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Well, if you watch FoxNews, we're all days away from a horrible death. My advice? Stop watching FoxNews.
That's good advice at the best of times.
In the United States, I've heard, some 36,000 people die every year from some sort of flu. That's 10 a day. The one death (so far) in Texas while tragic, shouldn't be used to induce panic.
Here in Australia there is almost a lasse faire attitude about it. Sure, those people that were on the same flight as the Kiwis from Mexico are quarantined, but when you live in a country where funnel-web spiders infest your ear protection and red-bellied black snakes slither across your backyard, swine flu on the other side of the world is a pretty abstract concept.
There are a few good websites that discuss influenza A/H1N1 (pig farmers don't want us to call it 'swine flu', okay?). [edit - I just really read the link I had here before. Full of conspiracy clap-trap. Read as much as you can and realise that you have a better(?) chance of dieing from a fatal attack of the bus than influenza A (H1N1)]
So, remember...
You won't get swine flu from ham sandwiches, pork roast or bacon.
But if a pig sneezes on you, you're a goner.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Legal Torture
I have a pretty balanced family.
No, no, no...not balanced emotionally. We're as screwed up as anyone else.
I mean the traits the we share.
I mean, first, 2 females and 2 males...
Two with a sense of humour (my son and I) and two without (ladies?). He and I will watch Monty Python, and they will leave the room. Sometimes, if we're lucky, the house.
Two lefties (my daughter and I) and two of the lesser kind.
And two athletes (wife and son) and two spectators (daughter and I).
As an aside, I frequently tell my wife, as she urges me to try some damned fool physical activity like tae kwondo or roller skating, that if it weren't for us spectators there would be no sport. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that we're more important than they are!
Anyway, I digress, as I tend to do.
The two athletes, as athletes do, get injured from time to time. Some, more than they should. (Actually, sonny boy has stretched at least two inches taller in the past 6 weeks and I'm sure that's contributing to the strains on his frame.)
In the past couple of months the young feller has...
1) Cracked a knee-cap (it's actually a congenital thing -- his kneecap bones didn't fully fuse. It's a case of bipartite patella. Not a big deal for most people unless you were to...say fall on your knee. Hurts like a sonuvabitch, but that's about it.
2) Then, during a game of indoor football (it was pouring out) he dislocated his collarbone.
3) A week later he pulled his hammy. Hamstring strains take a little while to heal -- three weeks in his case) .
4) And just as that cleared up he pulled his groin.
Oh, get your fricken minds out of the gutter.
The adductor muscles on the left side strained, probably due to the extra bone length (watch it!) stretching the muscle beyond what he's used to.
Hips are notoriously bad in football players, so we had it x-rayed and MRI'd (MRI images are massively cool!) and they were clear, so off to the physio.
Trained, I'm convinced, by Joseph Mengele.
Now my young lad has a very high pain threshold.
That dislocated collarbone I mentioned? He was doing full training a week later.
I saw him take a football in the face from about 10 feet , hit the ground like a sack of rice, get up, dust himself off and continue with the game.
He sliced the pads of both big toes open on oyster shells when he got out of a kayak at school -- slicing though to the meat -- on a Wednesday and the NEXT DAY did full training at football.
Like I said -- high pain threshold.
So when the physio is digging into his hip flexors and he's turning red in the face saying "Dad. It really hurts." you gotta know it really hurts. And yet he's still grinning.
Full credit to the masters of pain though. The physio that he goes to (enough times that we are now on their newsletter mailing list) is top class. She (a tiny little masochist named Trudi) sorted out his iliotibial ligament after last year's Feb growth spurt, fixed up his calves after the August growth spurt and seem to have a handle on his groin problem.
As it were.
And a thought occurred to me.
Obama released those torture memos, and frankly, from what I've read, it ain't that scary. I can see where knowing in advance what is coming would take the sting out it. I think I could take whatever they were legally allowed to dish out, and I'm a card carrying wimp.
