Mach 1.26

In 1975, on the flight of the Los Angeles to New Orleans leg of the trip to Mobile in which John W. and the Frog took place, the pilot came on the speakers to announce the reason for the departure from the usual flight plan. Normally, the trip included a "tour" of the Grand Canyon, however on this one, we were far out over the Gulf. We had also climbed to 43,000 feet which I thought was out of the flight envelope of a 727 (it was only 1,000 feet too high according to Wikipedia).

It seemed the jet stream had dipped unusually far south and was carrying a speed of something greater than 250 mph. With the engines cranked up, the height which placed us in the middle of the jet stream, and the ferocious tail wind, we were traveling at a ground speed of 820 mph!

This is from Altitude variation and implications for atmospheric acoustics :

290 meters per second @ 43,000 feet = 649 mph

340 meters per second @ sea level = 761 mph

820/761 = mach 1.08 @ sea level

820/649 = mach 1.26 @ 43,000 feet

820 - 250 = 570 mph actual air speed

570/761 = mach 0.75

570/649 = mach 0.88 maximum aircraft speed

...so under no case did the aircraft break the sound barrier. Neat, huh?! BTW, we made New Orleans 45 minutes ahead of schedule.

 

More Gummit Stupidity

Do you remember how awesomely poorly Microsoft's ME, the Millennium Edition performed? Kinda makes ya think of the human "ME" (very much ME, mememe). It sure goes a long way to explaining the very sorry state we are letting the entire world fall.

The single example of Sweden, one of the ancestral homes of the Vikings, having become so complacent as to allow the massive influx of African and mid-east muslims to raise their rape rate 1,472 percent. ...to think of the Vikings, arguably the finest warriors and explorers of the past, allowing their wives and children to become sex toys for some the most primitive "people" on the earth...

Alas, Babylon

Did you read where California, a "sanctuary state", is granting drivers licenses to 605,000 illegals? That ought to work out just peachy.

Since everything south from Santa Rosa on is plurality Mexican, it should be granted full independence and Aztlán recognized. It will never be American or have American values or society again and soon, all the southwest will be going the same way. New Mexico has been Mexican for decades and 90% hispanic Albuquerque (when I lived there 30 years ago) has had Mexican "values and society" for god-knows how long. I found out the hard way. Since I was nearly beaten to death (and burgled, and vandalized, and had my vehicle stolen) by some utterly unknown, utterly worthless wetback bastards while I was employed by Sandia National Labs, my experiences and opinion of Mexican "culture" is rather low. After I awoke six months after my stroke, my doc said that due to the nature of the brain aneurysm that caused the stroke and with no family history of strokes or aneurysms, the most likely cause was the vicious wetback attack.



I can't help but love our brown brothers and their wonderful society. This is all going to work out just right. I'll be gone and the creeping misery, well, not creeping with that thing as our el presidente, the next generations of folk will get to "enjoy" the wonders of the 3rd world right from where they live...



Note: from Wikipedia:


"A sanctuary, in its original meaning, is a sacred place, such as a shrine. By the use of such places as a safe haven, by extension the term has come to be used for any place of safety. This secondary use can be categorized into human sanctuary, a safe place for humans, such as a political sanctuary; and non-human sanctuary, such as an animal or plant sanctuary."



Does that mean Mexico is a violent, godless, un-livable shithole full of disease, criminal leaders, and murderous brigands that prey on the weak?

The Stupidity, it Burns!

This makes absolutely no sense to me at all:

washingtontimes.com

Pentagon orders commanders to prioritize climate change in all military actions

The Pentagon is ordering the top brass to incorporate climate change into virtually everything they do, from testing weapons to training troops to war planning to joint exercises with allies.
A new directive’s theme: The U.S. Armed Forces must show “resilience” and beat back the threat based on “actionable science.”

What " actionable science"? Is Obama's brain completely rotted by the choom? With ZERO proof of any kind of "glowbull warmening", is it time to start growing atheists in foxholes?

***sheesh***

...or how about this pile of used dog food:

Can The Economy Take Another Obama Punt Gun Blast?

