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Two Minutes later Philip mounted the crowded quarterdeck. The master was there, along with the gunner (he carried the lieutenant's watch while Mr Grey was aboard the Chasseur) and all of the midshipman who remained aboard. Philip noticed that the officers, along with one or two of the brighter midshipman, had their sextants already adjusted to something like the correct angle, and indeed, the master was already taking a preliminary sighting. Philip, having left his sextant at the Crown, with all of his other possessions, merely stood aloof, as if taking a sight were beneath a Captain's dignity. Or a Commander's dignity, he reminded himself. Only a Commander.
The minutes passed. The officers shot the sun with their sextants, bringing it down to the horizon to determine the Badger's longitude. "Noon and XXX degrees north, XXX degrees east, sir," reported the master.
"Very good, Mr South. Strike the bell." Philip replied, and the new day officially began. Philip started back down to his cabin to deal further with the furniture before he remembered the master's earlier request about running out the port guns. And, he noted, the port guns were in fact run out. The master, however, was on the port gangway, halfway to the bow, tugging on the standing rigging as he went, so instead Philip merely returned to the cabin.
Here he found the carpenter fixing his desk, and one of the mates fastening the table to the floor. "Almost done, sir," said the carpenter. "Bob, give me a hand when you're done with that table, like."
Three minutes later the carpenter and his mate finished, and Philip dragged one of his chairs over to his newly repaired desk to see what it might hold inside.
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GLOSSARY
Monday, May 11, 2009
Friday, May 8, 2009
STOB 18
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GLOSSARY
"Yes," he said, looking over his domain with satisfaction, "excellent."
But as soon as he said these words, and perhaps in answer to them, the Badger's list (which he now noticed had increased by several degrees) caused all of the furniture to slide over to the cabin's starboard side. he was in the act of disentangling it when a midshipman darted in.
"The Master's compliments, sir, and may he run the port guns out?" said the midshipman.
"The larboard guns?" cried Philip. "Yes, Mr, uh - yes, whatever he sees fit. And my compliments, of course. What the devil can he want with the larboard guns," he asked himself after the midshipmen left. "Steward," he cried, "Steward, pass the word from the carpenter."
The carpenter appeared, dripping wet from hanging over the stern with his mates. "I think we might be able to fadge something together with iron from the hinges and like, for new pintles and gudgeons," he began, but Philip cut him off.
"This desk needs a new leg," he said, "and I should like it and the table to fixed to the deck here, and here."
"Yes, sir, said the carpenter," shall I leave the rudder for the time being?"
"The rudder? Oh, yes, how is that coming? You said something about hinges?"
"Yes, sir. If we take the hinges and latches from all of the doors the armorer thinks he can make a new set of pintles and gudgeons."
"Then do that," said Philip, "but while he's busy with that you can see to this desk. Yes?" he said to a knock at the door.
The midshipman opened the door. "Mr. South's compliments, sir, and it wants only a few minutes of noon."
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GLOSSARY
"Yes," he said, looking over his domain with satisfaction, "excellent."
But as soon as he said these words, and perhaps in answer to them, the Badger's list (which he now noticed had increased by several degrees) caused all of the furniture to slide over to the cabin's starboard side. he was in the act of disentangling it when a midshipman darted in.
"The Master's compliments, sir, and may he run the port guns out?" said the midshipman.
"The larboard guns?" cried Philip. "Yes, Mr, uh - yes, whatever he sees fit. And my compliments, of course. What the devil can he want with the larboard guns," he asked himself after the midshipmen left. "Steward," he cried, "Steward, pass the word from the carpenter."
The carpenter appeared, dripping wet from hanging over the stern with his mates. "I think we might be able to fadge something together with iron from the hinges and like, for new pintles and gudgeons," he began, but Philip cut him off.
"This desk needs a new leg," he said, "and I should like it and the table to fixed to the deck here, and here."
"Yes, sir, said the carpenter," shall I leave the rudder for the time being?"
"The rudder? Oh, yes, how is that coming? You said something about hinges?"
"Yes, sir. If we take the hinges and latches from all of the doors the armorer thinks he can make a new set of pintles and gudgeons."
"Then do that," said Philip, "but while he's busy with that you can see to this desk. Yes?" he said to a knock at the door.
