UnSpace

I had to remove several photographs from one of my posts. The pictures were of several children enjoying a concert by Cathasaigh. I was looking through my referrer log today and noticed how some jerk found the pictures. There was nothing to identify the children involved, the photos were taken in a public location and with parental permission, and the jerk didn't find what he was looking for, but that doesn't matter. I removed the photos. It's an over-reaction, but it's my blog and I can over-react if I want to.

No, I won't say what the search was for — you can guess, and I don't want to risk attracting any more creeps.

For all my time as a paramedic, for all the horrible things I've had to try to remedy — or call the coroner for — I'm still horrified at human depravity, still surprised. I'm glad to know my heart hasn't been destroyed by my time as a medic.

…And the bill from the car dealer did not look anything like it.

Yesterday, the car would not start. So, with sheets of rain pounding me, I jumped the car and took it in to the Saturn dealer. The six-year old car only had 82,293 miles on it.

While they sought what was wrong, I watched the TV, where local weather casters were reporting high wind speeds and "hooks" that indicated possible tornadic activity. The emergency weather alert was interrupted by…an emergency weather alert.

Think of it as an omen.

As a medical professional, I believe that there is a time when one must say "We've done all we could. We need to accept that we shouldn't do anything more." While this is my belief, as a paramedic, I was the one who would talk the doctors into "one more round of pacer pads and epi — we need the practice." The vet has had to patiently explain "The bird will die sooner from surgery than from the tumor that's killing it." I know that there are times that one needs to give up, but I tend to hang onto hope that's not there.

So when the bill came back for almost twice what the car was worth, I said "Fix it." I went outside in the bright warm sun (they were still broadcasting dire weather warnings) and stumbled across a brand new golden cashmere Aura XE. Eventually, this was the car I'd wind up with, and I was pouring money into the old car, money that would barely increase the resale value.

Cleaning out the old car was tough. There were Pennsylvania Turnpike slips from all my trips to the temporary morgue after 9/11. As I sat for the last time in the driver's seat, I remembered an important conversation Nancy and I had on Memorial Day, 2004, one that might still change our lives. Reaching under the cushions in the back seat, I found some bird seed from many trips to the vet. There was a scratch on the fender one of the kids made at the church retreat two years ago; the one where the kid was surprised to find out I considered him more important than the car's paint job.

I said goodbye. It wasn't easy.

For the next couple days, I'll be trying to figure out the new car. Don't tell anyone, but I broke down and read the section of the owners manual that explained the radio. And, should my typical luck continue, what will OnStar think of a customer who calls 911 about once a month?

There are new memories to be made.

A preview of your children's future.
Graph courtesy NASA

Children today are becoming more and more concerned with global warming. Many parents are searching for ways of explaining global warming to their children that will help them understand why the world will soon be the warmest it's been in one million years.

Children need to be comforted. Approaching the topic the right way will help your children process this information and be able to go on with your lives. Here are some talking points that might help you calm your child's fears:

• You were an accident and ruined our carefree lives. This is our revenge.
• Mommy and Daddy decided to spend your inheritance on ourselves.
• You're adopted. It's not like you're really our child.
• Don't worry! The Snow Fairy will come and make everything better when you're older.
• Do you remember how you didn't pick up your toys? This is your punishment.
• We wanted a good child. We got you and thought "Why bother?"
• It's a matter of priorities. Company profits are more important than you are. That's the way the real world works.
• We didn't want to be inconvenicenced.
• Don't worry. You'll die in an oil war long before global warming gets too painful.

The title to this post is strange. Hang with me, and I think everything will become clearer. Today, when I got up, I found an amazing number of things to blog about. Let me list them, in a sort of "Quick Links" format:

• My own dear Pittsburgh Presbytery is putting Rev. Janet Edwards on trial for officiating at a lesbian wedding. We all know my position (beginning at Deb 1) on this, after decades of struggle. I'd obviously stand by Rev. Edwards.
• A little more hopeful is the MSNBC article about Rev. Joe Beam, who's saying married Christians aren't having enough hot sex with their spouses. We'll skip the inability of some Christians to be married, or his position on sex at certain times of the month and just be grateful that he's adding some greatly needed sanity to the discussion.
• Today's "Dear Prudence," in it's first letter, gives an example of the other extreme. The couple waited for marriage, and the woman decided to just keep waiting. Now, this isn't necessarily a result of the "Just Say No To Any Physical Contact Before Marriage" crowd. I Am Not A Psychologist, but I'd be asking some serious questions about this woman's upbringing, focusing on possible abuse. The thing is, though, a lot of Christians who wait do wind up struggling with the idea that sex is bad, even in marriage. I've joked about my own fear a year or two ago when my father-in-law found out Nancy and I were having sex.¹ Yet, when given a chance last year to teach Christians on antidepressants how to cope with the sexual side effects, I chickened out. I didn't want to wind up crucified. Some part of my brain thinks sex is bad. Thank God I mostly ignore it.
• The whole "sex is bad" thing came up recently over at Dubious Wonder's discussion about "Slut." I don't like the word, simply because the same actions by a man tend to be approved while by a woman they get labeled. But there's also this whole "sex is bad" thing again. And if enjoying sex, being good at it, and experimenting with different things is "slutty," well, someone just insulted my wife, who studied very hard for her Human Sexuality class. I don't take well to my wife being insulted. ²
• I should not have deleted the comment on this blog where someone objected to Nancy and I having sex because we were supposed to be "mature Christians." Ridiculing mercilessly the person who wrote that would have been fun, although I'm trying to be better than that. Same with the post objecting to Nancy and I holding hands and kissing before marriage. Apparently, we should have just always said "No."
• Speaking of ridicule, anyone know where I can get my hands on a burka and someone willing to model it? I've got a great idea for a poster [warning: PDF] similar to the one at Pure Freedom.

Ok, so where's this tirade going?

Last night, we handed out contact information to the kids in our chatroom. Mine used my gmail address, which is a mess and happens to include my paramedic con-ed number. Like I said, a mess. Not something easy to remember. I realized I dare not mention my blog to my 7th and 8th graders.

I'm not hiding it because of the copious amounts of profanity on this blog, or all the photos of sexual organs (some of those insect shots had to include sexual organs). For crying out loud, kids in this age group have seen harder pornography than I have. Given that I regularly do medical searches, that frightens me. But that's not why I dare not mention this blog.

I am afraid a parent or someone at the church will find this blog. See, I say what I believe. Ok, so maybe I'll soften it a bit and put some spin on it or explain it in subtle ways to get past watchful dragons. But I say things that are the truth, even if they will get me in trouble. ³

The church I go to is mostly conservative. In the 2004 election, the whole "Christians vote for Bush, because we're selling our soul to the Republican Party" schtick got on my nerves. I'm actually not the most liberal person in the church. But can you imagine what happens to the head of the youth group if someone goes screaming to the head minister with the URL for this blog?

I'm not Hugo Schwyzer. God bless him. It's his youth group; if he wants to get screamed at by the parents, that's his choice. The parents apparently don't; they realize they'd be hard pressed to find someone better than Hugo.

I am not the head of my youth group. Someone else is, someone who is a God-fearing, amazing man whom I admire. I'm just one of the "Adult Leaders," and the term "Leader" is rather misleading. I lead the kids based on what the youth group head tells us to.

Honestly, I should either give up this blog or give up working with the kids. Already, they don't have enough Adult Leaders. If I bail on them, there's that much less influence in the kids lives. For some reason, God has given me a heart to work with these children. Given what's going on lately in our own extended family, I think you can appreciate that I'm not willing to give up on these kids.

I've tried to keep this blog non-controversial. It doesn't work. I can't sit by and let injustice go unchallenged. I mouth off. I should give up UnSpace, maybe come back with some blog that can't possibly be connected to me (like that would work) or just stop blogging altogether.

There is one assumption, though. I'm assuming someone I know will read this blog. I can't even get my wife to read it. Floyd tries to read it occasionally, but he gets too depressed and gives up. Based on my referal logs, I'm not even sure I have any regular readers: mostly it's people looking for spoilers for the Illusionist, the Wicker Man (?!), Inside Man (most popular post ever, bar none!) or black and yellow spiders.

Maybe there's something to be said for being a crawly amphibian. If a blog falls in the blogoverse and no one hears it, does it affect the real world?