Apparently the administration is going ahead with it’s plans to sue the EPA to take further shots at the economy.
http://www.wsj.com/articles/obama-administration-readies-big-push-on-climate-change-1433873269
I’m not sure what the thinking is behind this. Do they honestly believe that everything is peachy keen in the economy? Or that even the most onerous measures won’t any effect when the cost of compliance is already almost 2 trillion a year? Or that this will not heavily impact our ability to manufacture, our ability to trade and our ability to transport goods? For a goal that’s at best nebulous?
There comes a point when even the most robust economy will collapse under a regulatory burden that is too high.

*****

This whole article is worth reading if you want to be absolutely disgusted. If Obama was out to completely destroy the U.S., he couldn't be doing a better job. "Fundamentally changed" yeah, he's done that. Do you think it's too late to change it back or are there too many stupid people in this country that think all the "free stuff" can continue endlessly? Nanny state and nanny is insane.

Actually, this is kinda good! ;o)

Maybe there IS something to it after all ;o)

Glowing in the Dark

Just about 30 years ago, I finished 18 years of contract design engineering with an outfit that was known as National Nuclear Corporation and I was very sorry to see them go. After being sold to the Japanese, who ordered two of every item I had designed and not licensed NNC to manufacture (for back-engineering reasons of course), off they went. I was part of the transfer process and flew back out to the San Francisco area quite often to assist. This really ate me up as another beautiful, well organized, high-technology company was lost to gummit foolishness, in this case, that brain-dead creature, Jimmy, peanuts-fer-brainz Carter. When he doomed American excellence in nuclear design and production over the human-caused failure at Three Mile Island, he inadvertently had set in motion a bureaucracy that in these times is sooo careful (as if a bureaucracy can "improve" safety in an industry which has the absolute requirement for safety already) that the permitting, inspections, and requirement that EVERYTHING manufactured or constructed meet some truly arbitrary, gummit mandated requirements. This adds years to the process and vastly increases the price of the final product. Will this increase the safety of the possibility of human-caused error?

Try to think of growing a huge, new bureaucracy of know-nothing pencil-pushers to "improve" nuclear safety. Rough, eh?

This is an excerpt from Wikipedia on this FUBAR:

"The Three Mile Island accident was a nuclear meltdown that occurred on March 28, 1979, in reactor number 2 of Three Mile Island Nuclear Generating Station (TMI-2) in Dauphin County, Pennsylvania, United States. It was the worst accident in U.S. commercial nuclear power plant history.[2] The incident was rated a five on the seven-point International Nuclear Event Scale: Accident With Wider Consequences.[3][4]

The accident began with failures in the non-nuclear secondary system, followed by a stuck-open pilot-operated relief valve in the primary system, which allowed large amounts of nuclear reactor coolant to escape. The mechanical failures were compounded by the initial failure of plant operators to recognize the situation as a loss-of-coolant accident due to inadequate training and human factors, such as human-computer interaction design oversights relating to ambiguous control room indicators in the power plant's user interface. In particular, a hidden indicator light led to an operator manually overriding the automatic emergency cooling system of the reactor because the operator mistakenly believed that there was too much coolant water present in the reactor and causing the steam pressure release.[5]"

I was on a red-eye jet from San Francisco to Miami after a month with NNC when I found out. For some reason, due to Carter's ineptness, I knew nothing good was going to come out of this, just didn't realize how thoroughly Carter would screw everything up and how long that travesty would last.

Here's another on the resume' "enhancement" of the know-nothing peanut-brained excuse for a president (remember Iran? ...and the installation of the Assihola Killmania? ...and the botched rescue of the hostages? That boy couldn't do anything right):

(snip)

"Resume inflation- how a peanut farmer became a "nuclear engineer"

Posted on August 27, 2009

It is embarrassing how much rubbish we acquire that accumulates the varnish of truth. Until I read Rod Adams today I carried around the belief that Pres. Jimmy Carter was a Navy-trained nuclear engineer and a former nuclear officer. He was neither. What is dangerous about this sort of resume-buffing and credentials-inflation is that Carter was able to destroy the entire US nuclear industry – in part because people thought he “must know about that nuclear stuff”."

Read the whole article. Or not if you've become as sick and tired of crap as I have.

