The Good Stuff

 

Quicksilver was cranky this morning.

Southern Belle needed a shower and I volunteered to hold the little bundle of joy.

No sooner had S.B. stepped into the shower than Quicksilver straightened out her legs, her face turned red and a liquid and gaseous sound emanated from her nether regions. She repeated twice more.

Then she gave me a smug smile that said "I figured it out!"

Lucky me.

Yes. I changed her diaper. Yes, she was much happier afterward.

And, completely without sarcasm, I feel very lucky.

Domestic tranquility and dancing-on-the-slippery-slope

I moved the cattle to a new paddock, one where I have "stockpiled" Tall Fescue.

We had about four inches of snow and are expecting another four by Sunday morning. The paddocks I had them in were getting pretty sparse. I wanted them to really grind it down. The problem is that finding the remaining edible grass under many inches of snow is slow work and I don't want my critters getting hungry and going walk-about; certainly not on the first weekend of firearms deer season.

Southern Belle and Quicksilver like looking out the window and sitting next to the wood-fire. Southern Belle has a cold and Quicksilver is not her usual bubbly self. Maybe she is coming down with something.

Quicksilver didn't warm to me right away. She is about six months old and is not used to men with facial hair.

She is extremely tactile. She likes to grab items and stroke them, turn them over and pass them from hand-to-hand.

I have bread rising in the oven.

Life is all very cozy.

Shredding redundancy

I assume most readers have had the experience of driving around a curve just a little too fast for conditions.

One instant you are in complete control, surfing the raggedy edge and then an instant later Issac Newton are calling the shots.

I remember driving on the newly laid asphalt of Verndale subdivision before the houses were built (1979). Broad sweeps of virgin pavement beckoned. I was doing fabulously until I was drifting around a curve and saw where a truck had tracked clay from the first foundation onto my pavement. In short order my vehicle was flying back-azzward through the trees, fire-hydrants and split-rail fences. 

All I saw in the windshield were the swirling vortices of dirt clods, turf and dust that chased my vehicle's path. I had no inkling of the perilous path I threaded until the next day when I went back to the scene of the mayhem.

Youth!

A robust society has multiple layers of redundancy. Failures are progressive and telegraph in advance as circuit-breakers pop in the as-designed progression.

I shake my head in dismay as I survey all of the systems that under-gird our (formerly) smoothly running society. The Leftists systematically destroyed and bastardized those finely honed, redundant systems.

The event that triggered this thought was the person who had indulged in weed and then mowed down twenty-five of LA county's class of new law enforcement recruits.

The perp was released from custody.

The arrogant S.O.B.s who are re-engineering society have no appreciation of the magnitude of the forces they will eventually unleash. What cannot be predicted is where the truck will have tracked mud onto the pavement or what other proximal cause will be enough to unleash the building forces of chaos.

They will not be able to stuff the genie back into the bottle.

One friend commented that rebuilding society will require that no stone be left standing on another before we begin. The Left has so polluted and corrupted that the infection must not only be lanced, it must be raked out into the sun, spread paper-thin and irradiated for a generation.

It is with a grain of satisfaction...

It is with a grain of satisfaction that I watch this latest generation of bleeding-edge technology loses its luster.

It happened with Steel, Railroads, Automobiles, generation-by-generation. "This time it will be different..."

Perhaps it will be different. Software is relatively easy to reverse-engineer for an existing user-base who expect a defined look-and-feel. The big investment is creating the user-base. Software is almost free to clone once written, unlike cloning blast furnaces, railway grades and automobile assembly plants.

That suggests that the profitability of running virtual universes could collapse with lightning speed.

My hat is off to Musk for pushing to get clean metrics of real, human eyeballs and adjusting the payroll to match.

Fake News Friday: NYC elevators prohibited from running at night

NYC Mayor Adams issued a press release informing NYC dwellers and commuters that in order to become more "green", he issued an Executive Order that elevators only operate during the daylight hours when solar energy is available.

In the event of clouds, eclipses or random brown-outs, the elevators will be programmed to drop down to the next available floor to ensure passengers are not trapped between floors.

Clayton and Krystal: DNR

Krystal was in the room starting on Dale Mendoza when there was a crash from the waiting room and she heard an aide yelling “CODE, CODE, CODE!”

“What is that?” Dale asked as Krystal rolled him onto his side so she could run the large-bore needle through his abdomen wall on-the-diagonal.

She stopped what she was doing and said “One of our patients is ‘coding’.”

Dale shrugged “What does that mean?”

“It probably means he is going into cardiac arrest” she said.

They heard his body arching and heels drumming against the floor.

“They are using the Automatic Defibrillator” she informed him.

“Does that happen often?” Dale asked, eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“Sadly, it does. Dialysis messes with cation balances in the blood. That can push the heart into A-fib...irregular heartbeats that don’t pump blood effectively.”

They heard more shouting. Then another round of heels drumming.

“Is it as painful as it sounds?” Dale asked. “The Automatic Defibrillator, I mean.”

Krystal compressed her lips into a grimace and nodded that it was.

“Do they have to use it?” Dale pressed.

“Not if you file a Do Not Resuscitate form and wear the wrist-band” Krystal said.

