Rat race & human race

Two stories from NPR today that are worth thinking about:

Researchers have discovered that a freed lab rat is concerned about a fellow rodent caught in a trap. So much so that the former will labor hard to get its cage mate out of the trap.

And here’s the thing—given the choice of two traps, one with a pal and the other with a cache of highly-prized chocolate, the free rat will still liberate its mate, as well as the chocs…and then share the treat.

Meanwhile, back in the human cage, Republican pols are still decrying the “millionaire” tax as a terrible burden on business owners’ ability to create jobs. Only an NPR reporter was unable to get any of the decriers to cough up someone to support their claim.

She did, however, get several business owners who said that the tax does not figure large in their plans to hire staff. And when approached by the reporter with this contradiction to his mantra of not taxing business, Sen. John Thune (R-S.D.) tush-tushed her, “Those I would say were exceptions to the rule.”

And back to standing tall against any measure that would help out the American people, or even the majority of his constituents.

I suppose the argument could be made that the ’Pubs are in fact looking after their cage mates, but only the ones who have already shared the treats with them.

But even so, I think this time the score is Lab Rats: 1; Human Beings: 0.

Surgical strike Pt Last (I hope)

Last Friday I had my follow-up appointment with Arrogant Jerk, MD, the surgeon who performed the arthroscopy on my knees.

Keeping in mind that this sports medicine practice is like the assembly line at Ford, and that all my interactions with everyone there (except with the MRI tech) has had all the warmth and humanity of installing an engine block, I was a little surprised to find that they had no record of the appointment that had been on the schedule for weeks.

But, rather than lose the fee from my insurance, they let me in and left me in the sports hell examination room. (Truly I say unto you: there was nothing to read in that room except Sports Illustrated, ESPN Magazine and the sports section from that day’s Mercury-News.) And they left me there to wait for 25 minutes to fit me in between the transmission and the drive train.

AJ, MD’s assistant didn’t have my chart—she commented on that as she scribbled down notes what was operated on, meds, etc. When AJMD finally came in, he did have a folder in hand; I wondered if he picked up someone else’s chart on the way in, just to make it look good, as a prop.

His greeting was, “No hugs or kisses today—I’m sick.”

Euw.

He took a cursory look at my knees and basically cut me loose—if there are no issues I don’t have to see him again. And I’m not planning on having issues. Because every time I see this guy (except when I’m sedated) he creeps me out.

So, I continue with the exercises my physical therapist gave me and wait to make sure all the bills clear my insurance.

Serpents of the season

Well, I was being sardonic when I referred to the holiday season and then directed your attention to the recent stories about cobras in the tax office and the windshield viper (sorry, couldn’t help myself)—the water moccasin that appeared on the windscreen of a family’s car as they were going at speed on a highway.

But it turns out there really are ophidian aspects of the holidays this year: at least two families (one in Idaho and the other in North Carolina) have hit the wires because their Christmas tree ornaments included…a snake.

I see a trend developing.

Pearl Harbor 70 years on

Today marks the 70^th anniversary of the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor. It might be appropriate to pause in your holiday activities and think of the thousands men and women at Ground Zero in 1941, as well as the millions who took on the fight against fascism.

In this past year the final known living soldiers of World War I died, and the survivors of Pearl Harbor are also dying off. The Pearl Harbor Survivors Association holds its last gathering today; then it will disband. Its members are too old and frail to travel to meeting places.

These days we know what it’s like to wake up one beautiful, clear day and discover your world crashing down without warning. For our generation it was buildings collapsing, not battleships sinking.

The Pearl Harbor generation has carried these memories for 70 years. I hope many were able to transmit them—to families or historians—so that they are not lost to the future.

Bonfire of the vanities

No doubt you’ve heard the news of what’s being called the costliest car crash ever: a 14-vehicle crash on a highway in Japan. It involved varying degrees of destruction of eight Ferraris, three Benzes and a Lamborghini.

Evidently there was this convoy of high-end cars headed to a meeting of sports car enthusiasts in Hiroshima when the driver of one of the Ferraris tried to change lanes. He crashed into the median barrier and spun out across the highway. No human fatalities, but a lot of damaged egos, and I’m guessing some car insurance execs are not looking forward to a happy year end.

I like the way the spokesman for the traffic police referred to the drivers, aged 37 to 60: “A gathering of narcissists.” I’m betting that they are also all male.

Evidently there were also a couple of Toyotas in the mash-up. Probably collateral damage.

Sunnyvale sites & sights Part 1

I like walking around my Sunnyvale neighborhood. Within a mile or so of my place there are Latino, Indian, Korean and other ethnic markets, seriously low-rent trailer parks and even a few remnants of the orchards that used to be here before it was Silicon Central.

