Michael describes himself as a Writer & Curator — he’s also an extremely talented photographer, the creator of a series of custom books for children, and a craftsman of unique handmade toys. If you spend more than a millisecond looking at his Flickr pages, it is obvious that toys are his joy in life. His photostream is filled with the most interesting and thought provoking photos I’ve ever encountered, and in each one of them, one of his many toys appears. If you follow the stream over time — I have been for well over a year — you quickly learn that each one has its own very distinct personality, and you can’t help but smile when a new one turns up. Indeed, a new photo from Michael is all but guaranteed to make my day.

It’s quite obvious — to me at least — just from looking at his many creations that Michael is an exceedingly brilliant man. As best I gather from the things I’ve read, he isn’t a professional photographer, and doesn’t want to be — his photos are for his enjoyment, though they’re enjoyed by many, many more, myself obviously included.

Aside from taking pictures of toys, he also makes toys — strange, bizarre creatures as wonderfully unique as he is. He has a shop on Etsy where some of his entirely hand-made (and I mean hand made, there’s not a machine in sight, unless you count the camera) creations are available for sale. I can admit to having urges to buy out the shop on a regular basis.

He’s also the author of a series of personalized storybooks for children called flattenme. I’ve seen the “personalized” storybooks from when I was little; a stapled-together “book,” with the kid’s name added in, sometimes in a straight line, with a typewriter. Not these. These have the kid’s picture inserted in, and if the samples on their website are any indication, it’s done quite well. Really, it must be, as the list of satisfied owners reads: Reese Witherspoon, Madonna, Ben Stiller, Marcia Gay Harden, Ludacris, Joey Fatone, Melissa Joan Hart, and Denise Richards. Now, Michael is just the author — he’s not in a back room splicing pictures in or anything, at least I don’t think he is — but still, to be involved in an award-winning project with high-profile reviews out the ying-yang says something about the talent involved.

I’m sharing this with you guys for two reasons. First, because Michael is a brilliant photographer that I enjoy immensely, and I want you guys to share in the enjoyment too. That’s the selfless reason; now the selfish one.

The second is that Michael isn’t well — apparently, he’s not been well for some time. (I don’t recall him giving specifics, but that could be because a) I’m a lurker, and b) I tend to forget things.) A new photo popped up in my feed yesterday, and the description accompanying it absolutely sent me into shock. Because of the medical bills involved in not being well — and do I ever know about those — Michael is having to sell his toys.

“So. I’ve been rounding up the toys that must depart. A lot of favorites. A lot of memories — but so it goes.”

I’ve been lurking for a year and a half, looking, enjoying, taking, without ever even letting it be known I was there. Consider it silly if you like, but it’s become very important to me, much like certain TV shows and book series — and even a couple of comic books — are to you guys. I’ve taken, and I’ve not given anything back. That is not how it goes. It’s my turn to give back.

I’m not a celebrity. I don’t have hordes of eager fans that will rush in and make everything better. I don’t have thousands and thousands of followers that I can tweet to and in seconds have a hundred people revving their engines and asking where to go. What I do have, though — what’s better than hordes of fans and thousands of Twitterites — is you guys. Why? Because I know you, and I know you care.

So go. Look. Read. See what there is to see. If his work touches you, order a creature from his shop. Email him and ask if you can buy a print of one of the photos that really speaks to you. Look at the storybooks, particularly you parents out there — Christmas is eighty-five days away. (I know authors don’t get a lot in royalties, but he has to get something.)

Pass it on. I know some of you mommies out there have bigger networks than NBC — pass on the books and the toys. There’s more geeks running around here than there are at Radio Shack, and what does a geek like better than toys? I’m not — and I wouldn’t, and I doubt it would be accepted if I did — suggesting anybody to give anything more than a moment to see if what you see doesn’t make you want to give one of these brilliant creations a home with you or someone you care about.

Michael — if you’re out there — if there is anything I can do, tell me.