The midshipman opened the door. "Mr. South's compliments, sir, and it wants only a few minutes of noon."
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Wednesday, May 6, 2009
STOB 17
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Early the next morning, Philip finally had time to attend to the personal possessions of the officers killed on the Chasseur. The possessions of the dead French sailors (and some of the living, Philip suspected) had already been dealt with in the usual fashion by the lower deck, with a little bit of fighting but not much, the pecking order being well established before Philip ever stepped on board.
But the officers' possessions had to go through the Captain, and they had been stashed in a corner of his cabin until he could deal with them. He did so now. Finally. Greedily.
Little of the clothing fitted him, though there were a good pair of boots, some shirts, and a torn jacket. He gave the jacket to his steward (a small, wiry man with an abundance of gold jewelry) to mend, tossed the boots and shirts on the chair he'd inherited from the Badger's previous commander, and sent everything else to the wardroom.
From the jumbled pile of furniture Philip pulled a cylinder top desk, complete except for a broken leg. Once the carpenter was able to fix it, it would enable him to finally clear his cot of the papers that had shared his sleeping space since the day he moved in. "Well," he said, arranging two sturdy but mismatched chairs around a shabby table, "it isn't Ablenn Hall, but it is better." He pulled his other chair - the one he had inherited from the Badger's previous commander, over to the desk and sat down to consider. Would the cabin look better with the desk over by the stern windows? Perhaps it would. He spent the next several hours moving his new possessions around, finally deciding that the desk was best opposite the door, as that would place him with his back to the light for anyone coming in. "Most imposing," he said. "Excellent."
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next
GLOSSARY
GLOSSARY
Early the next morning, Philip finally had time to attend to the personal possessions of the officers killed on the Chasseur. The possessions of the dead French sailors (and some of the living, Philip suspected) had already been dealt with in the usual fashion by the lower deck, with a little bit of fighting but not much, the pecking order being well established before Philip ever stepped on board.
But the officers' possessions had to go through the Captain, and they had been stashed in a corner of his cabin until he could deal with them. He did so now. Finally. Greedily.
Little of the clothing fitted him, though there were a good pair of boots, some shirts, and a torn jacket. He gave the jacket to his steward (a small, wiry man with an abundance of gold jewelry) to mend, tossed the boots and shirts on the chair he'd inherited from the Badger's previous commander, and sent everything else to the wardroom.
From the jumbled pile of furniture Philip pulled a cylinder top desk, complete except for a broken leg. Once the carpenter was able to fix it, it would enable him to finally clear his cot of the papers that had shared his sleeping space since the day he moved in. "Well," he said, arranging two sturdy but mismatched chairs around a shabby table, "it isn't Ablenn Hall, but it is better." He pulled his other chair - the one he had inherited from the Badger's previous commander, over to the desk and sat down to consider. Would the cabin look better with the desk over by the stern windows? Perhaps it would. He spent the next several hours moving his new possessions around, finally deciding that the desk was best opposite the door, as that would place him with his back to the light for anyone coming in. "Most imposing," he said. "Excellent."
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GLOSSARY
Monday, April 20, 2009
Search for real estate owners before renting
http://a836-acris.nyc.gov/Scripts/CoverPage.dll/index
The above link enables you to search for city records regarding owned real estate (i.e. who owns the building or apartment you're considering renting)
Ironically, it was provided to me by a scammer - the website proved his claim of ownership to be frudulent.
The above link enables you to search for city records regarding owned real estate (i.e. who owns the building or apartment you're considering renting)
Ironically, it was provided to me by a scammer - the website proved his claim of ownership to be frudulent.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Space
"So sub-light speed is down." said the captain, sitting down and motioning for her chief engineer to do the same. "Can we go direct to light speed?"
The engineer shook his long head as he sat. "You'll melt the inductors."
"Refresh my memory."
"The inductors smooth the ride," said the engineer patiently. "Without them we'd be bounced around like - I don't know - like BBs in a can of spray paint. Eventually we'd shake the ship apart, like the Nautilus in '98."
"I thought Nautilus was on the Novgorod station." said the fool of a first lieutenant, speaking for the first time.