“I want to fill out that form” Dale said. There was no doubt or hesitation in his voice.

Tears welled up in her eyes. “Are you sure?” she asked.

“I was never more sure in my life” he reassured her. “I am ready to go home to Jesus and see my parents and my wife and little Roberto.”

Suddenly, she was not in a cheap clinic in a shabby part of town, chosen mainly because it was near a transfer point for most of the area’s public transportation. It was just her and Dale.

“How can you know?” Krystal asked. “How can you be sure there is anything after...death?”

Dale shrugged gently. “I cannot know for sure. But there are no better offers out there. And Jesus says we only need the tiniest bit of faith. Even a pinch the size of a mustard seed is enough to uproot a tree and hurl it into the ocean.”

“We are a long way from any ocean” Krystal said, somewhat dismissively.

“For God, that is not a problem” Dale said.

 

"You have a lot of pain in your life" Dale observed. "Maybe you could use a little bit of God in it, too."

 

Krystal nodded. "Maybe."

Krystal turned Dale back on his side to finish the procedure. “Can you tell me about Roberto?” she asked.

***

Ken Aarons was coaching Clayton.

“They will ask a lot of questions. I will have pens in front of me. If I pick one up then do not talk” Aarons said.

Clayton nodded.

“I may touch your leg with my foot or my hand if you are saying too much. I am not getting ‘fresh’, I am just getting your attention. If I touch your leg SHUT UP IMMEDIATELY.”

“If I let you talk, take your time thinking about the problem before starting to talk. Most problems can be answered with a “Yes.” or a “No.” Don’t offer any more information than the question asked for. Just “Yes” or “No” “ Aarons said.

“By this time they should have pulled your phone records. They will have GPS information about where your phone went and any texts you sent or received. I am going to ask one more time, will there be any surprises?” Aarons asked.

Clayton shook his head “No”.

“OK, we are going to do some practice. Cindy will read a question and we will pretend she is the detective. We will see how good you are at following instructions…” Aarons said.

Except for having to bust Clayton’s chops for responding to Cindy’s flirting, which was completely harmless, it went better than Aarons expected.

“The detectives will try to get you emotionally engaged, to make you feel safe or smart or make you angry. Emotions make you stupid. Remember, “Yes” and “No” and to stop talking when I touch your leg or if I start playing with my pen.”

“Ok, another quick practice session….”

 

Next Installment

From our local CBS affiliate

"Now for some good news on the economy. Retail sales for October were up after a lack-luster September. Fuel and grocery sectors led the way with the largest gains."

Saving lives at the retail level

 One of the "ideas" that I am gnawing on is the transition of Pro-Life from "Wholesale space" to the "Retail space".

Michigan passed Proposal 3 which was in the "Wholesale space" and was a bitter loss for the Pro-Life people. What is done is done.

The battle to save babies must now be fought at the retail level, winning mother-by-mother.

Analogies

A salesperson working at the wholesale level approaches a corporate buyer and makes his pitch based on price, availability, delivery performance, and secular trends.

A salesperson at the retail level defines the product using a completely different set of axis. For example, a real-estate agent must be prepared to "sell" a house based on neighborhood or curb appeal or interior amenities. Perhaps the buyer is interested in the history of the house or the architect. Maybe they are interested in the land or the outbuildings or the location or the slope/aspect.

Marketing

It is convenient to talk about "Marketing" as existing on three different planes of sophistication.

The first involves power-selling what you have. If you work for a Yugo dealership then you are going to be hard-selling Yugos to every potential customer who walks onto the lot.

Another example of this primitive approach is a clinic that offers fifteen different procedures but only two of them produce a profit. Every potential patient who walks through the door is inexorably guided to one of those two, profit-generating procedures...much like a fly that lands on the lip of a carnivorous plant.

The second level of sophistication involves the enthusiast-as-salesperson. Our Yugo salesperson moves to a Ford dealership. He loves fast cars and technology. He tries to sell every potential customer a souped-up Mustang or an electric vehicle regardless of what the customer wants or needs. The customer might need (and be able to afford) a 5-year-old minivan but the enthusiast just cannot seem to get past the gimme-a-ticket cars on the lot.

The third level of sophistication involves the salesperson suppressing their ego and ascertaining the client's values. Not just ascertaining those values but helping the client define and prioritizing them. If the client is only interested in houses with a full basement, hardwood floors and oak trim...then that is what the salesperson will show them. If the client wants to buy a house designed by Darius Moon and none are available, then the sophisticated salesperson will show them houses designed by contemporaries of or students of Darius Moon.

Every mother who feels pressured to kill their unborn baby is an individual and needs to be thought of as a "client". The sensitive salesperson will help those mothers explore what events or emotional +++ can be added to the left side of the ledger to be weighed against the assumed positives of abortion. It might not take many pluses. Maybe the thought of their child celebrating a birthday party or learning to ride a bike will be enough. 

Maybe they didn't realize that there is a lot of help in finding parents to adopt your baby. Knowing that they can let their baby live and he/she will still be able to have those parties and bicycle in their new home might tip the scales.

Maybe the hardest thing is to slow down long enough to be able to listen to those mothers.