1. We've just celebrated our 23rd wedding anniversary. [back]
2. She kindly folded over the up-close-and-personal photograph pages of various full-blown STDs in her textbook, for my benefit. Ew. [back]
3. I told you that if there was a conspiracy involving 9/11, I'd have spilled the beans. [back]

The basic news is, this will take months to resolve. Nothing significant will happen for a long time, apparently. Sigh. Comic book or "A-Team" type solutions will simply make things worse. It's just as well. A friend who did a stunt like that wound up doing hard time, and (as it turned out) for no reason.

Hearing the explanation from the folks who know makes the chosen approach make sense, but it's not fun. Learning to live with this is going to be…interesting. I'm one of those people who jumps into action, but right now the most appropriate action is to do nothing.

Thanks for the support from Spork and Michelle and whoever out there who has been remembering us.

The phone rang yesterday with the news that a young man in our extended family had been kidnapped.

Technically, I've found out from speaking to police and lawyers, it's not a kidnapping. The people involved (including the person who took this young man) are using the word "kidnap" incorrectly. So, no Amber Alerts, no milk cartons, and no immediate action to get the child back.

As I write this, it occurs to me that I made a terrible mistake. I should have called the Grammer Police; had I done so, this would all be over by now. And to think I call myself a writer…

I'm a paramedic. I resort to an inappropriate affect and terribly inappropriate humor when I'm frightened enough to crap my pants. I've also worked hard at making this post obscure, for obvious reasons.

From what I understand, the whole thing, while not "over" for a long, long time, should be resolved to a satisfactory stalemate sometime today or maybe tomorrow. In the meantime, I plan on doing whatever keeps my anxiety level below "Malignant Heart Rhythms." I probably won't blog, but who knows? I doubt I'm much fun to read right now. If you're used to a regular fun read or cool critter pictures at UnSpace, I hope you'll give me a day or two to take care of myself. Go read "Bad News Travels at Lightspeed." Everyone seems to have ignored it the first time around, and I thought it was the funniest thing I'd ever written, especially with the obvious movie reference.

If anyone is so inclined to pray or whatever for this situation, and for the entire extended family to survive this emotionally, I would be grateful.

Two Hummingbird Clearwing moths dancing on a tomato plant.
Click on the photograph for a larger version.

Today, I introduced my wife's sister's husband's brother's wife and daughter to my blog. The daughter is a 5 year old budding entomologist and herpetologist. At the party yesterday, she gave me a lecture about how spiders are not bugs; they're "arachmids." She'd recently been to the Pittsburgh Zoo, where the highlight of the trip was getting to pet several snakes. I'm not sure if she can read this blog or just look at the bug pictures. So, if there's something you don't understand about this post, please go ask your mother or father.

Nancy came into the house today doing a "dah dah" version of part of the song "Orpheus in the Underworld." If you're not familiar with that name, you probably know it better as the "Can-Can" song. We have a running gag going around here that, whenever I don't have my camera, we will come across birds or deer or some creatures doing the "Can-Can." The song has become a signal to "Hurry, get your camera before it's too late!"

Out on a tomato bush were these two Hummingbird Clearwing moths. They appeared unmoving and dead. I approached them carefully, not wanting to disturb them. I'd never seen them this still before. Occasionally, an antenna would move, or if the wind disturbed the plant, the moth on the left would adjust it's legs. I was surprised at how close they would let me get. They were more interested in their dance than in the possibility I was a predator.

The larvae of the Hummingbird Clearwing moth look like tomato hornworms, but without the white stripes. They feed on viburnum and laurel plants. I'm not sure what these moths will lay their eggs on. I went back out later and didn't see any eggs on the tomato plant where the moths had been.

I've decided to post a series of science experiments that parents can use with preschool children. These are the very experiments I performed as a child, although I'm only posting the safe and legal ones. In fact, these experiments might just distract the child from the more dangerous forms of experimentation.

If, by any chance, you happen to have a severely inquisitive child like I was, I'd suggest sitting down and explaining the types of experiments that will cause excruciating and long-lasting pain, either from experimenter error or parental disapproval. Getting rid of all flammable liquids might be a good idea, too.

Some of the things the child learns will be beyond their current ability to understand. These experiments, though, are memorable, and as the child's mind develops and the child grows in experience, concepts that were missed will, at some point, "click."

