in a home
Where they gave him
Medicinal compound
Now he's Emperor of Rome
(chorus)
When Lily died
And went to heaven
All the church bells, they did ring
And she brought her
Medicinal compound
Hark, the herald angels sing
(chorus)
Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound was sold as medicine, starting in 1873, by Lydia Pinkham of Lynn, Massachusetts. Whether the stuff was medically effective or not I don't know, but it was financially successful, making Lily the Pink the nation's first millionairess. (Source: Porter, Roy, Blood and Guts: A Short History of Medicine W.W.Norton. New York. 2002 @ Ch 2)
Ms Pinkam's Vegetable Compound was only one of many proprietary medicinal elixirs in the 1700s and 1800s, some of which had true value (Eau medicinale, sold by a Frenchman, contained colchicum, thus providing true therapy for gout, for instance) while others, to borrow a phrase from Stephen Sondheim, were "nothing more than piss and ink." All of them, regardless of merit or demerit, were scorned by orthodox medicine, but patients flocked to them. (Source: Porter, Roy, ibid @ Ch 2)
In the 1800s, in America and no doubt other places as well, there were several medical sects. At the time, medicine was not really a science, based on evidence-based therapy (even today only some portions of Western medicine are evidence-based). Each of the several medical sects had pet theories and treatments, and each, generally, scorned the practices and practitioners of the others. But there was also the eccentric sect, who reasoned that they should use whatever was shown to work, and freely borrowed from all other branches of medicine as their education and experience dictated - in short, they practiced an early type of evidence-based medicine, though their evidence was flimsy by today's standards (using cohorts, anecdotal evidence, and generally not using any type of formal study, double-blind or otherwise).(Source: The Encyclopedia of Civil War Medicine - I don't have the book in front of me for a full citation, sorry.)
In some ways, things haven't changed. Orthodox Western Medicine is still, and increasingly, facing competition in the form of elixirs (e.g. herbal remedies) and other practices, some of which have real value, most or all of which are dismissed by mainstream medicine. And the reasons for this haven't changed, either. Patients continue to know (or think they know) what's best for them, to demand quick fixes, and to be credulous to those who promise quick fixes. Western medicine continues to function as a business, to whom a competing industry is anathema. To be fair there are physicians who, with real reason, worry about the potential harm to patients that some "folk remedies" may cause, and to be fair many "folk remedies" are dangerous, but many are also not only safe but effective. It's time for the eclectics to return.
"Lily the Pink"
Chorus:
We'll Drink, we'll drink, we'll drink
To Lily the Pink, the Pink, the Pink
The savior of (the savior of)
The human ra-a-ace
She invented
A medicinal compound
Most effective
In any case
Henry T-Tammer
Had a t-terrible stammer
He could hardly say a wo-o-ord
So they gave him
Medicinal compound
Now he's seen but never heard
(chorus)
Uncle Paul
Was very small
He was the smallest man in town
Till they gave him
Medicinal compound
Now he's nowhere to be found
(chorus)
Ebenezer
Thought he was Ceaser
So they put him in a home
Where they gave him
Medicinal compound
Now he's Emperor of Rome
(chorus)
When Lily died
And went to heaven
All the church bells, they did ring
And she brought her
Medicinal compound
Hark, the herald angels sing
(chorus)
Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound was sold as medicine, starting in 1873, by Lydia Pinkham of Lynn, Massachusetts. Whether the stuff was medically effective or not I don't know, but it was financially successful, making Lily the Pink the nation's first millionairess. (Source: Porter, Roy, Blood and Guts: A Short History of Medicine W.W.Norton. New York. 2002 @ Ch 2)
Ms Pinkam's Vegetable Compound was only one of many proprietary medicinal elixirs in the 1700s and 1800s, some of which had true value (Eau medicinale, sold by a Frenchman, contained colchicum, thus providing true therapy for gout, for instance) while others, to borrow a phrase from Stephen Sondheim, were "nothing more than piss and ink." All of them, regardless of merit or demerit, were scorned by orthodox medicine, but patients flocked to them. (Source: Porter, Roy, ibid @ Ch 2)
In the 1800s, in America and no doubt other places as well, there were several medical sects. At the time, medicine was not really a science, based on evidence-based therapy (even today only some portions of Western medicine are evidence-based). Each of the several medical sects had pet theories and treatments, and each, generally, scorned the practices and practitioners of the others. But there was also the eccentric sect, who reasoned that they should use whatever was shown to work, and freely borrowed from all other branches of medicine as their education and experience dictated - in short, they practiced an early type of evidence-based medicine, though their evidence was flimsy by today's standards (using cohorts, anecdotal evidence, and generally not using any type of formal study, double-blind or otherwise).(Source: The Encyclopedia of Civil War Medicine - I don't have the book in front of me for a full citation, sorry.)
In some ways, things haven't changed. Orthodox Western Medicine is still, and increasingly, facing competition in the form of elixirs (e.g. herbal remedies) and other practices, some of which have real value, most or all of which are dismissed by mainstream medicine. And the reasons for this haven't changed, either. Patients continue to know (or think they know) what's best for them, to demand quick fixes, and to be credulous to those who promise quick fixes. Western medicine continues to function as a business, to whom a competing industry is anathema. To be fair there are physicians who, with real reason, worry about the potential harm to patients that some "folk remedies" may cause, and to be fair many "folk remedies" are dangerous, but many are also not only safe but effective. It's time for the eclectics to return.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
STO'B 40
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
GLOSSARY
* * *
“Come on, sir!” cried Needle again.