"That's the Nautilus E," replied the engineer. He was a tall, raw man with a pale face, where it was not marked with grease, but for the moment he slumped so low in his chair that the captain and lieutenant (neither of them particularly tall women) towered over him. "They built her after the Nautilus D broke up. But the point is, no," he said, turning back to the captain, "we can't go direct to light speed. We're stuck."
"For the moment." replied the captain. Ever the optimist, that one.
But the engineer shrugged. "Until we figure out how to fix it with what's left. My potassium rods are all broken up, and the sodium ones, they make a nice weld, but they don't dig deep enough. I suppose I could grind the casing down to enable the sodium rods to get in," he went on as the thought struck him, "but I don't think I could ever build it up again. Unless..." he trailed off, turning over a series of possibilities in his head, none of them promising when looked at closely. "I'll keep working at it, but -" he left the sentence hanging as the chief surgeon walked in.
"What are our casualties?" the Captain asked.
"Remarkable few for so furious a bout," replied the surgeon, helping himself to a drink from the sideboard. "Five killed directly when the engine blew up, three with burns, of which two should survive, and of course the crew of the launch."
"The yawl," said the first lieutenant.
"Launch or yawl, they're dead just the same."
And not even the lieutenant could argue with that.
Next
The engineer shook his long head as he sat. "You'll melt the inductors."
"Refresh my memory."
"The inductors smooth the ride," said the engineer patiently. "Without them we'd be bounced around like - I don't know - like BBs in a can of spray paint. Eventually we'd shake the ship apart, like the Nautilus in '98."
"I thought Nautilus was on the Novgorod station." said the fool of a first lieutenant, speaking for the first time.
"That's the Nautilus E," replied the engineer. He was a tall, raw man with a pale face, where it was not marked with grease, but for the moment he slumped so low in his chair that the captain and lieutenant (neither of them particularly tall women) towered over him. "They built her after the Nautilus D broke up. But the point is, no," he said, turning back to the captain, "we can't go direct to light speed. We're stuck."
"For the moment." replied the captain. Ever the optimist, that one.
But the engineer shrugged. "Until we figure out how to fix it with what's left. My potassium rods are all broken up, and the sodium ones, they make a nice weld, but they don't dig deep enough. I suppose I could grind the casing down to enable the sodium rods to get in," he went on as the thought struck him, "but I don't think I could ever build it up again. Unless..." he trailed off, turning over a series of possibilities in his head, none of them promising when looked at closely. "I'll keep working at it, but -" he left the sentence hanging as the chief surgeon walked in.
"What are our casualties?" the Captain asked.
"Remarkable few for so furious a bout," replied the surgeon, helping himself to a drink from the sideboard. "Five killed directly when the engine blew up, three with burns, of which two should survive, and of course the crew of the launch."
"The yawl," said the first lieutenant.
"Launch or yawl, they're dead just the same."
And not even the lieutenant could argue with that.
Next
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
X-ray Chapter 7, part 3.5
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GLOSSARY
NOTE: this fits between Ch 7 parts three and four.
"I thought we were really in the barrel over that one," Jill said as they walked into Flanagan's. "Do you think he bought it?"
Jim shrugged. "He let us go, right?"
"But what if he looks at the PCR?"
"So what?" said Frank, steering toward the table where Andy was already sitting with two half-empty bottles. "The code happened, right?"
"You guys had a code?" Andy asked as everyone sat down.
"Yeah," Ian said. "Some guy collapsed in his pot garden."
"Lieutenant XXXX was pissed." Jill said. "I don't know, I think he'll figure it out. He could fire us. I don't know how I'll make my car payments. Or my rent."
"You had the giggles earlier, didn't you," Andy asked Jill. "You're high."
"Yeah," JIll said suspiciously.
"And now you're paranoid." Andy said. "Always the same. You'll get over it; you always do. Here's the waitress."
They placed there orders, and after further discussion on the merits and demerits of marijuana, their drinks arrived, breaking the flow of the discussion. "Did I tell you what Lonnie did yesterday?" Jeremy asked as the waitress departed.
"I don't wanna know," Frank said.
"Thirty six year old female calls, chest pain. AOS she has a box of tissues in one hand and a bottle of Excedrin in the other, wincing in pain, breathing rapid and shallow. Four days of cough, runny nose and headache, green phlegm. She says she was coughing and felt a pop, now her right side hurts whenever she breaths or moves. Lonnie listens to her lungs. He starts an IV, a line, puts her on the monitor and walks her down the stairs. She's crying in pain. We get her to the Truck, I go around to drive.
