Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Thank you, Veterans
They fought and some died for their homeland.
They fought and some died, now it's our land.
Look at his little child; there's no fear in her eyes.
Could he not show respect for other dads who have died?
Take two minutes, would you mind?
It's a pittance of time,
For the boys and the girls who went over.
In peace may they rest, may we never
forget why they died.
It's a pittance of time.
God forgive me for wanting to strike him.
Give me strength so as not to be like him.
My heart pounds in my breast, fingers pressed to my lips,
My throat wants to bawl out, my tongue barely resists.
But two minutes I will bide.
It's a pittance of time,
For the boys and the girls who went over.
In peace may they rest.
May we never forget why they died.
It's a pittance of time.
Read the letters and poems of the heroes at home.
They have casualties, battles, and fears of their own.
There's a price to be paid if you go, if you stay.
Freedom's fought for and won in numerous ways.
Take two minutes, would you mind?
It's a pittance of time,
For the boys and the girls all over.
May we never forget, our young become vets.
At the end of the line,
It's a pittance of time.
It takes courage to fight in your own war.
It takes courage to fight someone else's war.
Our peacekeepers tell of their own living hell.
They bring hope to foreign lands that hate mongers can't kill.
Take two minutes, would you mind?
It's a pittance of time,
For the boys and the girls who go over.
In peacetime our best still don battle dress
And lay their lives on the line.
It's a pittance of time
In peace may they rest,
Lest we forget why they died.
Take a pittance of time.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Ahhh...ahhh...ahhchooo!!
My, it's gotten dusty in here.
I'm going to have to do something about that.
I'm going to have to do something about that.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Exhaling...
After struggling through something challenging (regardless of the outcome), my martial arts teacher would sometimes say "So? What did you learn?"
Pause.
Well...I learned that...you can be really careful with your life and still have fate kick you in the knees. Nothing to do other than grit through it. I (re)learned that, when I have too much to do and not enough time to do it all...I get short-tempered. I don't know if that's a natural reaction or not, but its not something I'm proud of. And I (re)learned that even a seemingly impossible task can be accomplished with steady, competent, efforts. It seems as if both translations of Lao Tzu's quote apply: The journey of a thousand miles begins on your feet, as well as with a single step.
My intention was to chill out with some tunes...only to find that my iPod had gone on the fritz, and would only play one track. This lead to several annoying hours online stepping through the support pages, and then on the phone with tech support. It was a nice reversal of luck. I was expecting to hear that it was out of warranty as I bought it about a year ago. The phone tech said it was under warranty for 3 more days. The Apple store replaced it on the spot. Sweet...
My iPod has been refilled with music. The sky is a gorgeous shade of blue, Jim Nabors once again exquisitely sang "Back Home Again In Indiana" at the start of the Indy 500. All is right with the world again.
Take me away, I know I could use the rest.
Pause.
Well...I learned that...you can be really careful with your life and still have fate kick you in the knees. Nothing to do other than grit through it. I (re)learned that, when I have too much to do and not enough time to do it all...I get short-tempered. I don't know if that's a natural reaction or not, but its not something I'm proud of. And I (re)learned that even a seemingly impossible task can be accomplished with steady, competent, efforts. It seems as if both translations of Lao Tzu's quote apply: The journey of a thousand miles begins on your feet, as well as with a single step.
My intention was to chill out with some tunes...only to find that my iPod had gone on the fritz, and would only play one track. This lead to several annoying hours online stepping through the support pages, and then on the phone with tech support. It was a nice reversal of luck. I was expecting to hear that it was out of warranty as I bought it about a year ago. The phone tech said it was under warranty for 3 more days. The Apple store replaced it on the spot. Sweet...
My iPod has been refilled with music. The sky is a gorgeous shade of blue, Jim Nabors once again exquisitely sang "Back Home Again In Indiana" at the start of the Indy 500. All is right with the world again.
Take me away, I know I could use the rest.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Goodbye Drama.
It's over!
For the most part...the stuff that's been mucking up my personal life...is over!
For the most part...the stuff that's been mucking up my personal life...is over!
Monday, May 19, 2008
The Great Siege of Malta
And on this day in history..the start of the Great Siege of Malta.
(The what?)
One of the bloodiest, most fiercely contested...and surprisingly, most overlooked battles in history.
Here are the words UK author Mr. James Jackson:
A hot and fetid June night on the small Mediterranean island of Malta, and a Christian sentry patrolling at the foot of a fort on the Grand Harbour had spotted something drifting in the water.
The alarm was raised. More of these strange objects drifted into view, and men waded into the shallows to drag them to the shore. What they found horrified even these battle-weary veterans: wooden crosses pushed out by the enemy to float in the harbour, and crucified on each was the headless body of a Christian knight.
This was psychological warfare at its most brutal, a message sent by the Turkish Muslim commander whose invading army had just vanquished the small outpost of Fort St Elmo - a thousand yards distant across the water.
Now the target was the one remaining fort on the harbour front where the beleaguered, outnumbered and overwhelmed Christians were still holding out: the Fort St Angelo. The Turkish commander wished its defenders to know that they would be next, that a horrible death was the only outcome of continued resistance.
But the commander had not counted on the mettle of his enemy - the Knights of St John. Nor on the determination of their leader Grand Master Jean Parisot de la Valette, who vowed that the fort would not be taken while one last Christian lived in Malta.
On news of the grotesque discovery of the headless knights - many of them his personal friends - Grand Master Valette quickly ordered that captured Turks imprisoned deep in the vaulted dungeons of the fort be taken from their cells, and beheaded one by one.
Then he returned a communiquè of his own: the heads of his Turkish captives were fired from his most powerful cannon direct into the Muslim lines. There would be no negotiation, no compromise, no surrender, no retreat.
We Christians, the Grand Master was saying, will fight to the death and take you with us.
The Siege of Malta in 1565 was a clash of unimaginable brutality, one of the bloodiest - yet most overlooked - battles ever fought. It was also an event that determined the course of history, for at stake was the very survival of Christianity.
If vitally strategic Malta fell, the Muslim Ottoman Empire would soon dominate the Mediterranean. Even Rome would be in peril.
The Muslims had hundreds of ships and an army tens of thousands strong. The Christians were a ragtag bunch of just a few hundred hardbitten knights and some local peasant soldiers with a few thousand Spanish infantry. Malta looked doomed.