Photos brazenly borrowed to illustrate the creative genius of the artist, Michael “frogmuseum2″ Titus. Copyright Michael Titus, used with the purest of intent and most likely under fair use.

That day is today. That day is Software Freedom Day.

This particular Software Freedom Day is extra-special to me, because it is the anniversary of something. It was on this day last year that I — having had a bit of an internal tiff with the blog I was writing for at the time, over sucking up to a certain Evil Empire — posted a protest piece of sorts, in celebration of the fourth-annual Software Freedom Day.

And so a chain of events was set in motion. A certain someone read that very post. That someone was in need of something. An email appeared in my inbox from said someone, an email that was the beginning of something spectacular. And that email said:

[We are] currently looking for someone to post regular, short, news stories to [our website]. [...] [J]ust wanted to send a note to see if this was something you’d at all have any interest in talking to me further about.

That email was signed “Sincerely, Carlie Fairchild.”

“Publisher, Linux Journal.”

That was where it all began, the wild ride that is Linux Journal and the Linux Journal crew. Of course, things only exploded forth from there, eventually incorporating much ranting about the forces of evil, a psychotic April Fool’s Day that spawned the IRC channel that is now an institution in itself — with it’s own crew of deranged and demented derelicts — and led to being involved in such things as Sophie from Shinola, a Crème brûlée cookoff, the Shawn’s So Sexy craze, Manic Monday, Hurricane Watch 2008, and of course, the mind-blowingly awesome videographic experience that is The WFTL Show.

It’s been a great year, and I’m looking forward to the next one — there is going to be a next one, isn’t there Carlie? — and all the incessant wackiness that is sure to ensue. So, if you’re out there celebrating, be sure to drink a toast to Linux Journal and all of its lunatic crew just for me.

As I loaded up the page, I found this headline waiting for me: Happy feet, and your Manic Monday Mission.

Oh. %*@#. Feet. Frickin’ feet.

Why the negative reaction? Among the numerous misfires that regularly occur in what’s left of my mind is something that bears striking resemblance to Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. My lovely and talented prescriber of medication doesn’t want to call it OCD just yet — given time, I’m sure we’ll stick that label on my forehead next to the others.

There are all kinds of things that set it off — some rather strange, like the fear of poisonous snakes in the pool — but the absolute worst trigger is feet. Why feet? Because they’re nasty, dirty things. For whatever reason, they represent the ultimate in filth — I can’t even think about them without twitching. (Yes, I’ve twitched every time I’ve typed the word in this post, and a few other places for good measure.)

So, of course, my dear @crredwards, had to pick that as the topic for this week’s Manic Monday. Even worse, it’s pictures of feet, probably dozens of pictures of feet, which will make me twitch like a seismograph needle before the California Big One. I may need to call in for a prescription refill.

Not to worry, though. As sixth grade science class taught us, “For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.” Don’t you worry, m’dear, I’ll have and equal and opposite reaction for you, oh yes indeed…

Muahahahahaha!

However, there are some [enter your own preferred adjective here] souls who elect to stay and bear out what’s a’comin, and one of those, a friend of Tom “@tombeau” Beauchamp — of @tombeau and @candieb — has set up a webcam to allow us to see what’s going on down there.

Caveat: I don’t know the individual responsible for the camera, so I can’t vouch for what might appear in addition to the hurricane. It’s a friend of @tombeau, so I assume their quasi-sane, but I can’t be responsible for anything — debauchery, unclothédness, Satanic rituals — that might be included.

@KatherineD (of Linux Journal) and @GDruckman have set up a camera as well, looking out their third floor window.

Due to complete hurricane mania, I’ve set up a static page here on Underblog with a variety of camera feeds.

Note: Since the hurricane has a’come and a’gone,
I’ve removed the now-not-streaming video to speed up page loading.

