Wrong Metaphor

The argument against the individual insurance mandate is that it forces people into an act of commerce, and that is unconstitutional.

Everyone's favorite veggie, broccoli, somehow makes it into a metaphor for this: If the government can force us to buy insurance, can it also force us to buy broccoli?

The problem is that they are asking the wrong question and using the wrong metaphor. We are forcing people to buy insurance so that tax payers don't have to pay for uninsured people's health care. The metaphor is: should the government force you to buy your broccoli, or should the government force you to buy your broccoli and some for your lazy neighbors too, as is the case now.

Sadly, I think the current situation is constitutional, while the ideal situation is not.

I suppose an equally acceptable though highly repugnant solution that would retain constitutionality would make hospitals only treat people who show they can afford care. Everyone else can die in the street.

I'm sure that's what Jesus would do.

Portrait Model

He's not as noble as you think he might be.

A Tree in the Forest

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§ 35mm f/1.8
† 70mm f/2.8
* 200mm f/2.8

We were having this nice walk in the woods, a prelude to dinner and a nice evening in front of the fire. We were discussing the challenges facing an artist who walks in the woods. Case in point, a tree with pleurotus along it's length. One option I proposed was large aperture and long focal length, thereby allowing the photographer to focus the tree and blur the background. This method works well in the scenario where one wishes to photograph large portions of the tree.

 I also noted the movement of the clouds, and it's dramatic effect on the impression the scene gives. The feeling went from flat to warm in a matter of moments.

The Internet: Totally Ruining My Ability to Integrate Into Society

Case in point: Etsy and Regretsy.

One day, not long ago, we got a screaming deal on our wedding rings on etsy. We really like them. They were made by someone. Not a factory. For us. Rock on & over.

Then, at some point, I found Regretsy, and am now totally ruined in terms of being able to interact with people at craft shows. Instead of just vacantly smiling when presented with table fulls of objects that have questionable aesthetic or utilitarian value, I eagerly quip. "You must have an etsy store." This urge is especially enhanced when there are photos around of nubile and/or emo looking young women, wearing fingerless gloves and sleeveless dresses, hugging ornamental stars.

Who hangs around hugging architectural ornamentation? What does that have to do with what they're selling?

What are they selling again?

I am all to eager to accuse people of having an Etsy store. It's not really a compliment, in the same vein as "Nice haircut, did you do it yourself?".

I am permanently inclined toward the ridiculous plane.

The Algorithm

We did not invent the algorithm. The algorithm consistently finds Jesus. The algorithm killed Jeeves. The algorithm is banned in China. The algorithm is from Jersey. The algorithm constantly finds Jesus. This is not the algorithm. This is close.

All hail the algorithm.

Submarine Races

The sudden burst of heat (with temperatures reaching nearly 30°C yesterday), has brought a sudden burst of bicycle riding. At one point on the ride, I ride by a small stormwater management pond.

It's attracted quite a bit of wildlife. I see geese and an occasional heron, tiny frogs leap from shore to water. Last week, I saw a small turtle head poking up above the surface.


View Larger Map

Yesterday, I was hoping to see more turtle goodness. When I cam around the corner on my bike, I was greeted by this sight.

 I frantically tried to dig the camera out of my bag, park the bike out of the street, all while avoiding spooking the owners of the massive shells that were bobbing in the pond. Those are not the little sliders I'm used to seeing around here. It soon became apparent that the shells were too busy with each other to be particularly worried about me.

...There was quite a bit of rolling,

 tackling

...grabbing....

I wondered what was going on. I wondered what kind of turtles they were. (I was hoping for river cooter, since they are very rare this far north.)

After a few moments, the action stopped. A single head, the back of a shell, and the tip of a very long tail surfaced.

Snapping Turtles! Snapping turtles have amazingly long tails.

Then, another head poked up above the ripples, a nose, barely above the surface, and I totally got the event.

They were making a turtle stack.

Volvo B230 Flame Trap: Good Photos and a Good Story

One of the long standing mysteries of the Volvo has been the periodic appearance of the phenomenon that I have referred to (under my breath, of course) as the dipstick woody. That is, when I pop the hood and find the Volvo's dipstick 3-6 inches removed from the sleeve.