That the Hospitaller Knights of St John existed at all was a minor miracle. They were a medieval relic, an order established originally to look after ailing pilgrims to the Holy Lands during the Crusades 300 years earlier - other orders of the Crusades, such as the Knights Templar, had been extinct for two-and-a-half centuries.
They came from countries all over Europe: Germany, Portugal, France, Spain. All that united them was a burning desire to defend Christendom against what they perceived as the ever-encroaching tide of Islam. Yet by the 16th century, an age of the increasing power of nation states, these trans-national zealots were viewed as an embarrassing anachronism by much of Europe.
Already the Turks had forced them from their earlier home, the island of Rhodes. Now the knights had moved to Malta - and were threatened once more.
So savage was the fighting, so mismatched the two sides and so important the moment, that I chose the Siege of Malta as the subject of my latest novel, Blood Rock. It was the stage, as we thriller writers say, for epic and mind-blowing history.
But as I researched for my book, I came to realise that what happened on Malta more than 400 years ago is salutary in today's context. For as we know only too well, religious extremism, terror tactics and barbarism still exist.
Malta was no mere siege. It teaches us many things: the need for courage and steadfastness by an entire populace in the face of threat; the fragility of peace; and the destructiveness of religious hate.
Suleiman the Magnificent, Sultan of Turkey and pitiless ruler of the Ottoman Empire, stared out upon the glittering waters of the Golden Horn estuary of Istanbul. He was the most powerful figure on the planet - his titles included Vice-Regent of God on Earth, Lord of the Lords of East and West - and Possessor of Men's Necks on account of his habit of beheading servants who displeased him.
His realm and absolute remit stretched from the gates of Vienna to the gardens of Babylon, from Budapest to Aden. He was one of the richest men of all time who never wore the same clothes twice, ate off solid gold plates encrusted with jewels, and took his pleasure in a harem of more than 300 women.
An octogenarian, he was utterly ruthless, employing an assassination squad of deaf mutes to strangle traitors. (The reasoning was that they could never be influenced by the pleas for mercy of their victims, nor tell any tales.)
Suleiman had used them to dispatch both his Grand Vizier (his prime minister) and his favourite sons. Less worthy subjects could be executed by pouring molten lead down their throats.
Yet by the standards of the day and his own dynastic line he was not especially violent. Other sultans had done worse: one, tiring of his womenfolk, had drowned his entire harem - some several hundred strong - in muslin sacks at the bottom of the Bosphorus; a second had written into the royal prerogative that he could shoot ten or more citizens a day with his bow and arrows from the roof of his palace.
Suleiman controlled the greatest fighting force in the world. Before him lay an armada of 200 ships ready to sail, an army of 40,000 troops on board. He planned to wipe the barren rock of Malta and the Knights of St John from the map.
These knights lived by raiding and disrupting his Ottoman shipping routes. The last straw had been their capture of the prized ship of his powerful courtier the Chief Black Eunuch.
Because all his "parts" had been cut off by a clean sweep of a razor - a metal tube had been inserted into his urethra and the wound cauterised in boiling oil - the eunuch was also entrusted to look after Suleiman's harem.
The Sultan did not expect undue trouble exacting his revenge. A mere 700 knights stood in his way. Such a rabble would be quickly cleared.
The Turkish fleet headed across the Mediterranean in March 1565. Aboard the ships were the elite janissary shock-troops - the "Invincible Ones" - who had carried Islam across Europe with the slashing blades of their scimitars.
Accompanying them were the blackplumed cavalry corps and the infantry as well as the drug-crazed Iayalars who wore the skins of wild beasts and whose raison d'etre was to reach paradise through death as they slit infidel Christian throats in battle.
In late May 1565, the invasion force arrived at the island. The knights awaiting them enjoyed good intelligence of their plans and had asked for assistance from the Christian armies of European nations. Every kingdom spurned their request - other than Sicily, which said that if the knights held out, help would eventually come.
You have probably never heard of Fort St Elmo. It is a small star-shaped structure sited at the tip of what is now the Maltese capital Valletta on the north shore of Grand Harbour.
In late May 1565, it was where the full might of the Turk artillery was unleashed, a hellish crucible that would forge the future course of our modern age. For days the invaders pounded the tottering and crumbling edifice, reducing its limestone walls to rubble, creating a dust cloud. The knights refused to yield.
At night, Valette sent reinforcements from St Angelo by boat across Grand Harbour, in the knowledge they were heading to their deaths.
After the artillery, the attacks went in, wave upon wave of screaming and scimitar-wielding Turks, trampling over the bodies of their own slain, laying down ships' masts to bridge the debris-filled moat into which the walls of St Elmo had slid.
Each time they were met by the ragged and diminishing band of defenders, fighting with pikes and battle-axes, firing muskets and dropping blocks of stone, throwing fire-hoops that set ablaze the flowing robes of the Muslims and sent them burning and plummeting to their deaths.
The fire-hoops - covered in flax and cotton, dipped in brandy and coated with pitch and saltpetre - were the knights' own invention. Dropped blazing over the bastion walls, they could engulf three Turks at a time.
For 30 days, cut off and doomed, the soldiers of St Elmo prevailed. The Turkish general had expected the fort to fall within three.
Late at night on Friday June 22, 1565, the few hundred survivors from an original garrison of 1,500, sang hymns, offered up prayers, defiantly tolled their chapel bell and prepared to meet their end the next day.
Those unable to stand were placed in chairs behind the shattered ramparts, crouching low with their pikes and swords to await the final assault.
When it came, and the entire Turkish army descended as a howling mass, the handful of Christians still managed to fight for several hours. Eventually the Ottomans took their prize. The crescent banners of the Grand Turk flew above the ruins, the heads of the knights were raised on spikes, and the crucified bodies of their officers were floated across to Fort St Angelo on the far side of the harbour.
The Turks had lost time and up to 8,000 of their crack troops.
Summer heat was rising, disease and dysentery spread throughout the Muslim camp, and the dead lay piled around the blackened remnants of the seized fort. deserted the knights - the princes of Europe had abandoned them. But Grand Master Valette was not about to quit.