Shameless Advertisement: The video is being provided through Ustream.tv, the same medium used for the amazing The WFTL Show with Marcel Gagné. If you’re missing it — Tuesdays @ 8:30 Eastern — you’re missing the really good part of life.

The very first Manic Monday task was to throw a pickle at the setting sun as an act of defiance against what was otherwise a bum-burning day. The second — which I’m still working on, as I was sick at the time — was to make a voodoo doll and send in a photo of it. Don’t worry, when it’s finally done it’ll turn up here; suffice it for now to say that the lady in the craft department at Walmart probably won’t ever ask me if she can help me again.

This week’s Manic Monday task, which I actually managed to be well enough to participate in, was to write a poem about cheese. Apparently, we’ve all been guilted, because everyone popped up out of the woodwork to opine on le fromage. As usual, I made something that should have been fairly easy and short into an epic project, and since I spent more time writing it than Virgil did the Aeneid, I thought I’d share it with you all.

The Curds and the Whey

Stilton, Cheddar, and the Herve,
Soft ones, hard ones, veined ones to show,
Aging ever, the curds and the whey.

Crackers, cheese knife, sit on a tray,
Brie, Camembert, et Livarot,
Stilton, Cheddar, and the Herve.

Munster, Neufchatel, Morbier,
Gorgonzola, Montasio,
Aging ever, the curds and the whey.

Cries the très affamé gourmet,
“Cheese and Marcel’s best rouge Bordeaux,
Stilton, Cheddar, and the Herve.”

What to serve with vino dolce?
Why not the flair of Majorero,
Aging ever, the curds and the whey.

Langres, Chevère, and Valençay,
Toma, Fontal, e Ramano,
Stilton, Cheddar, and the Herve,
Aging ever, the curds and the whey.

A free subscription to Breaking News to the first person to figure out what I think is the geekiest part of this particular creation du psychotique.

On this truly auspicious occasion, I want to extend my warmest wishes for a very Happy Birthday to Carlie, and I have chosen to do so in a time-honored and traditional manner — by dressing up as Marilyn Monroe and lip-syncing to Happy Birthday, Mr. President.

So here you go, Carlie:

That isn’t to say I don’t like having an occasion now and then to really get my knickers in a bunch and write a fiery “Welcome to the gates of Hell” if-I-had-the-power-I’d-toast-your-buns-with-Satans-cigarette monograph. The MIT-vs-MBTA debacle in Boston gave me one such opportunity last week, though I wasn’t quite as fiery as I would have liked to have been. It’s just one of those stories that makes me want to reach out and slap one side — preferably with something heavy and blunt.

This morning’s 10AM news item is a follow up to last week’s post, reporting on the judge’s decision to vacate the order. For whatever reason, this morning found me particularly worked up, and the article certainly reflects that. However, it doesn’t reflect the process that goes on behind the scenes — editing — something I do my best not to actually have to do.

Today’s post, though, was one that had a few things “trimmed” out of “editorial wisdom.” I don’t think they were untrue or illegal, just not the “editorial tone” I usually try to maintain for LJ. I did think, however, that two of them were too priceless to toss, so I’m presenting them here, where the “editorial tone” — if there is one — is the sound of fire alarms as the whole thing goes up in flames.

The paragraph

The reality, though, is just what we predicted a week ago: the students have prevailed over the injunction, but lost what was probably a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, the MBTA still has a vulnerable ticket system and is still trying to hide the problems, and Judge Woodlock — who obviously has difficulty reliably locating the First Amendment — is still on the bench, ready and waiting for another opportunity to relieve the innocent of their rights.

initially had a different suggestion about His Honor:

and Judge Woodlock — who obviously wouldn’t know the First Amendment if someone stapled it to his forehead — is still on the bench, ready and waiting for another opportunity to relieve the innocent of their rights.