Please don't give your child the "needed" list and turn them loose. Work with them, so that they can play with you while doing this. When I was older, my Dad got me a chemistry set and "turned me loose." I appeared "smart enough" for that. I might have been "smart enough," but I lacked the maturity. I wish my Dad hadn't done that, and instead had worked with me and the chemistry set. I think I would have learned much more from the chemistry set if he had worked with me. There wouldn't be a chunk of concrete missing from the laundry room floor, either.

Note: Small children do not really comprehend death. Telling a child that "doing that might get you killed" means nothing. As a small child, I had an advanced understanding of my own mortality, and yet that never stopped some of the experiments it should have. While they do not understand death, they do understand pain and seek to avoid pain when possible. So, when you speak of dangers, speak of how much they will hurt, that the child may wind up in the hospital (away from mom and dad), getting "shots." You don't need to explain the difference between IVs and shots, if you don't want to.

I've always wondered: if my Dad had told me to stick the poles of a 9-volt battery on my tongue to see what it feels like to get shocked (it stings, but it's non-lethal), would I ever have stuck that wire into the electrical outlet? I am lucky I lived through that 120v "experiment," and I obviosly do not recommended that experiment.

Experiment #1

Needed: Small paper or plastic cups (you can use larger, with more mess), spoons, baking soda, vinegar, paper towels, old clothes for the child and parent(s).

Concept being taught: Matter is made of chemicals, and some of these chemicals react when brought together. You can talk about things rusting, food (made of chemicals) oxidizing in the child's body under controlled conditions, etc.

Instructions:

Explain to the child that you never contaminate large quantities of chemicals by using them directly out of the bottle or container in an experiment. This is actually why you should never crack eggs directly into a recipe, by the way. Crack them into a bowl, check to see if they're rotten, and then add. Trust this advice from someone who learned the hard way. So put some vinegar into one cup, baking soda into a second. Put separate spoons in each container, and allow the child to mix baking soda and vinegar together.

Baking soda is NaHCO₃, which is a base, as you might remember. Vinegar is 4% acetic acid and water, with acetic acid's chemical formula being written CH₃COOH or C₂H₄O₂. You don't have to tell the child this. I'm explaining this so you'll know what's going on. Acetic acid is an acid (duh!), and that means it likes to give away a hydrogen ion. The baking soda will swap out the sodium for the hydrogen ion, leaving H₂CO₃, which can be rewritten H₂OCO₂. H₂O, conveniently enough, is water, and CO₂ is carbon dioxide, a gas. So the baking soda breaks down into carbon dioxide gas and water, and the carbon dioxide gas bubbles away! The acetic acid is turned into sodium acetate, CH₃COONa. The sodium replaces the hydrogen ion the acetic acid gave up.

Let the child use larger and larger quantities of baking soda and vinegar. One good thing to try is to pour some vinegar into a cup and put tiny amounts of baking soda in. Eventually, the child will "use up" the vinegar and it will stop foaming and bubbling. Explain that the baking soda used up all the vinegar. Then, try the experiment in reverse, where vinegar is added to baking soda. Again, the baking soda gets "used up." The child will learn an intuitive version of "chemical equation balance" by this.

If your child enjoys making a mess, let the child create a small mess! That's part of the fun! If you have a neat child, don't force the child to be messy. Should they choose to be messy, though, again, let them. If, at some point, the child asks to taste the baking soda, vinegar, or the liquid left after the reaction (which contains water, sodium acetate, and either a bit extra baking soda or vinegar), explain that this is not poisonous, but it might not taste very good. On a practical level, don't let the child consume more than about a fraction of teaspoon's worth. You don't want the child spitting this stuff all over the kitchen or throwing up. Make sure the child rinses the mouth with water between tastes. Do not permit the child to mix the baking soda and vinegar in the mouth — the foam could get inhaled, which would not be good. Explain this to the child, that it's like swallowing food down "the wrong way" and that it would hurt and require a trip to the hospital, possibly with shots involved.

Have the child help clean up afterward. Explain that real scientists clean up after their experiments. This isn't always true, but one of the points of these science experiments is to create a future generation of good scientists!

You could see Persied Earthgrazers this Friday…as long as you're not in Pittsburgh.