Scenes of heroism and horror abounded in the terrible days that followed. There were extraordinary characters: Fra Roberto, the priest who fought on the battlements with a sword in one hand and a cross in the other; the two English "gentlemen adventurers" who arrived belatedly from Rome to take part in the action; Valette himself, who stood unyielding in the breach and used a spear to battle hand-to-hand against the foe.
Others had led desperate sallies against the Ottoman, harrying their labour corps, sniping at commanders, spiking their guns. But the enemy, too, had their brave and vivid figures. Among them was Dragut, the most feared corsair of his day, whose skill and dash had served the Sultan well. A cannonball splinter did for him.
Yet the siege continued, the target now St Angelo, the final and fortified enclave of the knights on the southern side of Grand Harbour.
The Turks tried every twist and tactic in their military manual. They tunnelled beneath the Christian defences to bury gunpowder and blow the knights to bits. The Maltese responded with their own mines to blow up the tunnels and there were terrible skirmishes below ground.
Next the Turks drew up siege engines, giant towers designed to pour their infantry direct on to the battlements. The knights removed stones at the base of the battlement walls so that they could run out cannon through the openings they had created, and blast the siege engines apart.
On several occasions those walls were breached, the Turks rushing through eager to slaughter all in their path. Triumph seemed at hand but they found too late that the knights had improvised an ambush, creating a killing zone into which they were funnelled and slaughtered.
Success for the Turks was slipping away. The furnace temperatures of July and August sapped morale and strength; the sense of failure clung as pervasively as the surrounding stench of death.
The Turks' commander, Mustapha Pasha, marched inland to take the walled city of Mdina, only to withdraw when scouts informed him of its substantial and well-armed garrison. It was a trick. Mdina was largely undefended, its governor ordering women and children to don helmets, carry pikes and patrol the walls.
Frantic, with casualties mounting and autumn storms looming, the Turks rolled a giant bomb - a fiendish barrel-shaped object packed with gunpowder and musketballs - into the Christian positions.
The knights promptly rolled it back and it blew a devastating hole in the massed and waiting Muslim ranks. It rained. Believing the gunpowder of the knights to be damp, their muskets and cannon useless, Mustapha Pasha again sent his troops forward.
They were met by a hail of not only crossbow bolts but gunfire, for Valette had anticipated such an moment, setting aside stores of dry powder.
Finally, relief reached the knights in the form of a small army from Sicily. Believing the enemy reinforcements too weak to be of any consequence, Mustapha Pasha angrily ordered his troops - who had bolted on hearing of the new arrivals - to turn back and march towards them. It was the last of his many grave blunders.
The cavalry of the relief force charged, then the infantry, tearing into the Turkish centre, putting it to flight. Rout turned to bloodbath. The once-proud Ottoman force scrambled in disarray for its ships, pursued across the island, cut down and picked off at every step. Thousands died and the waters of St Paul's Bay ran red.
Of the 40,000 troops that had set sail in the spring from Constantinople, only some ten thousand made it home. Behind them they had left a scene of utter devastation.
Almost the entire garrison commanded by Jean Parisot de Valette - after whom the city of Valletta is named - had perished. Now, after 112 days of siege, the ragged handful of survivors limped through the blitzed wreckage of their lines.
Malta was saved, for Europe and Christianity. The Knights of St John had won.
History has moved on - the island withstood another siege which played a key role in the saving of civilisation in the 1940s, this time against Hitler's forces. Today, the hotel and apartment developers have moved in. Rarely is the 1565 Great Siege of Malta mentioned. Hardly ever do visitors to the island dwell on such an ancient and forgotten incident.
But I have stood in that tiny chapel recessed in the walls of Fort St Elmo, the very place where defenders took their last holy sacrament on a June night long ago. We owe those knights.
Their sacrifice was immense, their effect on our lives more profound than we may know. Yet religious fanaticism continues, and global powers will still fight over a piece of barren rock. Perhaps we never really learn.
• Blood Rock by James Jackson is published by John Murray at £11.99.
Source:
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/news/news.html?in_article_id=466818&in_page_id=1770
(The what?)
One of the bloodiest, most fiercely contested...and surprisingly, most overlooked battles in history.
Here are the words UK author Mr. James Jackson:
A hot and fetid June night on the small Mediterranean island of Malta, and a Christian sentry patrolling at the foot of a fort on the Grand Harbour had spotted something drifting in the water.
The alarm was raised. More of these strange objects drifted into view, and men waded into the shallows to drag them to the shore. What they found horrified even these battle-weary veterans: wooden crosses pushed out by the enemy to float in the harbour, and crucified on each was the headless body of a Christian knight.
This was psychological warfare at its most brutal, a message sent by the Turkish Muslim commander whose invading army had just vanquished the small outpost of Fort St Elmo - a thousand yards distant across the water.
Now the target was the one remaining fort on the harbour front where the beleaguered, outnumbered and overwhelmed Christians were still holding out: the Fort St Angelo. The Turkish commander wished its defenders to know that they would be next, that a horrible death was the only outcome of continued resistance.
But the commander had not counted on the mettle of his enemy - the Knights of St John. Nor on the determination of their leader Grand Master Jean Parisot de la Valette, who vowed that the fort would not be taken while one last Christian lived in Malta.
On news of the grotesque discovery of the headless knights - many of them his personal friends - Grand Master Valette quickly ordered that captured Turks imprisoned deep in the vaulted dungeons of the fort be taken from their cells, and beheaded one by one.
Then he returned a communiquè of his own: the heads of his Turkish captives were fired from his most powerful cannon direct into the Muslim lines. There would be no negotiation, no compromise, no surrender, no retreat.
We Christians, the Grand Master was saying, will fight to the death and take you with us.
The Siege of Malta in 1565 was a clash of unimaginable brutality, one of the bloodiest - yet most overlooked - battles ever fought. It was also an event that determined the course of history, for at stake was the very survival of Christianity.
If vitally strategic Malta fell, the Muslim Ottoman Empire would soon dominate the Mediterranean. Even Rome would be in peril.
The Muslims had hundreds of ships and an army tens of thousands strong. The Christians were a ragtag bunch of just a few hundred hardbitten knights and some local peasant soldiers with a few thousand Spanish infantry. Malta looked doomed.
That the Hospitaller Knights of St John existed at all was a minor miracle. They were a medieval relic, an order established originally to look after ailing pilgrims to the Holy Lands during the Crusades 300 years earlier - other orders of the Crusades, such as the Knights Templar, had been extinct for two-and-a-half centuries.