The following paragraph, the one beginning “If you ask us,” had a bit different of an ending. Following the sentence ending “groups to defend the three” was originally:

That should be followed by a round of visits to the Unemployment Office. First to go — optimally with hairshirt and flagella — should be Daniel Grabauskas, for being responsible for this whole fiasco. Next up to bat should be Ieuan Mahony, the MBTA’s attorney, to hand in his bar card for perpetuating a fraud on the court. Third, the silent player in the game, Bernard Cohen, Massachusetts Secretary of Transportation and Chairman of the MBTA Board — who could have flexed his regulatory and oversight muscle to put an end to this ten days ago — ought to hand in his seal, or be given his cards by Governor Patrick.

And last, but certainly not least, should be Judge Woodlock, for any of a number of reasons, though we think inability to reliably recognize foundational documents of United States law might be a good starting point. Follow it all up with a weenie roast and a puppet show and we’d say you’ve got yourself a great way to start the weekend.

I’m sure nobody’s having trouble seeing why my “editorial senses” were tingling about those; not exactly LJ’s normal tone. Such are the things that pop out of my mind — and get shoved back in, for the good of everyone involved.

Something tells me that if Carlie is lurking around, she’s really happy those didn’t make the cut — and is sending a giant pair of scissors my way to make sure I never have trouble trimming anything else.

Without further delay, the magnum opus of Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz, Oh Freddled Gruntbuggly.

Oh freddled gruntbuggly,
Thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits
On a lurgid bee.

Groop, I implore thee,
my foonting turlingdromes
And hooptiously drangle me
With crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts
with my blurglecruncheon,
See if I don’t!

A recitation by the author is available on YouTube, should anyone be feeling suicidal.

Have a ear-bleedingly great day!

When I saw today’s comic, I immediately thought of SCO, so I knew I had to share it with you guys. I would hotlink it, but after the things I said in June, I think John & Scott would probably sue me for copyright infringement, so I’ll just link to it instead.

Note: Comics.com only archives comics for a month, so if you’re looking at this after September 10th, it’s probably already gone.

Why? Because apparently I’m too short to see over the edge of the grownup table.

I have an immediate need for a Linux Open Source engineer for a 12 - 18 month contract that can be worked remotely.

Do you know anyone who is qualified and available for such a project? Details below. $500 referral fee paid if person is hired.

Linux OpenSource Maintenance and Build / Release Development Engineer

Work Remotely for 12+ months with 1-2 day review trips to Dallas every 3 months.

Formalized Design is currently seeking a Linux OpenSource Maintenance Engineer who ideally also has some type of DSP / ARM firmware experience for our client in Dallas, Texas.

Most importantly, the candidate must appreciate and be familiar with Linux open source development and RELEASE process and how to maintain software in that environment.

Project Description/Responsibilities:

Maintaining TI OMAP DSP / ARM project that includes Linux Opensource Kernel / Drivers, Power Mgmt, Bridge and Multimedia SW

This, Linux Opensource Engineer will receive patches and new enhancements from the Opensource community. TI teams will be making decisions and merging / rejecting patches to release back into to Linux Open Source Community.

• The engineer will provide a strategy to enable patches/contents to be pushed upstream.
• Provide constructive reasoning on patch rejects and or negotiate changes with parties involved.
• Be able to resolve conflicts between patches/merges or provide alternate options
• Reporting to community but being prepared to be influenced by TI on certain key decisions while still giving feedback and recommendations on strategy
• Building rapport with key maintainers on other ARM, OMAP DSP projects
• Ensuring high responsiveness
• Enabling TI to build a solid community by attracting key contributions and innovations around TI’s OMAP project that includes wireless, catalog (automotive, medical, handheld), tablet etc…

Note, there is not a whole lot of NEW software development, the OpenSource community will do that part of the development. For this position, the engineer will ensure the new development meets the OpenSource guidelines, de-bugs software, interfaces with the OpenSource developers for clarification and then integrates that new code into next release of the OpenSource software.

Most importantly, the candidate must appreciate and be familiar with Linux open source development and RELEASE process and how to maintain software in that environment.