Rendition is such a dirty word. It's the alleged transport of folks who don't buckle under the legal interrogation techniques to some other country that isn't so concerned with human rights.
So, say, if Durka Durka Mohamed Ali won't talk, he gets sent to, say, Egypt where toenail removal is allowed.
I say enough of this.
Rendit (is that a word?) them to Australia and let the physios at them. They'll be babbling before the first session is over.
No, no, no...not balanced emotionally. We're as screwed up as anyone else.
I mean the traits the we share.
I mean, first, 2 females and 2 males...
Two with a sense of humour (my son and I) and two without (ladies?). He and I will watch Monty Python, and they will leave the room. Sometimes, if we're lucky, the house.
Two lefties (my daughter and I) and two of the lesser kind.
And two athletes (wife and son) and two spectators (daughter and I).
As an aside, I frequently tell my wife, as she urges me to try some damned fool physical activity like tae kwondo or roller skating, that if it weren't for us spectators there would be no sport. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that we're more important than they are!
Anyway, I digress, as I tend to do.
The two athletes, as athletes do, get injured from time to time. Some, more than they should. (Actually, sonny boy has stretched at least two inches taller in the past 6 weeks and I'm sure that's contributing to the strains on his frame.)
In the past couple of months the young feller has...
1) Cracked a knee-cap (it's actually a congenital thing -- his kneecap bones didn't fully fuse. It's a case of bipartite patella. Not a big deal for most people unless you were to...say fall on your knee. Hurts like a sonuvabitch, but that's about it.
2) Then, during a game of indoor football (it was pouring out) he dislocated his collarbone.
3) A week later he pulled his hammy. Hamstring strains take a little while to heal -- three weeks in his case) .
4) And just as that cleared up he pulled his groin.
Oh, get your fricken minds out of the gutter.
The adductor muscles on the left side strained, probably due to the extra bone length (watch it!) stretching the muscle beyond what he's used to.
Hips are notoriously bad in football players, so we had it x-rayed and MRI'd (MRI images are massively cool!) and they were clear, so off to the physio.
Trained, I'm convinced, by Joseph Mengele.
Now my young lad has a very high pain threshold.
That dislocated collarbone I mentioned? He was doing full training a week later.
I saw him take a football in the face from about 10 feet , hit the ground like a sack of rice, get up, dust himself off and continue with the game.
He sliced the pads of both big toes open on oyster shells when he got out of a kayak at school -- slicing though to the meat -- on a Wednesday and the NEXT DAY did full training at football.
Like I said -- high pain threshold.
So when the physio is digging into his hip flexors and he's turning red in the face saying "Dad. It really hurts." you gotta know it really hurts. And yet he's still grinning.
Full credit to the masters of pain though. The physio that he goes to (enough times that we are now on their newsletter mailing list) is top class. She (a tiny little masochist named Trudi) sorted out his iliotibial ligament after last year's Feb growth spurt, fixed up his calves after the August growth spurt and seem to have a handle on his groin problem.
As it were.
And a thought occurred to me.
Obama released those torture memos, and frankly, from what I've read, it ain't that scary. I can see where knowing in advance what is coming would take the sting out it. I think I could take whatever they were legally allowed to dish out, and I'm a card carrying wimp.
Rendition is such a dirty word. It's the alleged transport of folks who don't buckle under the legal interrogation techniques to some other country that isn't so concerned with human rights.
So, say, if Durka Durka Mohamed Ali won't talk, he gets sent to, say, Egypt where toenail removal is allowed.
I say enough of this.
Rendit (is that a word?) them to Australia and let the physios at them. They'll be babbling before the first session is over.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
I'm a Twit
For the past 10 or so days I've been tweeting. I'm a twit. Twat? Not sure of the correct terminology.
I joined the 'social networking' site Twitter. Kind of like sending text messages to all and sundry. Anybody that wants to 'follow' me will see everything I post, but I can only post 140 characters at a time.