They came from countries all over Europe: Germany, Portugal, France, Spain. All that united them was a burning desire to defend Christendom against what they perceived as the ever-encroaching tide of Islam. Yet by the 16th century, an age of the increasing power of nation states, these trans-national zealots were viewed as an embarrassing anachronism by much of Europe.
Already the Turks had forced them from their earlier home, the island of Rhodes. Now the knights had moved to Malta - and were threatened once more.
So savage was the fighting, so mismatched the two sides and so important the moment, that I chose the Siege of Malta as the subject of my latest novel, Blood Rock. It was the stage, as we thriller writers say, for epic and mind-blowing history.
But as I researched for my book, I came to realise that what happened on Malta more than 400 years ago is salutary in today's context. For as we know only too well, religious extremism, terror tactics and barbarism still exist.
Malta was no mere siege. It teaches us many things: the need for courage and steadfastness by an entire populace in the face of threat; the fragility of peace; and the destructiveness of religious hate.
Suleiman the Magnificent, Sultan of Turkey and pitiless ruler of the Ottoman Empire, stared out upon the glittering waters of the Golden Horn estuary of Istanbul. He was the most powerful figure on the planet - his titles included Vice-Regent of God on Earth, Lord of the Lords of East and West - and Possessor of Men's Necks on account of his habit of beheading servants who displeased him.
His realm and absolute remit stretched from the gates of Vienna to the gardens of Babylon, from Budapest to Aden. He was one of the richest men of all time who never wore the same clothes twice, ate off solid gold plates encrusted with jewels, and took his pleasure in a harem of more than 300 women.
An octogenarian, he was utterly ruthless, employing an assassination squad of deaf mutes to strangle traitors. (The reasoning was that they could never be influenced by the pleas for mercy of their victims, nor tell any tales.)
Suleiman had used them to dispatch both his Grand Vizier (his prime minister) and his favourite sons. Less worthy subjects could be executed by pouring molten lead down their throats.
Yet by the standards of the day and his own dynastic line he was not especially violent. Other sultans had done worse: one, tiring of his womenfolk, had drowned his entire harem - some several hundred strong - in muslin sacks at the bottom of the Bosphorus; a second had written into the royal prerogative that he could shoot ten or more citizens a day with his bow and arrows from the roof of his palace.
Suleiman controlled the greatest fighting force in the world. Before him lay an armada of 200 ships ready to sail, an army of 40,000 troops on board. He planned to wipe the barren rock of Malta and the Knights of St John from the map.
These knights lived by raiding and disrupting his Ottoman shipping routes. The last straw had been their capture of the prized ship of his powerful courtier the Chief Black Eunuch.
Because all his "parts" had been cut off by a clean sweep of a razor - a metal tube had been inserted into his urethra and the wound cauterised in boiling oil - the eunuch was also entrusted to look after Suleiman's harem.
The Sultan did not expect undue trouble exacting his revenge. A mere 700 knights stood in his way. Such a rabble would be quickly cleared.
The Turkish fleet headed across the Mediterranean in March 1565. Aboard the ships were the elite janissary shock-troops - the "Invincible Ones" - who had carried Islam across Europe with the slashing blades of their scimitars.
Accompanying them were the blackplumed cavalry corps and the infantry as well as the drug-crazed Iayalars who wore the skins of wild beasts and whose raison d'etre was to reach paradise through death as they slit infidel Christian throats in battle.
In late May 1565, the invasion force arrived at the island. The knights awaiting them enjoyed good intelligence of their plans and had asked for assistance from the Christian armies of European nations. Every kingdom spurned their request - other than Sicily, which said that if the knights held out, help would eventually come.
You have probably never heard of Fort St Elmo. It is a small star-shaped structure sited at the tip of what is now the Maltese capital Valletta on the north shore of Grand Harbour.
In late May 1565, it was where the full might of the Turk artillery was unleashed, a hellish crucible that would forge the future course of our modern age. For days the invaders pounded the tottering and crumbling edifice, reducing its limestone walls to rubble, creating a dust cloud. The knights refused to yield.
At night, Valette sent reinforcements from St Angelo by boat across Grand Harbour, in the knowledge they were heading to their deaths.
After the artillery, the attacks went in, wave upon wave of screaming and scimitar-wielding Turks, trampling over the bodies of their own slain, laying down ships' masts to bridge the debris-filled moat into which the walls of St Elmo had slid.
Each time they were met by the ragged and diminishing band of defenders, fighting with pikes and battle-axes, firing muskets and dropping blocks of stone, throwing fire-hoops that set ablaze the flowing robes of the Muslims and sent them burning and plummeting to their deaths.
The fire-hoops - covered in flax and cotton, dipped in brandy and coated with pitch and saltpetre - were the knights' own invention. Dropped blazing over the bastion walls, they could engulf three Turks at a time.
For 30 days, cut off and doomed, the soldiers of St Elmo prevailed. The Turkish general had expected the fort to fall within three.
Late at night on Friday June 22, 1565, the few hundred survivors from an original garrison of 1,500, sang hymns, offered up prayers, defiantly tolled their chapel bell and prepared to meet their end the next day.
Those unable to stand were placed in chairs behind the shattered ramparts, crouching low with their pikes and swords to await the final assault.
When it came, and the entire Turkish army descended as a howling mass, the handful of Christians still managed to fight for several hours. Eventually the Ottomans took their prize. The crescent banners of the Grand Turk flew above the ruins, the heads of the knights were raised on spikes, and the crucified bodies of their officers were floated across to Fort St Angelo on the far side of the harbour.
The Turks had lost time and up to 8,000 of their crack troops.
Summer heat was rising, disease and dysentery spread throughout the Muslim camp, and the dead lay piled around the blackened remnants of the seized fort. deserted the knights - the princes of Europe had abandoned them. But Grand Master Valette was not about to quit.
Scenes of heroism and horror abounded in the terrible days that followed. There were extraordinary characters: Fra Roberto, the priest who fought on the battlements with a sword in one hand and a cross in the other; the two English "gentlemen adventurers" who arrived belatedly from Rome to take part in the action; Valette himself, who stood unyielding in the breach and used a spear to battle hand-to-hand against the foe.