Necessary Skills (Must Have):

• Bachelor of Science in Computer Science or Bachelor of Science in Electrical Engineering
• Approximately 4 years experience developing or build and release on Linux software at kernel or driver level (user level not adequate)
• Some firmware experience on ARM or TI DSP or OMAP or any type of DSP processors.
• Experience maintaining some open source software packages is a must have.
• Must have quick learning skills and ability to work on dynamically changing technologies

Regards and Thanks!

Tom Oxendahl
Project Manager
Formalized Design, Inc.
Cell: <removed>
Fax: <removed>
www.formalized.com

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SHAWN!

Of course, what would a birthday be without presents? So I got you this:

They’re delivering the car on Tuesday. They’re delivering Kiki and her fine feathered friends on Wednesday. I suggest an appointment with a chiropractor — and possibly a cardiologist — for Thursday.

Oh, and Carlie, I put it on the Linux Journal expense account…

Yes, that is the Vatican gift shop. And yes, that is Linux on that TV screen. There is only one conclusion I can come to:

God is a Linux user.

This confirms everything I’ve believed (and stated excessively in Breaking News) all along.

My lovely coworker Shawn took a detour from his usual goofiness to send HP a message today. Since rating is what I do here, and everybody else is reposting it, I figure I’d better get in on the game too.

Of course, Google is only so clever, and they don’t seem to have figured out how to filter out all the stuff that isn’t actually about me, meaning that about 85% of what comes down the pipe is just fluff. I’ve learned some things from this fluff, however; one is that Justin Ryan is a very common first & middle name combo. Another is that there are an amazing amount of Justin’s under 15 out there who have best friends or brothers named Ryan; I know this because Google can’t tell the difference between Justin Ryan and Justin, Ryan.

I learn other things as well. I know, for example, Justin Ryan Spears, a 19-year old from Purlear, North Carolina, shares a behavioral profile as well as an IQ with a certain other, better-known Spears. I learned this after he was arrested at a police checkpoint for drunk driving and drug possession; apparently, the cops were tipped off by the massive cloud of perfume that escaped from the car when they rolled down the windows. Smooth move, Ex·lax — the cops are obviously going to think you just wanted to pretty yourself up for them, and the German Shepard waiting to rip your arm off is going to be flummoxed by Paco Rabanne. I suppose at the least he smelled good when they locked him in with Bubba…

While I was learning about Mr. Spears and his grooming habits, I also discovered that there must be something in the water in Wilkes County, because the criminal element is alive and — well — in need of psychiatric evaluation. Take, for example, the two young ladies who robbed the Dollar General. They made out with a spectacular list of loot: a box of SOS pads, a Lysol air freshener, a bottle of Febreze, two other air fresheners, a Stain Be Gone stick, and a bottle of Mr. Clean.

What the hell? How freaking whacked out do you have to be to rob the Dollar General in the first place, instead of, I don’t know, the First National Bank — or at least someplace respectable like WalMart — and then, having decided to knock over the 5 & Dime, to make out with freaking cleaning supplies? For the sake of their self-respect, I hope it was some kind of bizarre cross between kleptomania and OCD — who wants to be the one who has to say “No, I can’t go to the dollar store with you, I got banned after I plundered the place to feed my toilet scrubbing habit.”

They’re not the only oddballs, though — quite literally. Somebody — and the cops don’t know who — stole 11,000 golf balls from the country club. 11,000 golf balls? I don’t know which worries me more, that there is someone loose on the streets that was nuts enough to steal 11,000 golf balls, or that the cops can’t find the guy running around with enough sporting goods to fill a swimming pool. Jeez frickin’ Louise!

On the less larcenous side of things, I’ve learned that Justin, Ryan, & Dylan Bonilla have a future as abstract artists; I think the choice of bodypainting as a medium was a bold one, but there might be trouble with the authorities if they try to sell their work. In other news, Sue’s friends Justin & Ryan, along with a number of others, went on a rafting trip, but Ryan had to switch places halfway down the river because he had surgery on his arm and couldn’t get it wet. I was glad to hear that everyone had a good time, even though the water was cold and the old folks sprayed them with Super Soakers.