There would be absolutely no draw to this service if celebrities weren't also twits. And I mean that in the kindest way possible. Really.
But celebrities do, and some have way more time on there hands that you or I do, twittering many dozen times a day.
Ashton Kutcher, the 'Dude Where's my Car', Kelso, Butterfly Effect guy is probably the King of the Twits. If you decide to sign up (it's free and easy) look for @aplusk. Don't be shy about following his posts; at last check he had over 1'.4 million people hanging on his every tweet.
The draw, as I said, is the celebrity content. Everyone except Jon Stewart posts there with vary levels of regularity.
The average Joe, like myself, can have the vicarious thrill of knowing what's going on in Kim Kardasian's life (lots of flying around to parties), that Hugh Jackman just spent time at Disney World with his family or that Lily Allen just got back to her English home and was glad to see her garden again.
Pete Wentz tweets like a mad fool, keeping the avid reader current with what's going on while on tour. If you want over the top, scandalous gossipy up to the minute stuff, take a gander at Perez Hilton's twittering. For the more intellectual (and, at times, funny), follow Anderson Cooper.
It's addictive. Once you start posting, you can't stop. I expect the service draws those that are by nature exhibitionists, and I must be one because in the past 11 days I've posted 124 times.
I'm very curious about the Twitter business model. There's no advertising on the site, and no subscription fees. At the rate users grow the back end must need upgrading on a regular basis. Wil Wheaton, in his blog, references this with "Finally, on the off-chance that someone who makes Twitter go sees this: please let me give you money. I love Twitter and I really want to support it so it doesn't go away."
So. I'm addicted. I usually post some inanity in the hope that I get a laugh from someone. A few people are 'following' me. Sixty-four, to be precise. That's a big jump from 24 hours ago when only 18 were following me. Then the Kutch, @aplusk, responded to one of my comments and 46 of his 1.4 million followers started following me also. Oh, the pressure.
Final note, the two most off the wall posters I've seen so far? No surprise, really. Steve Buscemi comes across just as you'd expect him to...very much like Rockhound in Armageddon. (Typical post? "...is going skydiving in a mumu dress & shooting guns tomorrow...preferably simultaneously and drunk as fuck on Absolut, Patron, and cheap rum.")
And Rob Corddry...please get help. I know you're a bit off the wall, and that's your 'charm', but my God..."I'm doing market research. Would you rather I Tweet about my children or diarrhea? Because I can fucking hold forth on both. Same thing?"
So sign up folks. Follow me. Have a laugh and eavesdrop on the stars.
I joined the 'social networking' site Twitter. Kind of like sending text messages to all and sundry. Anybody that wants to 'follow' me will see everything I post, but I can only post 140 characters at a time.
There would be absolutely no draw to this service if celebrities weren't also twits. And I mean that in the kindest way possible. Really.
But celebrities do, and some have way more time on there hands that you or I do, twittering many dozen times a day.
Ashton Kutcher, the 'Dude Where's my Car', Kelso, Butterfly Effect guy is probably the King of the Twits. If you decide to sign up (it's free and easy) look for @aplusk. Don't be shy about following his posts; at last check he had over 1'.4 million people hanging on his every tweet.
The draw, as I said, is the celebrity content. Everyone except Jon Stewart posts there with vary levels of regularity.
The average Joe, like myself, can have the vicarious thrill of knowing what's going on in Kim Kardasian's life (lots of flying around to parties), that Hugh Jackman just spent time at Disney World with his family or that Lily Allen just got back to her English home and was glad to see her garden again.
Pete Wentz tweets like a mad fool, keeping the avid reader current with what's going on while on tour. If you want over the top, scandalous gossipy up to the minute stuff, take a gander at Perez Hilton's twittering. For the more intellectual (and, at times, funny), follow Anderson Cooper.
It's addictive. Once you start posting, you can't stop. I expect the service draws those that are by nature exhibitionists, and I must be one because in the past 11 days I've posted 124 times.