Others had led desperate sallies against the Ottoman, harrying their labour corps, sniping at commanders, spiking their guns. But the enemy, too, had their brave and vivid figures. Among them was Dragut, the most feared corsair of his day, whose skill and dash had served the Sultan well. A cannonball splinter did for him.
Yet the siege continued, the target now St Angelo, the final and fortified enclave of the knights on the southern side of Grand Harbour.
The Turks tried every twist and tactic in their military manual. They tunnelled beneath the Christian defences to bury gunpowder and blow the knights to bits. The Maltese responded with their own mines to blow up the tunnels and there were terrible skirmishes below ground.
Next the Turks drew up siege engines, giant towers designed to pour their infantry direct on to the battlements. The knights removed stones at the base of the battlement walls so that they could run out cannon through the openings they had created, and blast the siege engines apart.
On several occasions those walls were breached, the Turks rushing through eager to slaughter all in their path. Triumph seemed at hand but they found too late that the knights had improvised an ambush, creating a killing zone into which they were funnelled and slaughtered.
Success for the Turks was slipping away. The furnace temperatures of July and August sapped morale and strength; the sense of failure clung as pervasively as the surrounding stench of death.
The Turks' commander, Mustapha Pasha, marched inland to take the walled city of Mdina, only to withdraw when scouts informed him of its substantial and well-armed garrison. It was a trick. Mdina was largely undefended, its governor ordering women and children to don helmets, carry pikes and patrol the walls.
Frantic, with casualties mounting and autumn storms looming, the Turks rolled a giant bomb - a fiendish barrel-shaped object packed with gunpowder and musketballs - into the Christian positions.
The knights promptly rolled it back and it blew a devastating hole in the massed and waiting Muslim ranks. It rained. Believing the gunpowder of the knights to be damp, their muskets and cannon useless, Mustapha Pasha again sent his troops forward.
They were met by a hail of not only crossbow bolts but gunfire, for Valette had anticipated such an moment, setting aside stores of dry powder.
Finally, relief reached the knights in the form of a small army from Sicily. Believing the enemy reinforcements too weak to be of any consequence, Mustapha Pasha angrily ordered his troops - who had bolted on hearing of the new arrivals - to turn back and march towards them. It was the last of his many grave blunders.
The cavalry of the relief force charged, then the infantry, tearing into the Turkish centre, putting it to flight. Rout turned to bloodbath. The once-proud Ottoman force scrambled in disarray for its ships, pursued across the island, cut down and picked off at every step. Thousands died and the waters of St Paul's Bay ran red.
Of the 40,000 troops that had set sail in the spring from Constantinople, only some ten thousand made it home. Behind them they had left a scene of utter devastation.
Almost the entire garrison commanded by Jean Parisot de Valette - after whom the city of Valletta is named - had perished. Now, after 112 days of siege, the ragged handful of survivors limped through the blitzed wreckage of their lines.
Malta was saved, for Europe and Christianity. The Knights of St John had won.
History has moved on - the island withstood another siege which played a key role in the saving of civilisation in the 1940s, this time against Hitler's forces. Today, the hotel and apartment developers have moved in. Rarely is the 1565 Great Siege of Malta mentioned. Hardly ever do visitors to the island dwell on such an ancient and forgotten incident.
But I have stood in that tiny chapel recessed in the walls of Fort St Elmo, the very place where defenders took their last holy sacrament on a June night long ago. We owe those knights.
Their sacrifice was immense, their effect on our lives more profound than we may know. Yet religious fanaticism continues, and global powers will still fight over a piece of barren rock. Perhaps we never really learn.
• Blood Rock by James Jackson is published by John Murray at £11.99.
Source:
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/news/news.html?in_article_id=466818&in_page_id=1770
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Hello Drama
Hello Drama, Hello Drama, Hello...
I happen to like Kaila Yu's music. Yes it's a guilty pleasure ;) But...I never expected that her music would make an eerily appropriate soundtrack to my own life, even temporarily.
I've always been a passionate person...something that I sometimes have to fight in check. Too much passion can lead to unnecessary drama, and I hate drama. Except, I'm in the thick of way too much drama. Unexpected drama. There is more going on than I have control over, which is incredibly aggravating.
What I can control is a set of tasks. Cumulatively, however, they are an enormous amount of work. It all needs to be done, and done soon...but I don't know what the deadline is. Its a ticking time bomb but I don't have the luxury of knowing how much time I have to diffuse it.
The Friday before Memorial Day is the goal I set for myself. I hope I have that long. It will be a stretch for me to complete everything by that time, but school starts up right after Memorial Day weekend and I really don't want to go in to my next semester with this hanging over my head.
Its rare that I take vacation time, but I've put in for several days off to take care of this. Which...is really infuriating. I'd rather spend my vacation time in a secluded spot on the Maine shoreline than to spend it running around Massachusetts, but I don't have much of a choice. I'm glad I have the time banked but this sure wasn't how I wanted to spend it.
Enough moping...time to get back to work.
I want my 'normal' life back, dammit.
I happen to like Kaila Yu's music. Yes it's a guilty pleasure ;) But...I never expected that her music would make an eerily appropriate soundtrack to my own life, even temporarily.
I've always been a passionate person...something that I sometimes have to fight in check. Too much passion can lead to unnecessary drama, and I hate drama. Except, I'm in the thick of way too much drama. Unexpected drama. There is more going on than I have control over, which is incredibly aggravating.
What I can control is a set of tasks. Cumulatively, however, they are an enormous amount of work. It all needs to be done, and done soon...but I don't know what the deadline is. Its a ticking time bomb but I don't have the luxury of knowing how much time I have to diffuse it.
The Friday before Memorial Day is the goal I set for myself. I hope I have that long. It will be a stretch for me to complete everything by that time, but school starts up right after Memorial Day weekend and I really don't want to go in to my next semester with this hanging over my head.
Its rare that I take vacation time, but I've put in for several days off to take care of this. Which...is really infuriating. I'd rather spend my vacation time in a secluded spot on the Maine shoreline than to spend it running around Massachusetts, but I don't have much of a choice. I'm glad I have the time banked but this sure wasn't how I wanted to spend it.
Enough moping...time to get back to work.
I want my 'normal' life back, dammit.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
query += ( 2B || !2B )
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?