When I was a young child, my parents got me the book Find the Constellations by H. A. Rey. Inside, there are star charts, with days and times that the stars would be in that position. I excitedly looked through the book and found the nearest day. I waited. When that day came, I ran outside at the right time, only to see nothing but clouds.

I complained to my father, who explained to me that, while they might know the stars' positions in advance, the weather was unpredictable. I was confused, since it always rained on my birthday, but my Dad finally got the point through to my childish mind.

So I started studying how scientists predicted the weather. After learning about weather fronts and isobars, I decided to study a science with a bit more scientific basis and reproduceability. I chose parapsychology instead.

Here's a NASA explanation of how to see Perseid Earthgrazers. With the moon bright in the sky, the meteor shower won't be easy to see, but the Earthgrazers (though rare) should be spectacular.

The WPXI 5 day forecast says it will be partially cloudy on Friday. Duh. Anytime I want to see something in the sky, the weather prevents it. Sigh. The clouds may break just enough to sucker me into laying outside someplace, getting eaten by mosquitos. Of course, any Earthgrazers will be hidden by clouds. Those watching 5 feet from me will probably see the Earthgrazers, due to the change in parallax.

BTW: If you have a child, I highly recommend the book Find the Constellations. I should probably write a post on how to use the book if you live in Pittsburgh. "First, consider moving somewhere else…"

When I was walking in Memphis,
I was walking with my feet
Ten feet off of Beale.
Walking in Memphis…
But do I really feel the way I feel?

Today, while grocery shopping, this song came up on the radio. It's the song the Cher impersonator sings at the end of The Post-Modern Prometheus, my favorite X-Files show. I haven't been able to get the song out of my head.

Maybe I want to ask the Writer to change the ending of the story.

Make-A-Wish rarely gets "be" wishes. Usually, the wish is to "go" some place, "meet" someone, or "have" something. The "I wish to be a super-hero" from Aubrey Matthews struck the super-scientists at Make-A-Wish, as it was both the first "be" wish in over ten years. Aubrey seemed to be an ideal candidate. For years, she's fought an inoperable optic glioma. From all reports, Aubrey would use her powers for the benefit of mankind.

The timing couldn't have been better. As it turns out, Boisie, Idaho has been helpless against that arch-villian "Black." "Black" gets his name from the neighborhood watch signs that use the only picture of him — a black silhouette — to warn people.

Despite their best efforts, the 150 scientists from two Make-A-Wish offices could only give Aubrey super-powers for one day. She would have super-strength, super-speed, x-ray vision, and super-breath. Flying, unfortunately, requires several days to learn how to use (c.f. The Greatest American Hero) and so was left out of the mix.

Tight governmental and private coordination would be required. To give Aubrey the best chance of capturing "Black" A Lifeflight helicopter was set aside. Public safety would notify Aubrey as soon as "Black" was spotted. Other super-heroes, such as Lion Lady, Frog Lady, Dog Man, House Lifter, Sky Girl, Tree Girl, and the Martian Manhunter, volunteered to help. At first, there was some concern, until the mayor found out Dog Man was indeed housebroken.

Adam West (often suspected, but never proven to be Gotham's 1960s Batman) called to encourage Star. Many police officers came in on their off day to help the 24-hour super-hero.

But would it be enough? Could "Black" be caught?

You can read more about Star's adventures here and here.

(Note for those of you not familiar with the comic book genre: Often, the super-hero's origin is only weakly related in the beginning issues of a comic book. Later artists might go back and fill in the missing pieces. Thus, the "Secret Origin.")

I enjoy messing with people's heads. If you read this blog, then you're someone willing to risk having your beliefs challenged. But lately, I've been obstreperous, even by my standards, and it's made blogging hard. When you start feeling your own blog is annoying, there's something wrong.

The answer's incredibly obvious, yet not one I wanted to admit to: babies. The events in the lives of our birds are being interpreted in light of the events in our own lives. Mash-ups are fun for fake movie trailers. In real life, they suck.

According to F.D. of Ales Rarus, what I considered obscure mentions in this blog is, to everyone else out there, painfully obvious: Nancy and I have been trying to have children for the past two years. And soon, as J. Michael Straczynski (creator of Babylon 5) would say, will be our "last, best hope."

The soap opera that is the lives of our parrots has been driving home some harsh points.