I'm very curious about the Twitter business model. There's no advertising on the site, and no subscription fees. At the rate users grow the back end must need upgrading on a regular basis. Wil Wheaton, in his blog, references this with "Finally, on the off-chance that someone who makes Twitter go sees this: please let me give you money. I love Twitter and I really want to support it so it doesn't go away."
So. I'm addicted. I usually post some inanity in the hope that I get a laugh from someone. A few people are 'following' me. Sixty-four, to be precise. That's a big jump from 24 hours ago when only 18 were following me. Then the Kutch, @aplusk, responded to one of my comments and 46 of his 1.4 million followers started following me also. Oh, the pressure.
Final note, the two most off the wall posters I've seen so far? No surprise, really. Steve Buscemi comes across just as you'd expect him to...very much like Rockhound in Armageddon. (Typical post? "...is going skydiving in a mumu dress & shooting guns tomorrow...preferably simultaneously and drunk as fuck on Absolut, Patron, and cheap rum.")
And Rob Corddry...please get help. I know you're a bit off the wall, and that's your 'charm', but my God..."I'm doing market research. Would you rather I Tweet about my children or diarrhea? Because I can fucking hold forth on both. Same thing?"
So sign up folks. Follow me. Have a laugh and eavesdrop on the stars.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Twits and the folks
I am a twit.
That is to say, I have recently register with Twitter, the relatively recent social networking thingamajig. If you also tweet, I'm @tony_mcfadden. Look me up.
It's a wierd things, these social networking thingamajigs.
Facebook allows users the ability to sync up with a ton of people, but honestly, once the initial novelty wears out the only thing that gets updated on Facebook is the status.
Twitter is essentially nothing BUT the Facebook status.
And for the nosey, voyeuristic among us, you can "listen in" on anybody else by following them.
Anyway, it's an addicitve, silly past-time.
==============================================
My parents were here for a week short of two months and don't think that I'm including them with twit(ters)s on pupose -- it just happened that way.
From the first week of January to the last week of Feb they managed to experience 40+ degree weather, cold enough to warrant a fire weather, bush fires, numerous medical annoyances (including a 3 or 4 day stay in the hospital for my dear old ma), and I'm sure they were very glad to get home and REST.
But folks, we had a great time. And thanks for the barbeque, by the way. charcoaled up some grease just the other day. Amazing that bacon on the bbq tastes SO much better. So did the t-bones.
It was good to see them after so long, and look forward to seeing y'all again.
Until then, become twits. It's free!
That is to say, I have recently register with Twitter, the relatively recent social networking thingamajig. If you also tweet, I'm @tony_mcfadden. Look me up.
It's a wierd things, these social networking thingamajigs.
Facebook allows users the ability to sync up with a ton of people, but honestly, once the initial novelty wears out the only thing that gets updated on Facebook is the status.
Twitter is essentially nothing BUT the Facebook status.
And for the nosey, voyeuristic among us, you can "listen in" on anybody else by following them.
Anyway, it's an addicitve, silly past-time.
==============================================
My parents were here for a week short of two months and don't think that I'm including them with twit(ters)s on pupose -- it just happened that way.
From the first week of January to the last week of Feb they managed to experience 40+ degree weather, cold enough to warrant a fire weather, bush fires, numerous medical annoyances (including a 3 or 4 day stay in the hospital for my dear old ma), and I'm sure they were very glad to get home and REST.
But folks, we had a great time. And thanks for the barbeque, by the way. charcoaled up some grease just the other day. Amazing that bacon on the bbq tastes SO much better. So did the t-bones.
It was good to see them after so long, and look forward to seeing y'all again.
Until then, become twits. It's free!
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
To Write...
I love writing (although you wouldn't know it by the lack up updates on this site!)
Rearranging the 26 letters, a space and half a dozen punctuation marks into what is essentially telepathy...I love it.