"We get to the hospital, Lonnie's giving the report, 'she was tachycardic so I gave her six of Adenosine-'"
"Adenosine!" Frank cried, knocking over his bottle as he did so. "Fuck. Can I get another? he called over to their waitress.
"Party foul!" said Jill.
"You seem to have recovered," Andy said to her as he passed Frank a napkin.
"'Adenosine,'" Jeremy continued, "'then twelve with no relief. I was gonna give her Cardizem but we pulled up.'"
"OhmiGod," Andy put down his bottle.
"Adenosine," Jeremy repeated. "And my name is on that report."
"Did you say anything?" Andy asked.
"'Hey, I don't tell you what to do with your patient.' You've worked with Lonnie."
"Yeah, but your name's on that report," Andy said.
"I know."
"One of these days that schmuck is gonna kill someone," Frank offered as he continued to dab at his uniform with a napkin. "Hopefully it'll be himself."
"Yeah, well," Jeremy replied.
"You don't like him any more than I do." Frank resigned himself to a wet uniform and tossed his wet napkin on the table. "Anyone want something to eat?"
"Oh, yeah," said Jill, "Buffalo wings. They have wings, right?"
Frank collected orders from everyone else, then stood up to intercept their waitress. "She says five minutes on the food," he reported on his return
Jeremy glanced at his watch. "Five bucks it takes longer."
"Okay," Andy took him up. "Five bucks it takes less," he put his watch on the table.
The food came in exactly five minutes, cancelling the bet. "Did I bring the wrong food?" the waitress asked, "What's wrong?"
"Nothin'," Frank answered. "Poppers go here. And can you take some of these bottles away?"
On the TV the Yanks battled it out with the Red Sox. "Son of a bitch," Andy cried as he watched the ball fly over the outfield wall. "I got twenty bucks on this game."
"So do I," Jeremy said, "Let the ball go."
Conversation moved to last night's rain delay, the weather, flooding on Jeremy's street, an anecdote of a white water rafting trip Andy had been on where his raft had become separated from the group.
"Did you ever find them again?" Frank asked.
"Yeah, they waited for us at the take-out. We all hopped into the bus and they were all dry. We were still soaked."
"Sounds like a day at work." Jeremy said.
"We weren't in full uniform. We could peel layers off. The windows on the bus did fog a bit, though."
"You know I tried that anti-fog stuff for the windows," Frank said. "The stuff costs eighteen dollars a bottle, and you have to redo it every week."
"Which one did you use?" Jeremy asked.
"They're all the same."
"We tried a few of them." Andy indicated himself and Jeremy.
"Some of them worked better than others but none of them were great," Jeremy agreed. "None of them got rid of the sauna feel."
Frank grumbled an incoherent reply. Ian looked up from his beer, "Nothing's better for what ails you than sitting around in a sauna in full uniform." he said.
The evening ended with Andy twenty bucks poorer, Jeremy twenty bucks richer, and the usual wreckage of plates and bottles on the table. Two ashtrays sat full of cigarette butts. Ian tossed his cash into the communal pile and walked out alone, opening his window in spite of the rain to unsuccessfully try to clear some of the encroaching fog.
First Post|Previous|Next
GLOSSARY
GLOSSARY
NOTE: this fits between Ch 7 parts three and four.
"I thought we were really in the barrel over that one," Jill said as they walked into Flanagan's. "Do you think he bought it?"
Jim shrugged. "He let us go, right?"
"But what if he looks at the PCR?"
"So what?" said Frank, steering toward the table where Andy was already sitting with two half-empty bottles. "The code happened, right?"
"You guys had a code?" Andy asked as everyone sat down.
"Yeah," Ian said. "Some guy collapsed in his pot garden."
"Lieutenant XXXX was pissed." Jill said. "I don't know, I think he'll figure it out. He could fire us. I don't know how I'll make my car payments. Or my rent."
"You had the giggles earlier, didn't you," Andy asked Jill. "You're high."
"Yeah," JIll said suspiciously.
"And now you're paranoid." Andy said. "Always the same. You'll get over it; you always do. Here's the waitress."