Reading the Volvo Apocrypha, the useless Haynes manual, and a few other references. I was left with the impression that the positive crank case ventilation system (PCV) might be clogged, and that I should inspect the flame trap and oil phase separator for blockages.

Finding the flame trap is left as an exercise to the mechanic apparently. After some head scratching and re-reading the references a few times, I was able to locate the separator box under the intake manifold, and from there, the flametrap itself. For those who know where this thing is, it's bleeding obvious. For those who don't, you stand there staring at a mess of vacuum, water, and gas hoses, and wish that god had sent you a BMW, since at least it would be fun to drive.

So, for your reading enjoyment, I have carefully documented my volvo b230 flame trap adventures.

A wee test: can you see the PCV hoses (flame trap) in this photo?

Were you right? Here. I'll take the intake hose off for you to see it.

I'll even zoom in a bit.

To remove it, I recommend first removing the small vacuum hose to the intake manifold, then trying to lift either the upper pcv hose off the fitting, or pulling the whole unit off the hose that goes to the separator box. The hoses are not tightly attached. To put it back in, I reccomend putting it in the lower hose first, the pcv hose second, the the vacuum hose last. Be sure it is rotated correctly for the vacuum hose to reach when you first install it.


Of course, after finding this treasure, i did the next most brilliant thing I could think of: I broke it trying to pull it out of the engine.

Wups.

You'd think they'd make them out of cast aluminum or something, but I suppose they had to try to cut costs somewhere.

I tried to use epoxy to glue it back together. The result looked nice, but didn't actually work. I repeated this process a few times.

I ultimately gave up, plugged the vacuum inlet with duct tape, and ordered a few more flame traps from IPD.

The old one had quite a bit of gunk it it, but it was not clogged.

Comparison of the original trap and a new one.

The hose to the separator box was cracked and leaking. I procured a replacement.

Gunk obstructs the vacuum outlet.

More gunk in the hose. Lovely.

This didn't cure the dipstick woody issue. However, I did notice something else that I believe was the cause. With the aide of a zip tie, I have corrected the problem.

Rotting In the Woods

Growing up, things never really went to out into the woods to die. In retrospect, this is kind of odd. There was easy access to the national forest from the street. One would expect them to be full of disused household items: empty plastic bottles, rusty washers, crumbling cars and rotting couches. But no, things were pretty squeaky clean. As much as the forest can be. There's lots of dirt on the floor there, if you've ever looked.

Here, things are more normal. All the random stands of trees have little surprises/adventures waiting.

Pre-Apocalyptic Wasteland

The major question in my mind, at the moment, was whether the houses we were standing next to were abandoned or not. There were cars parked out side in reasonable states of disrepair, but the there was detritus strewn around the yards. The paint was cracked and faded. The blinds were closed. The plants a mixed between dead, trimmed, and feral. Various adornments were out of place: a destroyed light fixture, a fallen flag pole, a broken statue. I couldn't see any lights on, outside or in, but one had a garage door open, down the street, a car idled, warming itself.

I turned to ask the Dog his opinion, to see if he thought people lived around here, but he was smelling a discolored spot of grass. I took up the slack in the leash, and we moved on down the street. I stepped around a piece of concrete that said "BROADBAND^TM". I suppose Victoria's Secret is now advertising using sidewalk impressions.

Poor little Entropy

In the case of my brother's system, Entropy is a major process causing entropy.

I hope my brother has a vacuum cleaner.

Patterns of entropy

The second law of thermodynamics implies, among other things, that processes acting within a system increase the entropy of the system.

As the entropy of a system increases, systems can assume interesting, though less ordered patterns that significantly deviate from their original order.

The Pond in Winter

It's such a tiny little thing. Buried between a couple of office parks in the metro-burbs. I think it was created as an example of how forest and wetlands can be incorporated into development. People are so happy to make the waddle-sprint from the door to the car that they'd hardly notice. It's a thing that's definitely alone in the crowd.

I was kind of alone too. The car was grounded. It was too cold to comfortably ride my bike, so I used my feet to go to work. Yes, Virginia; Arduous; Horrid; Unimaginable.

But, I got to see the pond and a million other little things I didn't know about.