I've just finished the skeleton of a novel; the story from a to z. It's a story of a guy (name: Matt Daly) that's roughly in my line of work (mobile communications) who gets wrapped up in local (SE Asia and Australia) Islam-o-fanatic activities more than he'd like to. **I** think it's pretty good, but it's also pretty bare. In a couple of weeks I'll go over it again and add colour and atmosphere. I guess right now it's a very detailed 50,000 word outline. A very plot driven outline
To keep the writing bug fed I'm writing some short stories that are more character driven.
About 18 years ago I was working for a Northern Virginian (Arlington) based consulting company and was on a crap project in Philadelphia. We had to do extremely detailed drive testing of Comcast's network as a precursor to them (I think) removing spectrum for their new-fangled digital offering.
Well, I, and an engineer from Jersey named Rich (with an accent right out of the Sopranos) were driving SE Philly between midnight and 5 am, measuring signal strength and driving by heavily populated crack house stoops. We had the discussion about what to do if somebody jumped in front of him -- he was driving, I was collecting the data (run the f$cker over), discussed movies (few in common) and great character names. I mentioned a large blowhard I knew back in Canada named Eamon, mixed it with Nevil Shute and came up with the delightfully corny name, Eamonn Shute (Aim and shoot -- get it?)
That name stuck with me. Over the intervening years Eamonn became a large Irish expat, living large in Miami off the proceeds of the Irish lottery. Because he is a genus (of course) he uses his very sharp observational skills to help his friends that seem to find themselves always falling into one scrape or another.
Kind of like an early day mentalist.
Anywho, while the Matt Daly story steeps in my subconscious (I need to add colour describing both Gurkha's and the history of the SAS, btw, so some research is needed) I'm writing a shortie where Eamonn Shute aids a friend accused of killing the spoiled son of a recently former business partner of the accused (3-iron to the head, on the beach, by the groundskeeper).
My ideal world is one where I get paid enough to write what I want to write so I can do this full time.
Fingers crossed.
Rearranging the 26 letters, a space and half a dozen punctuation marks into what is essentially telepathy...I love it.
I've just finished the skeleton of a novel; the story from a to z. It's a story of a guy (name: Matt Daly) that's roughly in my line of work (mobile communications) who gets wrapped up in local (SE Asia and Australia) Islam-o-fanatic activities more than he'd like to. **I** think it's pretty good, but it's also pretty bare. In a couple of weeks I'll go over it again and add colour and atmosphere. I guess right now it's a very detailed 50,000 word outline. A very plot driven outline
To keep the writing bug fed I'm writing some short stories that are more character driven.
About 18 years ago I was working for a Northern Virginian (Arlington) based consulting company and was on a crap project in Philadelphia. We had to do extremely detailed drive testing of Comcast's network as a precursor to them (I think) removing spectrum for their new-fangled digital offering.
Well, I, and an engineer from Jersey named Rich (with an accent right out of the Sopranos) were driving SE Philly between midnight and 5 am, measuring signal strength and driving by heavily populated crack house stoops. We had the discussion about what to do if somebody jumped in front of him -- he was driving, I was collecting the data (run the f$cker over), discussed movies (few in common) and great character names. I mentioned a large blowhard I knew back in Canada named Eamon, mixed it with Nevil Shute and came up with the delightfully corny name, Eamonn Shute (Aim and shoot -- get it?)
That name stuck with me. Over the intervening years Eamonn became a large Irish expat, living large in Miami off the proceeds of the Irish lottery. Because he is a genus (of course) he uses his very sharp observational skills to help his friends that seem to find themselves always falling into one scrape or another.
Kind of like an early day mentalist.
Anywho, while the Matt Daly story steeps in my subconscious (I need to add colour describing both Gurkha's and the history of the SAS, btw, so some research is needed) I'm writing a shortie where Eamonn Shute aids a friend accused of killing the spoiled son of a recently former business partner of the accused (3-iron to the head, on the beach, by the groundskeeper).
My ideal world is one where I get paid enough to write what I want to write so I can do this full time.
Fingers crossed.
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