I don't know if NNC would have remained in American hands if Jimmy had not been such a incompetent President. The Japanese were buying up everything American at the time anyway, or whether we would have had the massive gas lines, price increases, and gas rationing, or the really massive 16 percent inflation and 22 percent interest rates (this is the major reason the Japanese were able to, everything went at bargain basement prices. Thanks, klutz).

I was going to write something nice and light about National Nuke, there were a lot of terrific people there including one with the most infectious sense of humor, and another who knew I was going to be a father for the first time before me! Beth, wherever you are, I still remember you with lots of love...

I'll write the nice one next.

The Beginning

I've been trying to write this, even years before my stroke, I just always get bogged down by the memories of the first and last gal that I have ever fallen in love with. Nina, my wife of 19 years, and I both had similar memories and knew of each other's feelings and how those times were never to be again. Her and I truly respected each other, and over the years, became much more than "friends with benefits." I've written about this more than once, discarded it many times, however I like the basis and folk involved so much I'm trying again. It looks like the semi-coherent sequence that my poor old self will be able to tolerate will be John W. and the Frog, this one, The Beginning, and, damn, I am having a hard time coming up with the third title without sounding like a Harlequin book! The fourth is easy, it's already called Babies' Names because it has damn-near nothing to do with babies' names! You'll understand if I can ever get it together...

...this is a follow-up from John W. and the Frog. Read it before...

...The Beginning

Following all the “fun” in Destin, I returned to Grand Bay to heal!

The Duck family had a little tin-topped cracker shack in the middle of a mature pecan orchard that was used by visiting family members and the occasional freshly divorced one! The “shack” was also used for huge Cajun crab boils, weddings (including my 2 month marriage! Don't ask ;o), all kinds of good stuff.

The building was not in use so I asked for it. Mine for the rest of the month. All kinds of good summertime things to do; took my brother and sister 4-wheeling down the 9 mile length of the state-owned length of Dauphin Island, shrimping with my father, his wife, and a passel of half-grown boys (we had extras in case we accidentally drowned a few!), a good time was had by all, especially me!

Between forays including visiting old high school chums and one retired CIA contract employee (story to be told), I'd return to the shack. Eventually, the last day of vacation came and I was laying in a hammock out front reading and thinking this was a mighty fine world! My mother called from the hardware store her and my step-father owned and asked if I'd mind picking up Freddie, my younger brother, at Tim's. “Sure, just give me directions”.

I'd known Timmy for a few years as he was a nephew of my step-father which made him my, oh the hell with it! I tried this on a previous missive and spent the next day bum-fuzzled trying to figure out if I was right! Cajuns have big families, a divorce or ten, re-marriage to who?! Every now and then one of them will marry an Anglo (or ten!) and really screw up the genealogy. However, parts of the clan get it simplified by brother-sister weddings for a while (keeps everything in the family!) until they start growing eyeballs on their cheekbones and ears the size of bat wings!

ANYWAY, (sometimes I get frustrated with myself for wool-gathering), someone that must have hated me had dropped the boys and Bo-cat off a few mornings earlier. A pair of young teenage boys with big smiles bodes ill! ...I'd taught Freddie well. ...sigh...

Well, one of the young hoodlums climbed a tree with a string tied to a piece of red cardboard which he dangled at the base of the tree. The other hoodlum held Bo-cat until staring and tail-twitching said the cardboard needed some pussycat discipline! You know what's gonna happen don'tcha?! Cat charges cardboard, hoodlum one yanks cardboard up at last moment, cat slams into tree. Young hoodlums chortle. Hoodlum two retrieves stunned kitty-cat, pets and soothes him while returning to the launch point. Cat starts staring and tail-twitching, gets released... Lather, rinse,repeat until Bo don't where to go! The hoodlums leave laughingly with Bo left in the yard presumably entertained by his crossed-up vision. Poor Bo, his troubles have not ended. Seems the mad mama mockingbird who was previously trying to run hoodlum #1 out of her tree (won't work, boys are just apt to eat her. BTW, mockingbird tastes like shit), shifts her bloody-minded attention to Bo. Poor Bo, I go out and rescue him. Mama bird shifts all her love to me and I'm not having any. No, I don't eat her. Tastes like shit, remember?