The source of this rant, though, was the entry I found sitting on the top of my feed today, which said simply “Sheriff’s briefs.” I was aghast to find this — outraged, shocked, scandalized — because our Sheriff wears boxers, not briefs.¹ I was just about to fire off an angry letter about irresponsible journalism and shoddy reporting when I discovered that, once again, it had nothing to do with me — or the Sheriff’s briefs, for that matter — but rather another felonious featherbrain from North Carolina. (Someone remind me to stay away from North Carolina, by the way.) This one was arrested for obtaining property by false pretense and financial identity fraud — I wonder if he swindled the Dollar General girls out of their SOS pads…

There’s plenty of others I could share, but honestly, I’m not sure the six people who frequent here (and John Zakour) could take much more.

¹ I have absolutely no idea what kind of underwear the Sheriff wears, and really, have no desire to find out. However, I wasn’t about to let such details derail a good rant.

There are some things, however, that just shouldn’t change. A good example is the flavor of Coke; if switching up your soda formula results in a torch-wielding mob breaking down the doors at corporate HQ, that’s a pretty good sign that the decision won’t be winning a Nobel prize.

I found myself faced with just such a situation this morning when I opened up my daily comic email from Comics.com to find that one of the strips I read religiously suddenly looks like it was drawn by a third grader.

I read three comics every day: Dilbert, Get Fuzzy, and Working Daze. I’ve been reading all three for several years, and I’m quite comfortable with the way they are. It didn’t even bother me when they colorized Dilbert (No, Mr. Turner, that is not carte blanche to make Humphrey Bogart look like Tammy Faye Bakker), because Dilbert still looks like Dilbert, just more colorful.

I was not okay, however, with the look of today’s Working Daze. The characters no longer look like themselves, and for that matter, the plot line isn’t even consistent with the strip’s normal tone and tenor. I can’t decide if it looks more like a Dick Tracy comic book or anime — I think it’s really some sort of demented love child. Whichever it is, I don’t like it.

I made my way to the strip’s page on Comics.com, praying I would find a big notice proclaiming “Congratulations to the winner of our ‘Draw Your Own Working Daze’ contest, eight-year-old Cindy Lou Pfefferman, from John P. Fuddyduddy Elementary in Cremanently, Missouri.” Sadly, I did not find such a notice; instead, I found this:

There will be a change coming to Working Daze in mid-June. After many years of very dedicated service, Kyle Miller is moving on to other projects. I want to thank Kyle for everything! It’s been a great run. Kyle, though, will be replaced by Scott Roberts. Scott and I have worked together on many projects (like the Rugrats comic strip) so I expect Working Daze to shine for years to come. –John Zakour

Well, Johnny, I think “shine” is a bit of a stretch. “Glare” would be a far more accurate term, as in, “glaring omission.” This isn’t Bewitched, you can’t just drop in a replacement and expect everything to be all right. I will not accept the new Darren!

For anyone who wants to see what Working Daze is supposed to look like, here’s an example. For the monstrosity that has replaced it, click here, but I warn you, it isn’t pretty. (Note: Comics.com only keeps a 30-day archive, so these links won’t work anymore.)

I just don’t know what the world is coming to, but I do know this: If I wake up one morning and Dilbert’s tie has stopped curling, I’m getting out my picket sign.

However, we all imagine how people we’ve not met will look, act, and sound, and Marcel’s video didn’t match my — somewhat twisted, I’ll admit — mental creation. So, he’s had to suffer through being picked on for not being “a real mad French chef.”

Since I’ve given him so much heck about his video, I thought it was only right for me to provide video demonstrating what my overactive imagination had cooked up. It took me a while to find what I was looking for, but here it is: A Real Mad French Chef. (Skip to about four minutes in for the good stuff.)