On a Saturday night, when the vet's office is closed, one of the female lovebirds appeared to be egg-bound. She'd been dumpy-butted the day before and should have laid the egg already. She was obviously in trouble. The recommended treatment, inserting a mineral-oiled Q-tip up the rectal opening and then placing the bird in an extremely humid environment for 12 hours, would buy us some time to find an open avian vet on a Sunday — assuming we'd caught the bird early enough. The bird had a calcium block available, but we added extra calcium to the food and water. Eggbinding usually occurs because there is insufficient calcium to form the eggshell. The next morning, there was the largest lovebird egg I'd ever seen, and the mother was looking all proud about her egg, unaware that a male was needed to fertilize it.

About a month ago, Lute, an ancient parakeet at 9 years of age, attempted to have some babies with Artemis. Everything appeared to be going well. Artemis was sitting the eggs. Lute was the attentive father-to-be. Everything was going well until one day, when I found Lute dying of what appeared to be congestive heart failure. Lute died within hours. In an emergency decision that would be horrifying for humans, Lute's son, Presto, was pressed into service to care for Artemis. At least Artemis and Presto are otherwise unrelated.

A few days later, a cockatiel baby hatched and was immediately abandoned by the mother. Baby cockatiels are very small and need the "crop milk" their mother provides to survive. We've been able to raise baby cockatiels from day one, but only half survive. This baby wound up being one of the ones that didn't make it.

Our two male Bourkes parakeet (think of a bird slightly larger than a regular parakeet but smaller than an English budgie, with a brain developed for Planet Bourke and not Earth) set up a nest and started incubating some eggs. Clearly, the one bird was at least female enough to produce eggs. Most parrots are not sexually dimorphous. With no external primary or secondary sexual characteristics, sexing is either a matter for obscure indications, DNA analysis or finding an egg. Would the egg be fertile? If the one bird was not a male, the educated guess on the sex of the second might be equally off. The sex of the second was confirmed when an egg hatched. Alas, the mother wanted nothing to do with the baby. The exceedingly downy baby squirmed off to the far end of the nesting area and slowed in its movements as it chilled.

Nancy and I stepped in to rescue the baby. Unfortunately, a Bourke baby is smaller than a cockatiel baby. We tried our best to keep the baby bird warm and feed it formula. Imagine picking up something so small and delicate without crushing it. For a bit over 48 hours, we kept this up, but we suspected we were losing the battle.

Back in Artemis's nest box, a baby started to hatch…and then died. We mourned this small loss of life. But even in mourning, my Machiavellian side schemed. What if we convinced Artemis that her baby had survived and hatched? The Bourke baby was still small; smaller than it ought to be for it's age. Would Artemis notice the substitution and attack the baby?

I always talk about "risk/benefit" analysis with regard to medical decisions, as if it's a cold calculus. In reality, there aren't percentages to go by, just hunches. We decided to replace the dead baby, still partially in the eggshell, with the Bourke baby. If it didn't work, we hoped to get the baby out of the nestbox before it was killed. But even so, that would leave the baby in our hands, and that outcome appeared to be grim.

We put the baby in and waited 5 minutes. A peak in the nestbox showed the baby snuggled under Artemis. 15 minutes later, a glimpse of the baby showed its crop full — if anything, over-filled. Artemis was caring for the baby, but possibly too well. We continued to watch.

The last I checked, the baby Bourke is growing. The crop, though fuller than we would have dared, appears to be dealing with the food provided.

So, in the past months, we've dealt with the risk of losing a mother during labor, an elderly dad dying, leaving the mother alone, the death of a baby, and the apparent saving of a baby by a strange form of adoption.

Thankfully, I'm not one of those people who thinks about consequences. By not paying attention, I have no reason to be afraid. What happened with the birds has no potential parallel to coming events in our own lives. My brain, so finely attuned to analogies, would not find the least similarity. I'd safely remain "Mr. Oblivious."

Yeah, right.¹

1. Have I ever mentioned that they spend 30 seconds in EMT and paramedic training preparing you for normal childbirth and then days driving home all the possible failure modes and how little a paramedic or EMT can do to deal with the situation? This really doesn't fit in well with this post, but I just wanted to mention that all my training is that pregnancy is some terrible, uniformly fatal disease. Our childbirth training film was "Alien." [back]