They placed there orders, and after further discussion on the merits and demerits of marijuana, their drinks arrived, breaking the flow of the discussion. "Did I tell you what Lonnie did yesterday?" Jeremy asked as the waitress departed.
"I don't wanna know," Frank said.
"Thirty six year old female calls, chest pain. AOS she has a box of tissues in one hand and a bottle of Excedrin in the other, wincing in pain, breathing rapid and shallow. Four days of cough, runny nose and headache, green phlegm. She says she was coughing and felt a pop, now her right side hurts whenever she breaths or moves. Lonnie listens to her lungs. He starts an IV, a line, puts her on the monitor and walks her down the stairs. She's crying in pain. We get her to the Truck, I go around to drive.
"We get to the hospital, Lonnie's giving the report, 'she was tachycardic so I gave her six of Adenosine-'"
"Adenosine!" Frank cried, knocking over his bottle as he did so. "Fuck. Can I get another? he called over to their waitress.
"Party foul!" said Jill.
"You seem to have recovered," Andy said to her as he passed Frank a napkin.
"'Adenosine,'" Jeremy continued, "'then twelve with no relief. I was gonna give her Cardizem but we pulled up.'"
"OhmiGod," Andy put down his bottle.
"Adenosine," Jeremy repeated. "And my name is on that report."
"Did you say anything?" Andy asked.
"'Hey, I don't tell you what to do with your patient.' You've worked with Lonnie."
"Yeah, but your name's on that report," Andy said.
"I know."
"One of these days that schmuck is gonna kill someone," Frank offered as he continued to dab at his uniform with a napkin. "Hopefully it'll be himself."
"Yeah, well," Jeremy replied.
"You don't like him any more than I do." Frank resigned himself to a wet uniform and tossed his wet napkin on the table. "Anyone want something to eat?"
"Oh, yeah," said Jill, "Buffalo wings. They have wings, right?"
Frank collected orders from everyone else, then stood up to intercept their waitress. "She says five minutes on the food," he reported on his return
Jeremy glanced at his watch. "Five bucks it takes longer."
"Okay," Andy took him up. "Five bucks it takes less," he put his watch on the table.
The food came in exactly five minutes, cancelling the bet. "Did I bring the wrong food?" the waitress asked, "What's wrong?"
"Nothin'," Frank answered. "Poppers go here. And can you take some of these bottles away?"
On the TV the Yanks battled it out with the Red Sox. "Son of a bitch," Andy cried as he watched the ball fly over the outfield wall. "I got twenty bucks on this game."
"So do I," Jeremy said, "Let the ball go."
Conversation moved to last night's rain delay, the weather, flooding on Jeremy's street, an anecdote of a white water rafting trip Andy had been on where his raft had become separated from the group.
"Did you ever find them again?" Frank asked.
"Yeah, they waited for us at the take-out. We all hopped into the bus and they were all dry. We were still soaked."
"Sounds like a day at work." Jeremy said.
"We weren't in full uniform. We could peel layers off. The windows on the bus did fog a bit, though."
"You know I tried that anti-fog stuff for the windows," Frank said. "The stuff costs eighteen dollars a bottle, and you have to redo it every week."
"Which one did you use?" Jeremy asked.
"They're all the same."
"We tried a few of them." Andy indicated himself and Jeremy.
"Some of them worked better than others but none of them were great," Jeremy agreed. "None of them got rid of the sauna feel."
Frank grumbled an incoherent reply. Ian looked up from his beer, "Nothing's better for what ails you than sitting around in a sauna in full uniform." he said.
The evening ended with Andy twenty bucks poorer, Jeremy twenty bucks richer, and the usual wreckage of plates and bottles on the table. Two ashtrays sat full of cigarette butts. Ian tossed his cash into the communal pile and walked out alone, opening his window in spite of the rain to unsuccessfully try to clear some of the encroaching fog.
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GLOSSARY
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Reversing the polarity
"Well, if we reverse the polarity of the XXX, it just might work."
"You're always reversing the polarity of that thing. Why don't you just reverse it and leave it? I mean, are you sure you didn't install it backwards to begin with?"
OR:
"Dude, it's AC."
"You're always reversing the polarity of that thing. Why don't you just reverse it and leave it? I mean, are you sure you didn't install it backwards to begin with?"
OR:
"Dude, it's AC."
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