Oh yeah, I'm supposed to pick up Freddie at Tim's. ...go down road out front to hardware store, turn left, go 2 miles to Hugh Fort road, turn right and go ½ mile to 2^nd house on left...

Fred and Tim are shooting hoops next to the garage and joined in the game is a lovely young blue-eyed blonde gal. Now I have lived in the San Francisco – Silicon Valley area for more than five years which has a plenitude of pulchritude and prior to that, the Washington/Northern Virginia area when going to school where there were 4 secretaries per worthless bureaucrat and up 200 per brainless congressthing. You might get the impression my opinion of that thing that calls itself the federal gummit isn't very high. Try a snake's rectum.

There is something special about this young lady. We introduced ourselves and, I don't know how, never have been able, to explain what passed that moment. Whatever it was, was very powerful.

Fred, the eternal goof-ball, made a hat-full of grinning comments on the way back. I thought he needed exercise, maybe tying him to the bumper and having a brisk trot on the way back would be about right...

An aside (again), 2 years earlier I had sent him a airline ticket to San Francisco over Thanksgiving plus a few extra days. Being 13, he “needed” a flight attendant to accompany him. Do you see the makings of a disaster?

Fred and his stewardess came down the separate arrival ramp used for handicapped and accompanied passengers and right-off, I knew the training he had gotten from our father and myself, his ten year older brother, was successful! His stewardess, a young, svelte, somewhat rumpled young woman wearing a scowl (it didn't become her), asked me “does this thing belong to you?” Yep, the boy done good...

OK, back to Fred not having to trot behind mom's car – we policed the shack, gathered our goodies, and took the Land Cruiser back to our dad's place in Creola. I don't remember a tremendous amount about the evening other being somewhat distracted and Fred's grin. ...have to, maybe tie a concrete block to his feet and take him out to the end of dad's pier...

Mobile, New Orleans, LA, San Francisco, San Jose. Another August gone. Time to go back to work. Granny started the Great Scot Thanksgiving Get-Together again after granddad's death a few years ago and I had never missed but one over all the years. Besides, I've a few questions...

San Jose, San Francisco, LA, New Orleans, Mobile. Since my great-grandmother had 12 kids, (5 kids, “keep that thing away from me”, 10 kids, “dammit, I SAID keep that thing away! 11^th kid (my granny), “you do that again and we are going to have trouble...”, 12^th kid... I have not found any records of my great-grandfather after the 12^th and the kids weren't talking. Go figure. I won't try to describe the clan get-together as it'll take forever and you will know less anyway! ..a LOT of fun!

Fred and I took granny's greenhouse rather than wander through the bodies occupying the 6 bedrooms downstairs (some were supposed to be something else), and the 4 upstairs. Besides, the temperature was to be in the 20's, somebody needed to feed the greenhouse wood stove, and, most importantly there were possums and coons outside that needed shooting! Maybe a Fred as well if he keeps up with the shit-eating grin! What did he know that I didn't?

We went out hunting that night and Fred just about blew my head off. It seemed that granny's old .410 shotgun had a broken safety that we didn't know about. A .410 is awful loud when it goes off next to one's ear!

...thought I'd never find this 40 year old photograph. Granny's greenhouse after the hunt. The game was for my friends in California. We'd dress them out and granny'd freeze them in individual plastic bags full of water for the flight back. I could never see what my friends saw in possum, tastes like shit. ...just like mockingbird. Raccoon, on the other hand, tasted just fine. Just like dog! 


My questions were kinda halfway answered by my 15 year old, snot-gobbling, grinning, hoodlum, brother. The grin was like our dad's when he was up to no good and mine when it was a good idea not to turn your back on me! We taught him well... I was gonna have to strangle him.

At least it was another memorable Thanksgiving worthy of the title. Mobile, New Orleans, LA, San Francisco, San Jose. Back to the salt mines. I'll miss Christmas due to work but I will make New Years Eve. Those were always fun and this year's was to be at my sister's house. R.M., my step-dad and former best friend of my father, and Wayne, my soon-to-be ex brother-in-law, rigged up 4 TV's as usual to watch all the festivities at once. Gracie, my sister, picked me up at Mobile International Cow Pasture and hauled me up to dad's for a few days of frolic before New Years.