To die: to sleep; no more;
and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to,
'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd.
To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream:
ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause:
there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong,
the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love,
the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin?
who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.
Soft you now!
*sigh*
Yes, Hamlet please...
in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?
To die: to sleep; no more;
and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to,
'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd.
To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream:
ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause:
there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong,
the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love,
the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin?
who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.
Soft you now!
*sigh*
Yes, Hamlet please...
in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Random thoughts of a novitiate C developer
Are semicolons fragile? I sure hope they aren't because I tend to drop a lot of them.
New levels of geekdom are reached when you develop a mathematical subroutine that you seriously ponder running overnight.
496 is a perfect number, as is 8198. I did not know that.
9991 is prime. I did not know that, either. Actually, I had no idea there were as many prime numbers as there are. I wrote code to calculate all the prime numbers under 1,000,000 and I'm watching numbers fly by like I'm falling in to the matrix.
The quality of my code is directly proportional to the quantity of Advil Migraine that's within easy reach.
I hate finals, yet for some reason my final seems easier than the midterm. It's still kicking my ass but its not quite the horror show I exected. Or maybe I've just gotten broken in to being a student again.
99999989 is prime.
I get an odd sense of satisfaction when the application I wrote spikes my CPU. Heh. I made my computer think. A lot.
Piet Hein was simply amazing. One of these days I'm going to have to do a tribute to him on my blog.
999,999,937 is the highest prime number below 1,000,000,000.
I really, really, REALLY want to earn an A in this class.
New levels of geekdom are reached when you develop a mathematical subroutine that you seriously ponder running overnight.
496 is a perfect number, as is 8198. I did not know that.
9991 is prime. I did not know that, either. Actually, I had no idea there were as many prime numbers as there are. I wrote code to calculate all the prime numbers under 1,000,000 and I'm watching numbers fly by like I'm falling in to the matrix.
The quality of my code is directly proportional to the quantity of Advil Migraine that's within easy reach.
I hate finals, yet for some reason my final seems easier than the midterm. It's still kicking my ass but its not quite the horror show I exected. Or maybe I've just gotten broken in to being a student again.
99999989 is prime.
I get an odd sense of satisfaction when the application I wrote spikes my CPU. Heh. I made my computer think. A lot.
Piet Hein was simply amazing. One of these days I'm going to have to do a tribute to him on my blog.
999,999,937 is the highest prime number below 1,000,000,000.
I really, really, REALLY want to earn an A in this class.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Trying
The gravity of the situation started to weigh on me as I left work tonight. I was definitely bothered and distracted. I realized when I left I had to make a slight detour going home because I was supposed to go down one of the side streets and look to see if a particular house is for sale.
I did...and...it wasn't, but the home next to that particular house was for sale. I made a mental note of that, and dug through my computer bag to write down the phone number off the sign. I didn't find a pen. I did see my checkbook....and I realized that I had to go back to the office. I owe my colleague R some fund raising monies and I was way overdue in paying.
I'm really trying to be optimistic. I'm really hoping that I had forgotten my wallet for a reason, and the reason was to talk with my sweet neighbor Mrs. F, who unbeknownst to her gave me a warning of the troubles to come. Had I not spoken with her, I might not have judiciously looked for the damning letter that was in with an ungodly large pile of junk mail. Had I not forgotten to check out the house....or had I not forgotten a pen, I may not had remembered that I really needed to pay R. And trust me, the few minute trip back to the office was nothing compared to the potential grief that I would risk from R had I not paid...again.
On the way home, I saw a shooting star. I made a wish.
In the past when I've been fraught with a difficult challenge, my mind sometimes drifts to a quote I learned a long time ago:
Problems worthy
of attack
prove their worth
by hitting back.
Burma Shave! (just kidding)
There are many times when I find inspiration in Piet Hein's words.
I'm not sure if I do now. It's hitting too hard!
On the way out to the car, I saw the full moon. I made a wish.
I did...and...it wasn't, but the home next to that particular house was for sale. I made a mental note of that, and dug through my computer bag to write down the phone number off the sign. I didn't find a pen. I did see my checkbook....and I realized that I had to go back to the office. I owe my colleague R some fund raising monies and I was way overdue in paying.
I'm really trying to be optimistic. I'm really hoping that I had forgotten my wallet for a reason, and the reason was to talk with my sweet neighbor Mrs. F, who unbeknownst to her gave me a warning of the troubles to come. Had I not spoken with her, I might not have judiciously looked for the damning letter that was in with an ungodly large pile of junk mail. Had I not forgotten to check out the house....or had I not forgotten a pen, I may not had remembered that I really needed to pay R. And trust me, the few minute trip back to the office was nothing compared to the potential grief that I would risk from R had I not paid...again.
On the way home, I saw a shooting star. I made a wish.
In the past when I've been fraught with a difficult challenge, my mind sometimes drifts to a quote I learned a long time ago:
Problems worthy
of attack
prove their worth
by hitting back.
Burma Shave! (just kidding)
There are many times when I find inspiration in Piet Hein's words.
I'm not sure if I do now. It's hitting too hard!
On the way out to the car, I saw the full moon. I made a wish.
And just like that....it all rains down.
Disturbing imagery is hardly a bellwether of something nice.
After a few unpleasant morning interruptions, I was finally able to catch a few hours sleep this morning. I woke up, a bit more refreshed, and a bit late for work. I pulled on some clean clothes and moussed up my unwashed hair. I dashed a quick apology e-mail to my boss, and advised him that I'd be in as soon as I could and that I had a quick stop to make along the way. I left the house. I was late. The traffic was horrible. I eased down the highway ramp and realized...I had forgotten my wallet. I had a checkbook on me but no one takes checks without ID. So I looped around the embankment, and headed back to my home. The weather was nice out...it was a shame I had to spend the day sleeping. I walked up to my door.
"Hi There!" I look up and see my neighbor, Mrs. F. She chatted for a second with me and then said "Did you hear..."
I listened. And I tried really hard not to look panicked. Because after my painfully realistic nightmare the other night, I drew a very unpleasant conclusion for myself. And here is Mrs. F, telling me how this unpleasant conclusion was not only valid, it will become reality very quickly.
Here I am with only one week of school left an an uncompleted final exam in front of me and I was just given news that is turning my life upside down.