The area is strictly lower- and middle-class cheek-by-jowl, although many of the unremarkable 50s to 70s ranch houses fetch well over $700K. (Apparently we're in the Cupertino school district, which adds substantial kick to your property value.)

The houses are largely cookie-cutter, but I find that the front yards are indeed individual.

I was walking past one such when I realized there was quite the lawn ornament:

And if you'll look closely at the plant on the left, you'll see that there is more to the defensive system than just the knight:

All plastic, of course--this is the Silicon Valley.

But I'd certainly like to meet the owners.

More snakes alive

As we enter the season of Advent, let me just say this: nothing says “holiday spirit” like letting loose a few score poisonous snakes in a tax office to protest officials demanding bribes, as reported in the Telegraph.

The story itself is weird enough; what makes it really striking (so to speak) is the video. I’m not quite understanding why there are still people in the office—I would certainly have beat feet at the first sign of a snake head. And I’m also unclear about the tactics of flapping cloths at the snakes.

I have to say that I see a lot of what we in the software business call “applications” for cobras: IRS offices; the DMV; shopping at Walmart (if you’ve run out of pepper spray). Don’t like the review your boss gave you? Drop a few snakes in her cube. Unhappy with the tip a diner left? Add a little “something” to his credit card receipt.

Why—Congress alone would be worth an entire colony of cobras.

Truly, the world would work a lot better if people packed poisonous reptiles.

And, as long as I’m on a slither, so to speak, the Telegraph has further video of a family jaunt that suddenly included a water moccasin popping out of the windscreen wiper vent.

What I don’t get is that they continue driving for so long after the snake appeared.

Spray art

Another Internet meme hit the global browsers when a University of California, Davis, campus cop was caught on video pepper-spraying Occupy protester, who were seated and not engaging in behavior any more threatening than planting butts on sidewalks.

Barely had the uploads made it to YouTube than Lt. John Pike started popping up in more images than Princess Beatrice’s Royal Wedding hat. Keep clicking through the pages of the Tumblr site to see Pike appear in Picasso’s Guernica, at various iterations of the Last Supper and Hopper’s Diner.

I find this absolutely fascinating—the instant commentary on art, society, protest, police overreaction; in fact, pretty much everything you got going.

A few weeks ago, when the Libyans were closing in on Gaddafi, I scoured the Web, sure I’d find the Colonel popping up in the White House Situation Room, the Republican debates, even the Royal Wedding. It seemed to me that Where’s Muammar? was a natural for this sort of visual witticism.

But evidently I was wrong.

I’m going to have to do this myself—Photoshop? Illustrator? It just looks like too much fun, and you don’t have to worry about coming up with le mot juste.

Flying to hell

I drove into work yesterday morning hearing the news that American Airlines parent company AMR has filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy. It seems that their senior management took longer than anyone has expected to run the business into the ground, although their brand-new CEO blames labor costs, fuel prices and everything in the universe except their own boneheadedness.

What this does is allow them to stiff their vendors, screw their employees and cock a snook at their customers, while continuing to pay themselves handsomely. Legally.

I used to prefer American to other carriers, but I wouldn’t like to think about what the flying experience is going to be with them for the next year or so. The reporter this morning did say they’ll keep their frequent flier program going, but I rather suspect that your miles aren’t going to do much to ameliorate overbooked flights, cumulative fees for every aspect of travel or the risk of an antiquated fleet that’s serviced in Mexico.

(The only good thing I can think of is that at least it isn't United Airlines.)

It’s a strange economy we live in where corporations (which have been declared “persons” by our Supreme Court) can engage in anti-social that in actual persons would result in criminal prosecution.

Some of us are definitely more equal than others in this Animal Farm.

Shedding light

I know times are tough, and businesses are trying to cut costs wherever they can. A my current place of employment has certainly had its problems recently, resulting in not only laying off more than 10,000 employees but also (even worse) senior management embarking on “transformation initiatives” to try to save the corporate bacon.

(You’ll recall that this is the company that needed five layers of management approval to authorize spending $17 on a mouse for me.)

But I do think they’ve hit the bottom: cubes here have a personal light embedded in the cabinet over each desk, which is kind of necessary because the company seems to have rigged the overheads so our floor resembles nothing so much as a mushroom ranch. I don’t use mine a whole lot, but occasionally I need to see something besides my clapped-out laptop.

So imagine my surprise when I went to switch it on yesterday morning and found that someone had removed the light bulb. The one in the lamp over the other desk in my cube was also missing. As were the bulbs in several unoccupied cubes.

Seriously? Are they collecting these things to sell on eBay? Does the CEO need an extra Aubusson rug for his house in Santa Cruz?

(And yes—I did find an empty cube that still had a bulb and I nicked it. Sometimes a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.)