This, Marcel, this is what a Mad French Chef is supposed to be like!

So now you know, that’s what I was expecting, that’s why my hopes were dashed. Now I suppose I’ll meet Carlie and find out she really isn’t a Scotch-drinking, cigar-smoking Hugh Hefner type….

For whatever reason, I was pondering on the two “presumptive” candidates today, and a disturbing realization hit me: there is a frightening possibility that whomever wins in November will die in office.

Here’s my thinking:

1. Every president in the last forty years has been the target of at least one known assassination attempt. Only two in the last seventy-five years have gone without a known attempt on their life.

2. The last president to die in office was John F. Kennedy in November 1963, 45 years ago. The longest period with no death in office is 52 years, between first president George Washington, who took office in 1789, and the first to die in office, William Henry Harrison, who died in 1841. Between 1841 and 1963, there was no period of more than twenty four years between deaths, while the average period was 20 years.

3. Two previous presidents have been from Illinois: Abraham Lincoln, who served as an Illinois congressman, and Ronald Regan, who was born in Illinois. Both were shot by assassins; Lincoln was killed, Regan survived, but was seriously injured, literally within an inch of his life. (Hinckley’s bullet missed his heart by less than one inch.) No previous president has been from Arizona.

4. The oldest president to be elected was Ronald Regan, aged 69, who was critically wounded by an assassination attempt. The second-oldest was William Henry Harrison, 68, the first president to die in office. John McCain is 71.

There is also a pattern in presidential deaths — often called the Curse of Tippecanoe after William Henry Harrision, the first to die in office, who was known as “Old Tippecanoe” — that has been eerily regular over the past 170 years or so. Beginning with Harrison in 1841, a president has died in office roughly every 20 years, until Regan, who was shot but survived. I don’t believe in curses, but it’s an awfully strong coincidence that a president, of which there are only 42, gets shot or sick every twenty years for 140 years. Assuming that Regan got off with a close call, and that Bush’s pretzel episode in 2002 wasn’t another one, we’re 10 years overdue for a death — and we’ve got two candidates that are particularly susceptible.

Why particularly susceptible? In McCain’s case, it’s his age. Excluding everything else, 71 is creeping up on the end of the normal human lifespan — the average lifespan for an American male is currently 73.6 years. Adding to the likelihood is his health, which has been problematic for years. Bypassing the possibility of illness — or for that matter, just natural causes — he’s not in a particularly good position for being shielded from an assassination attempt, given that ones response time increases with age, that his ability to quickly flee a dangerous situation is likely reduced, and should he be injured, his ability to recover is affected by age. All that adds up to a president who may not make it to his successor’s inauguration.

Obama, on the other hand, seems to be in good shape, and shouldn’t have any problem dashing for a bulleproof limo or sneezing off a nasty cold. However, if elected the senator would be the first person of color to hold the position. Race relations have gotten a lot better over the last fifty years, but there are still plenty of nuts running about — enough that the Obama campaign was provided with Secret Service protection beginning in May 2007. Protection is usually ordered beginning in February of the election year — February 2008 for this campaign — making this earliest a presidential candidate has ever been granted Secret Service protection. (Sen. Clinton, as the spouse of a former president, has Secret Service protection for life.) Unfortunately, if elected, Obama would become a particularly large target for a host of extremist groups — not that the president isn’t already a particularly large target in general — increasing the liklihood of at least an assasination attempt.

My hope is that whichever candidate wins in November will have a full and uninterrupted term in office, but given the uncanny regularity with which presidents have passed in the past, the long period since the last death in office, and the particular circumstances of the two candidates, one has to begin wondering whether the choice of Vice President ought to be a particularly careful one this year.

So, it occurred to me, the other night, in one of those moments where something bizarre just flops out of some dark, uncharted recess of my mind, that Schrödinger’s thought experiment is an excellent proof that the singular they is entirely correct.