Had the circumstances been different, the news might have been neutral, or even good. But now, with all I have going on...the news is woefully unexpected and bitterly surprising.
I went through my mail and found a letter that confirmed the worst.
When I saw my boss this afternoon, I should have had a chat with him then, but it will need to wait until Monday now. I'll have to take a vacation from work very soon and I sure as hell hope that I am still in one piece when I get back.
There really is something worse than waking up from a nightmare...its seeing something a lot like the nightmare come true in real life.
After a few unpleasant morning interruptions, I was finally able to catch a few hours sleep this morning. I woke up, a bit more refreshed, and a bit late for work. I pulled on some clean clothes and moussed up my unwashed hair. I dashed a quick apology e-mail to my boss, and advised him that I'd be in as soon as I could and that I had a quick stop to make along the way. I left the house. I was late. The traffic was horrible. I eased down the highway ramp and realized...I had forgotten my wallet. I had a checkbook on me but no one takes checks without ID. So I looped around the embankment, and headed back to my home. The weather was nice out...it was a shame I had to spend the day sleeping. I walked up to my door.
"Hi There!" I look up and see my neighbor, Mrs. F. She chatted for a second with me and then said "Did you hear..."
I listened. And I tried really hard not to look panicked. Because after my painfully realistic nightmare the other night, I drew a very unpleasant conclusion for myself. And here is Mrs. F, telling me how this unpleasant conclusion was not only valid, it will become reality very quickly.
Here I am with only one week of school left an an uncompleted final exam in front of me and I was just given news that is turning my life upside down.
Had the circumstances been different, the news might have been neutral, or even good. But now, with all I have going on...the news is woefully unexpected and bitterly surprising.
I went through my mail and found a letter that confirmed the worst.
When I saw my boss this afternoon, I should have had a chat with him then, but it will need to wait until Monday now. I'll have to take a vacation from work very soon and I sure as hell hope that I am still in one piece when I get back.
There really is something worse than waking up from a nightmare...its seeing something a lot like the nightmare come true in real life.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
poisoned
This was a lesson in habits. And how nearly-dropped bad habits and possibly-avoided bad choices are best dropped and avoided.
In the last 48 hours, I've done two things I don't normally do. And I've paid the price.
A couple years ago, I largely quit drinking. I was mostly a social drinker, and I'm not an alcoholic, I just...lost interest. I think because I discovered martial arts and realized that was a bigger buzz...LOL. Have I had a drink since then? On occasion, but its been rare.
A few months ago, someone I know was giving out small bottles of mix. It was a mix for a specialty cocktail, add your own booze. At some point I picked up two nips to add to the mix and tossed them in my freezer, largely forgotten.
Forgotten until Sunday night. I had done 16 hours of programming on Sunday, half of it for my class and half of it to help with a friend's project. It was a long day but I made two significant accomplishments, which I was thrilled about. I went to the freezer to get some ice, and saw the nips. Why the heck not, I thought to myself. Its about midnight now, and I don't have to be anywhere until 4PM tomorrow.
After digging up the mix from my cabinet, I pulled out a tall glass, filled it with ice, added the mix, added the nips, stirred it up with a straw, and took a sip. It wasn't bad. I sat down on the couch and my attention drifted between SportsCenter and the video games on my laptop. There were worse ways to unwind from the day.
The drink was never finished. I drank about a third of it. It just didn't seem that enjoyable, and I was getting bored with ESPN and my games. A bottle of SmartWater seemed a lot more appealing. I grabbed one out of the fridge and went off to bed.
I didn't have a very good dream. At one point I was someplace strange, the middle of a very odd city, and I sunk to the sidewalk, doubled over in pain. It was a terrible feeling. I woke up, relieved that it was only a dream. I turned over, tried to ease myself back to sleep, only to find that....it wasn't a dream. I won't go in to details except to say that the next few hours were rather horrifying. At one point, the thought crossed my mind that this was what it was like to be poisoned.
I didn't eat very much on Monday. Which, was a mistake, because by the time I got out of work I was starving. Unfortunately the only thing open at that hour of the night is a fast food joint and a gas station. I decided to try my luck at the fast food joint....which is another thing that I had largely given up doing. $2.31 later, I was on my way and settled in for my hour-long drive back home.
After arriving home, I felt very worn out. I sat down on my living room futon, and put on SportsCenter again, hoping to catch some Red Sox highlights. I felt unusually tired, and didn't even feel up for the walk to my bedroom. I clicked off the TV and pulled a blanket over myself.
Once again, I was met with a terrible dream. Instead of surrealistic images, however, this one seemed disturbingly real. I had gone comatose on the couch and something had gone terribly wrong. A rescue squad had entered my apartment, looking for me, but I had sunk so far under my comforter that the didn't realize I was there. I knew they were there, and tried shouting out to them but found that I couldn't make a sound. Most of the squad left the apartment, yet I felt like there was one person remaining. I felt the blanket being shifted about by my feet, then felt cool air when my toes were uncovered. I was then yanked by the ankles and pulled off the futon. As my head hit the floor I cried out, but I still didn't have control of my voice. "What is going on?" I asked in a slurred tone. No answer, as I was dragged towards the door of my apartment. "What is going on?" I asked again, as I was being dragged out the door, in to the hallway. I tried to fight back but my arms were useless. "Who are you?" I shouted, hoping to wake a neighbor up. The front door to the building opened, the cold air rushed in, and my ankles were summarily dropped to the ground...and I woke up, on my living room futon, still fully covered under my comforter.
For the next hour or so I thought about the imagery in the dream, and tried to do my own interpretation. I didn't arrive at a pleasant conclusion...naturally. Disturbing imagery is hardly a bellwether of something nice. I pondered for a bit about how the conclusion in my dreams could be escaped or avoided. It was clear that I wasn't going to be going back to sleep.
Esoteric imagery aside, there is a practical explanation to all of this. The mix that my friend gave me had gone bad over time, causing the (ahem) distress, possibly in combination with the alcohol. Going to sleep roughly an hour after eating probably isn't the best idea...especially after startling my body with stuff that I don't normally eat.
But it reminded me of the social situations when I've been around someone that was trying to cut back on something-or-other, and that person was met with resistance instead of support. "Just try it. Oh come on, one can't hurt you."