New Years Eve rolled around and found me at Gracie's socializing with relatives, in-laws, and outlaws (I know that's old, however, in my case, at least one of mine got hung and several more needed it). I was sitting on the couch talking with a couple of gals with a space between my right side and the person to my right when the front door opened to admit more guests. Can't remember what two of them looked like, don't even remember what flavor they were.

The third was different. She was a pretty, little, blue-eyed blonde with a happy-making smile! Rotten sister! That's why she had rigged the extra space on the couch!

...to be continued

Bringing the 3rd World home for your comfort...

I think most of you will be able to appreciate the following review which I mailed a friend yesterday. It needs some set-up so I'll just re-write some parts of earlier postings to give some coherence to the whole mess. Oh, wait, just go read Hindu Medicine Show, it'll pretty-much do the same thing. I've been meaning to try and condense it, gave it up as too much work. The below letter stands on its own anyway.

Cypress Inn

Moved in Sunday evening, January 31, 2016. Too tired to do much but sleep. Good thing because:

Cypress Inn has gone from a decent, low-priced motel to, in just 3 years, having rooms almost as nice as a broken-down gas station restroom. Ungodly filthy. Bombay slum filthy. Smells only a rat could love...

From the wiring (most sockets loose, uncovered, fire ready to start, "installed" inverted), plus the smoke detector is dismantled,

to the dog vomit ''carpeting''.

The microwave is broken, no one to repair or replace it. Actually, these trash do not give a damn.

(update: as of 2/5/2016 I now have one that "works", kinda. The package the ramen cooker came in had the simple instructions of "put ramen in cooker, add water to fill line, and microwave on high for 3 minutes." Simple, eh? Wellllll, after 3 minutes, the water was just getting warm and the noodles crispy. Nuked it on high for 3 more minutes, still hard and raw, 3 more, kinda OK. Home microwaves seem to come with the most common high power setting being 1,100 watts these days so this candlepower thing must be around 370 watts. ...wonder which Bombay garbage dump they got this piece of junk?)

ZERO housekeeping (towels, soap, trash, sheets (same sheets have probably been on the bed since the last time I was here), general motel stuff) after 4 days.

Flaking, peeling paint job in room, badly multiple-dented door left over from some sort of 3rd world invasion.

The smell of this place lingers with ME, who has very little sense of smell left after the stroke. Dead whore left in the room too long? Lots of dead mice in the walls? At least the roaches have lots to eat...

No one here today (Wednesday, 2/3/2016) but one extremely bitchy hindu woman.

Friday, 5 February: ZERO housekeeping despite being told Monday (without asking) someone would be over to clean the filthy, filthy, stinking carpet.

...still smells like a Bombay garbage dump.

NO maintenance man at all,

"staff" does not understand English and is always surly.

"Guests" include several buff, dread-locked, extremely loud rap-racket listening gang-bangers and their mud-shark females. If looks could kill, I've been murdered.

Early Wednesday morning at 1:04 AM, I received several loud knockings on my door. Guess who didn't answer it. Ya think a short, scrawny, partially paralyzed, 65 year-old white guy in a wheelchair should?!!

Without the smallest doubt, this is the most god-awful motel I have been in after 3,000,000 air-miles and 44 years of working in several countries including the 3rd world, plus many parts of the U.S. and there have been a few real beaut's. This place has won the "honor" of being named the Shit-pit from Bombay.
  

I recommend this place be nuked from orbit.

Cypress Inn

2987 W US Highway 90

Lake City, FL 32055 (386) 752-9369

(note: this is a excellent destination for your mother-in-law!)


 

2nd week...

This place is an absolute, stinking, foul, hindu dump with absolutely foul-tempered, not-understanding-English hindus running it. It's hard to believe an outfit serving the public thinks it can get away with such dreck. I don't know why these nasty creatures insist on bringing their filthy 3rd world ways to this country, it's sure not appreciated. These worthless scum from the wretched hive of villainy called India can take a perfectly previously good place like this with a perfectly fine crew of maintenance and housekeeping, and run it into the dirt. Charge the same amount as was charged when humans owned it and expect their customers not to notice? I'd imagine they have few repeat customers, at least not human ones... It's been "educational."