How so?

The singular they, or more specifically, the epicene they, is used when the writer is unsure of the gender of a subject. Following Schrödinger, it is only when the reader reads the text and applies it to a particular person that “he” or “she” definitively emerges. Thus, at the time the writer is writing, the subject is both he and she.

As we all know:

He + She = They

Or, in grammatical terms:

Singular + Singular = Plural

Therefore, the singular they must be correct, and really isn’t even singular.

And yes, for those keeping score, I did just use quantum mechanics to create a mathematical equation as a proof of a linguistic construction. Sometimes my mind just works that way.

A quick rundown of Schrödinger’s Cat for those who don’t know: There is an incredibly complex theory in quantum mechanics concerned with the position of subatomic particles. The theory sets out a method for predicting the positions of these particles, and like anything in science, it’s been interpreted sixteen ways from Sunday. One such explanation, the Copenhagen interpretation, suggests that until the precise moment the particle’s position is measured, it is in every possible position.

Erwin Schrödinger, an eminent physicist, thought this was very strange, and after extensive discussion with a friend — Albert Einstein — he proposed the now-famous cat-in-the-box conjecture, which goes like this:

Suppose you have a cat. You put the cat in a box with a bottle of poison and a Geiger counter and seal it up. If the Geiger counter detects radiation, it shatters the bottle. According to Schrödinger, if you hold to the Copenhagen interpretation, then the cat must be both alive and dead, because it’s only when you open the box to see if the cat is alive or dead (i.e., measure its state) that it settles into one or another.

Schrödinger didn’t really believe this; it was just a thought experiment to point out how strange he thought the Copenhagen interpretation was.

The singular they, for those who don’t know: The singular they is the use of “they” instead of “he or she” when speaking of a single person of indeterminate gender. Some grammarians believe the singular they is incorrect, and should not be used. Others, like myself, think that sprinkling “he or she” every few lines breaks the flow of the prose, not to mention being quite unaesthetic, and thus should be dispensed with inasmuch as possible. Such is the stuff that grammar wars are made of.

As I was finishing the last slice of toast, I happened to look up and see the title character, Jimmy Neutron, and two of his friends fiddling desperately with a machine that had just spit out a pizza which immediately became sentient and attacked the three of them. Jimmy was unsuccessful at getting the machine to respond, and shouted out that the screen was frozen. Being a geek, I noticed that the machine’s screen was quite clearly displaying the most feared of Windows errors: the Blue Screen of Death.

My immediate thought? “That’s what you get for not using Linux.”

Now, I’ve never had the particular problem of my computer spitting out homicidal foodstuffs, but I’m almost positive that if such an occasion were to arise, Linux would protect me from it. To begin with, it sounds like something that would result from a Windows virus, so that’s one strike against it. Second, it’d most certainly need elevated access, and I’m pretty sure I’d be smart enough not to grant root to an app called “Italian food that takes you out,” so that’s two. And finally, I’m sure there aren’t open-source paranormal pizza oven drivers.

So, that’s today’s lesson: If you use Linux, you don’t have to worry about being killed by a maniacal, murderous midnight snack run amok.

Apparently, the joke’s on us: The government really does have a subliminal mind-control beam.

Holy…freaking…wow.

Even more bizarre is the revelation that until sometime recently, the U.S. Army had a webpage about it. Now, I know the country isn’t in particularly good hands, but how many Appletinis do you have to drink to think putting up a webpage about your covert mind control device is a good idea?

The news comes via Wired, and though the majority of their sources are a bit too tinfoil-friendly for my tastes, the Federation of American Scientists has a copy of the now-MIA page included in their Project on Government Secrecy directory, suggesting that at least some of the preeminent scientists in the country think it’s legit.

For my part, I’m hoping there’s a reasonable, logical explanation for it…I just hope they don’t decide to beam in it.

This is what I have to work with;
it’s wonderful to have a place where you fit in.