Archive for category Aphorisms
We attended the Walkway Over the Hudson’s Moonwalk event / fundraiser on the night of the Hunter’s Moon, which also happened to be a penumbral eclipse. You can barely see the darkness in the lower right-hand quadrant, down around Tycho Crater:
That’s a fairly crappy picture by contemporary standards: taken with my Canon SX-230HS, zoomed tight, hand-held, braced atop the Walkway’s railing. Any of the telescopes deployed along the Walkway produced better / sharper / more impressive images. Heck, we’ve been there and brought back moondust, despite being stuck in LEO ever since.
Galileo upended the universe with observations based on images no better than that. What’s your excuse?
Wisely is it written: A poor craftsman blames his tools.
Go read Galileo’s Daughter by Dava Sobel. If you have dry eyes at the end of the last sentence, then I’d say you have what it takes to be the CEO of a really big financial institution.
My buddy Mad Phil’s obituary will read that he died from “complications of ALS“. In his case, he lived nearly three weeks after his swallowing reflex failed, whereupon he quietly and deliberately stopped eating and drinking. He slipped into intermittent unconsciousness last week, departed from consensus reality, and died of dehydration yesterday.
It’s not starvation, because you can survive for much longer than a month without food, but not even the correct name makes it prettier. The rule of thumb for death by dehydration gives you a week or two, tops, but early on I told him that he’d survive for a month on sheer cussedness. For reasons I’ll describe in a few days, I know from personal experience that he was still up and running after seven days. He slowed down a bit during the second week, but still held court from his bed 15 days after entering final approach.
We met, decades ago, at a locally important company whose name cannot be mentioned (but whose initials are IBM, if that helps), where he taught me a good deal of what I know about hardware construction and debugging. He was known as Mad Phil, not because he was crazy, but because when something important needed doing, he could get it done and you did not get between him and his goal.
Here’s how that worked, once upon a time:
Mad Phil and a bunch of techs are returning from a trip to a vendor in Massachusetts. Some of the guys plan to visit a favorite fishing hole on the way home, so they stop at a deli in a small town for provisions. Being young guys, they simply slam to a stop in a no-parking zone. A tech hops out of the back seat and runs into the deli.
Mad Phil sits in the passenger seat of the other car, a Chrysler Cordoba rental pimpmobile, with a tech named Guido at the wheel; Guido looks exactly like you’d expect, dressed to impress right down to the open shirt and gold chain. Phil, being the responsible engineer in charge of the trip, is (uncharacteristically) wearing a suit. There being no parking, Guido makes loops around the traffic circle at the center of town. They spot a local police car near the deli, so Guido drives carefully.
After a few loops, the tech runs out of the deli with two large brown bags and waves at Guido, who pulls up between the police car and the deli. In quick succession, the policeman gets out of the patrol car, the tech tosses one bag into Guido’s lap, hops into the other car, and pulls out with unseemly haste.
The policeman studies Guido, Phil, the bag, and the Cordoba. Phil powers down his window, smiles, and asks “May we be of assistance, officer?” The policeman looks at both of them again, meets Phil’s gaze, and says “There’s no point, you’d be out of jail in fifteen minutes.” Phil replies “Thank you, officer, we appreciate your cooperation” and nods at Guido, who gently backs the car out, and they drive off in a stately manner.
He was obviously that guy you did not mess with.
Over the course of the last two years, after being diagnosed with ALS, he quietly and efficiently got his affairs in order, selling and donating his extensive collection of tools, equipment, and parts: putting his stuff where it would do the most good. He gave many tools to a local group that builds and repairs houses, helped stock the local hackerspace, gave me a wide assortment of doodads (some of which you’ve seen here), and was far more generous than anyone really should be.
Go in peace, old friend. You’ve earned it.
Memo to Self: Do like he did.
The collection of refrigerator words went off to college for the amusement and edification of our Larval Engineer’s compadres. These magnetic words emerged from nooks and crannies on and around the refrigerator over the next few months and form what must be the Ultimate Message from the Subconscious:
Perhaps it’s an admonition to would-be Airship Pirates?
was floater ever secure or will praise drive pilot
If this keeps up, we may see them walking along the Rail Trail:
he would control disgusting squeebie monster!
I would Just Say No:
smoke rubbery worm & twitch
Perhaps those sacrificial virgins felt this way:
arm my sadest candle for fire day
Spelling isn’t the subconsious’s strong suite…
This grew from humble beginnings to span the side of the refrigerator:
I thunder huge snot meteors over my shoulder
at the levitating Martian corpse master’s scaly rocket crew
English is a recursive language: you can infinitely complexicate any sentence.