In case you're curious, as a small, crippled old white guy in a wheelchair with one useful arm and leg, I am un-failingly polite and smiling. ...something about not being eaten I think!

This is the beginning of my second week. Bedding hasn't been changed. Carpet as filthy as it was in the beginning. For fun, if you want to turn the bedside light off, you have two ways to do it. Unplug it from the wall (with the loose, uncovered socket), or un-screw the bulb.

It's even more fun to turn on in the dark. So far I've avoided being electrocuted.

I'd imagine the fire codes are in a whole bunch of violations. I wonder how much they pay to have these things "not noticed"? Hindu fire code inspectors? I know that was done in the famous (hold on..... ....had to try and kill a bunch of roaches that crawled out from under the bed and up the wall. Missed.) case of "Dr." Nareshkumar Gandalal Patel, the incredibly criminal, nasty-to-the-4th-power abortionist with the local medical "ethics" board; it was headed by another dot-brain and Patel skated for 30+ years.

Turning the water on in the lavatory is best done when one is fully awake as it sprays as much horizontally as it does down. No aerator, lots of lime build-up.

There's a 2 inch sag in the middle of the lavatory counter-top as the front board has become separated from the top. Won't take much for it to wind up on the floor. I tried to put my little coffee maker there as there IS a safe-looking outlet on the wall, however the sagging was too much for it. It's on a pair of cardboard boxes on the pigsty carpeting now.

There are exactly 2 drawers in this joint. Two.

There is a small, circular table with one filthy upholstered chair. Don't ask what that is hanging from underneath the table. No, I don't know, don't want to. Looking at the chair makes one to want to change pants. Nasty. The radiating iron feet of the table are a constant annoyance, especially for one in a wheelchair.

Did I mention this joint is a dive? Although I am paying the weekly rate, I pre-paid a month thinking this place was the same as in years passed. I checked on getting my payments for the following 3 weeks back (without mentioning what a stinking dump this place had morphed into) and was glurped and wargled to about it not being possible while acting very hostile.

What is it that causes hindus to be so hostile when they pay attention at all, or what causes such great vanity and narcissism while being so incredibly incompetent?

Go read the Hindu Medicine Show for my first-person experiences with the Indian medical establishment in this country. 

Wretched.

February 15^th, 2016

This place is beyond foul. My opinion of the Indian “people” has gone down over the years until now. What they call “music” is to Western ears about as musical as cats having carnal knowledge of each other. There’s a reason for it, that’s all the hindus know how to do. With four times the population in a third the space, the hindu-humpers keep their dicks hard and the females keep their legs spread. When they run out of dirt to crap on, they merely move to a less populated country and crap on theirs. ...and keep on humping.

Their “religion(s)” with somewhere around 330 million deities kinda says all about their mental processes, and with (according to the Times of India, an “un-biased source) an average hindu I.Q. of 82, there’s nothing useful about these worthless piles of used dog food. India’s worst-of-the-worst emmigrate to countries that let them keep on copulating. These “creatures” are NOT people, hell, they are not even animals. I’m beyond fury. The occasional one that kinda does something worthwhile is feted with all kinds of honors. Give me a break; with 1,350 million of these things in India alone, one would expect at least a few that did SOMETHING worthwhile.

1,350,000,000 bipeds in a tiny country like India.

Why are hindus so staggeringly stupid?

There have been over two solid weeks since I’ve been here and not once has there ever been any attempt to perform any sort of housekeeping. There is absolutely zero maintenance no matter what screwed-up crap needs fixing, just a bunch of yabbling, extremely obnoxious dot-brains in the “office.” They’ve taken a perfectly comfortable motel and converted it to absolute trash.

The worst happened this morning at 4:50 AM when a bunch of 3^rd-worlders were hammering on my door continuously followed by a totally indecipherable phone call without any reply as to what or who “they” were looking for. The yabbling “they” managed to get the door unlocked. The dead-bolt, set in the wooden jamb, held. I could not tell the race or sex of the creatures from the voices.

This was the 3^rd time for this merde’ to have taken place. I’m frightened. After being robbed blind by our utterly useless “government” following my stroke, and now being dirt poor and crippled, I’m in a very bad position. Millions of miles and decades of time with some sketchy places behind me and I’m finding that Hell can be found on this Earth.