“Right,” said Philip, shaking his head to clear it of accumulating confusion and panic. He was still in the water. “Right.” He pulled himself through the wreckage of spars and rope, eventually reaching the hawser that bound his makeshift raft to the Citoyen Pierre.
“Catch, sir,” said Needle, tossing a rope. It was a deep sea line, for measuring the water’s depth, Philip discovered, and Needle had tied a bowline into it. Philip slipped his arms and head through the loop and allowed himself to be dragged to the Citoyen Pierre’s side, which was strangely low in the water. With Needle pulling from above, Philip clambered up the side and regained the deck.
“Thank you, Needle,” he said, mastering his panting breath (a captain could never afford to show any weakness in front of his men), and reflecting that he was expressing real gratitude to a common sailor. What would they say at Fitton Hall? What would his uncle, say?
He could worry about that later. For now there was the Citoyen Pierre to save, and all three vessels to get out of the harbor. He looked about, saw Needle and another sailor had finally freed the snow from her anchor and fallen spars and rigging, and cupped his hands to hail the Chasseur.
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
GLOSSARY
GLOSSARY
“Come on, sir!” cried Needle again.
“Right,” said Philip, shaking his head to clear it of accumulating confusion and panic. He was still in the water. “Right.” He pulled himself through the wreckage of spars and rope, eventually reaching the hawser that bound his makeshift raft to the Citoyen Pierre.
“Catch, sir,” said Needle, tossing a rope. It was a deep sea line, for measuring the water’s depth, Philip discovered, and Needle had tied a bowline into it. Philip slipped his arms and head through the loop and allowed himself to be dragged to the Citoyen Pierre’s side, which was strangely low in the water. With Needle pulling from above, Philip clambered up the side and regained the deck.
“Thank you, Needle,” he said, mastering his panting breath (a captain could never afford to show any weakness in front of his men), and reflecting that he was expressing real gratitude to a common sailor. What would they say at Fitton Hall? What would his uncle, say?
He could worry about that later. For now there was the Citoyen Pierre to save, and all three vessels to get out of the harbor. He looked about, saw Needle and another sailor had finally freed the snow from her anchor and fallen spars and rigging, and cupped his hands to hail the Chasseur.
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
GLOSSARY
STO'B 39
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
GLOSSARY
As he knelt there, the Badger’s hull shook and crashed as shot hit her. “Heavens,” he exclaimed, “is it always like this in battle?”
“Yes, Dr M’Mullen,” said the sailor. He opened his mouth to say more when he was cut off from a savage shout from above:
“Thompson! How long are you going to take?”
“Beg pardon, sir,” said the sailor, “I’m needed on deck, but is there something you need?”
“Something to cauterize this man - something hot.”
“Thompson!” came the shout again.
“Yes, Mr Wilkins,” replied the sailor. “Something hot, sir? I’ll see what I can do,” and he disappeared up a ladder.
But now here was Dr Foster, peering, with red-rimmed eyes, over the edge of the coaming. “What are you doing with that man?” he asked.
“He’s bleeding,” began Patrick.
“Yes, I can see that. Once these two other men are treated I will see to him.”
“He’s dying.”
“Patients are served in the order that they arrive, Dr M’Mullen. Surely you know that. We have no room for democratic ideals in medicine. Holles,” he called down into the cockpit, “give me a hand with the next case.” He took a quick drink from a metal flask and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, then disappeared down the ladder, emergening a moment later with a bear of a man, his assistant. Between the two of them they manhandled the next case, a man with a broken arm, through the hatchway and so below. Dr M’Mullen and the patient with the thigh wound were forgotten.
The patient had started to shiver from loss of blood. There was not much time left - certainly not enough time for that fool Dr Foster to finish two cases - but if Thompson might bring or send something to cauterize the wound with, he could still be saved.
Another shadow fell across the deck, and looking up Patrick saw the servant that Captain Fitton had assigned to his guest, standing there with a steaming mug. “Sir, Thompson said you wanted something hot. Would coffee suit?”
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
GLOSSARY
GLOSSARY
As he knelt there, the Badger’s hull shook and crashed as shot hit her. “Heavens,” he exclaimed, “is it always like this in battle?”
“Yes, Dr M’Mullen,” said the sailor. He opened his mouth to say more when he was cut off from a savage shout from above:
“Thompson! How long are you going to take?”
“Beg pardon, sir,” said the sailor, “I’m needed on deck, but is there something you need?”
“Something to cauterize this man - something hot.”
“Thompson!” came the shout again.
“Yes, Mr Wilkins,” replied the sailor. “Something hot, sir? I’ll see what I can do,” and he disappeared up a ladder.
But now here was Dr Foster, peering, with red-rimmed eyes, over the edge of the coaming. “What are you doing with that man?” he asked.
“He’s bleeding,” began Patrick.
“Yes, I can see that. Once these two other men are treated I will see to him.”
“He’s dying.”
“Patients are served in the order that they arrive, Dr M’Mullen. Surely you know that. We have no room for democratic ideals in medicine. Holles,” he called down into the cockpit, “give me a hand with the next case.” He took a quick drink from a metal flask and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, then disappeared down the ladder, emergening a moment later with a bear of a man, his assistant. Between the two of them they manhandled the next case, a man with a broken arm, through the hatchway and so below. Dr M’Mullen and the patient with the thigh wound were forgotten.
The patient had started to shiver from loss of blood. There was not much time left - certainly not enough time for that fool Dr Foster to finish two cases - but if Thompson might bring or send something to cauterize the wound with, he could still be saved.
Another shadow fell across the deck, and looking up Patrick saw the servant that Captain Fitton had assigned to his guest, standing there with a steaming mug. “Sir, Thompson said you wanted something hot. Would coffee suit?”
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
GLOSSARY
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