Two nights of sleep disrupted by a drink that cost less than $2.50 and a meal that cost less than $2.50. One can hurt you. Two nights of sleep in a row disrupted by something that could have been avoided had I simply stayed committed to a better choice. Migod I hate learning lessons the hard way.
In the last 48 hours, I've done two things I don't normally do. And I've paid the price.
A couple years ago, I largely quit drinking. I was mostly a social drinker, and I'm not an alcoholic, I just...lost interest. I think because I discovered martial arts and realized that was a bigger buzz...LOL. Have I had a drink since then? On occasion, but its been rare.
A few months ago, someone I know was giving out small bottles of mix. It was a mix for a specialty cocktail, add your own booze. At some point I picked up two nips to add to the mix and tossed them in my freezer, largely forgotten.
Forgotten until Sunday night. I had done 16 hours of programming on Sunday, half of it for my class and half of it to help with a friend's project. It was a long day but I made two significant accomplishments, which I was thrilled about. I went to the freezer to get some ice, and saw the nips. Why the heck not, I thought to myself. Its about midnight now, and I don't have to be anywhere until 4PM tomorrow.
After digging up the mix from my cabinet, I pulled out a tall glass, filled it with ice, added the mix, added the nips, stirred it up with a straw, and took a sip. It wasn't bad. I sat down on the couch and my attention drifted between SportsCenter and the video games on my laptop. There were worse ways to unwind from the day.
The drink was never finished. I drank about a third of it. It just didn't seem that enjoyable, and I was getting bored with ESPN and my games. A bottle of SmartWater seemed a lot more appealing. I grabbed one out of the fridge and went off to bed.
I didn't have a very good dream. At one point I was someplace strange, the middle of a very odd city, and I sunk to the sidewalk, doubled over in pain. It was a terrible feeling. I woke up, relieved that it was only a dream. I turned over, tried to ease myself back to sleep, only to find that....it wasn't a dream. I won't go in to details except to say that the next few hours were rather horrifying. At one point, the thought crossed my mind that this was what it was like to be poisoned.
I didn't eat very much on Monday. Which, was a mistake, because by the time I got out of work I was starving. Unfortunately the only thing open at that hour of the night is a fast food joint and a gas station. I decided to try my luck at the fast food joint....which is another thing that I had largely given up doing. $2.31 later, I was on my way and settled in for my hour-long drive back home.
After arriving home, I felt very worn out. I sat down on my living room futon, and put on SportsCenter again, hoping to catch some Red Sox highlights. I felt unusually tired, and didn't even feel up for the walk to my bedroom. I clicked off the TV and pulled a blanket over myself.
Once again, I was met with a terrible dream. Instead of surrealistic images, however, this one seemed disturbingly real. I had gone comatose on the couch and something had gone terribly wrong. A rescue squad had entered my apartment, looking for me, but I had sunk so far under my comforter that the didn't realize I was there. I knew they were there, and tried shouting out to them but found that I couldn't make a sound. Most of the squad left the apartment, yet I felt like there was one person remaining. I felt the blanket being shifted about by my feet, then felt cool air when my toes were uncovered. I was then yanked by the ankles and pulled off the futon. As my head hit the floor I cried out, but I still didn't have control of my voice. "What is going on?" I asked in a slurred tone. No answer, as I was dragged towards the door of my apartment. "What is going on?" I asked again, as I was being dragged out the door, in to the hallway. I tried to fight back but my arms were useless. "Who are you?" I shouted, hoping to wake a neighbor up. The front door to the building opened, the cold air rushed in, and my ankles were summarily dropped to the ground...and I woke up, on my living room futon, still fully covered under my comforter.
For the next hour or so I thought about the imagery in the dream, and tried to do my own interpretation. I didn't arrive at a pleasant conclusion...naturally. Disturbing imagery is hardly a bellwether of something nice. I pondered for a bit about how the conclusion in my dreams could be escaped or avoided. It was clear that I wasn't going to be going back to sleep.
Esoteric imagery aside, there is a practical explanation to all of this. The mix that my friend gave me had gone bad over time, causing the (ahem) distress, possibly in combination with the alcohol. Going to sleep roughly an hour after eating probably isn't the best idea...especially after startling my body with stuff that I don't normally eat.
But it reminded me of the social situations when I've been around someone that was trying to cut back on something-or-other, and that person was met with resistance instead of support. "Just try it. Oh come on, one can't hurt you."
Two nights of sleep disrupted by a drink that cost less than $2.50 and a meal that cost less than $2.50. One can hurt you. Two nights of sleep in a row disrupted by something that could have been avoided had I simply stayed committed to a better choice. Migod I hate learning lessons the hard way.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Kids, stay in school...
I mean college. It doesn't get any easier when you've already earned a degree and going back for more when you are (ahem) rapidly approaching 40 like I am.
Finals don't get easier, either.
For some reason I thought they would. Perhaps that was wishful thinking. *snicker*
Earlier this winter it felt good to be back in engineering school...I guess now reality has hit. 80% of my grade derives from two exams.
The school doesn't issue + or - with their letter grades. Instead, grades are A, AB, B...etc.
The class is online. I've taken online classes before at this particular Massachusetts university, they are mind-gratingly tough. Unfortunately there has been zero conversation in class which is a shame. Granted its been several years since my last online class. However...I had made some great networking contacts in the past. I even fell in love with someone that I met during a spring break gathering. Now? Silence. As a businesswoman, I believe very strongly that the benefits of college as being twofold...what you get to learn and who you get to know. Unfortunately there has been none of the latter, and that frustrates me.
I just hope that, some years down the road, I don't regret putting my tuition money in to my retirement fund. Somebody that I respect very highly said the most important investment that one can make is books, and the second most important is bricks. Meaning: education and buying your a home.
Maybe one out of two ain't bad...that's like .500 batting average, eh?
Finals don't get easier, either.
For some reason I thought they would. Perhaps that was wishful thinking. *snicker*
Earlier this winter it felt good to be back in engineering school...I guess now reality has hit. 80% of my grade derives from two exams.
The school doesn't issue + or - with their letter grades. Instead, grades are A, AB, B...etc.
The class is online. I've taken online classes before at this particular Massachusetts university, they are mind-gratingly tough. Unfortunately there has been zero conversation in class which is a shame. Granted its been several years since my last online class. However...I had made some great networking contacts in the past. I even fell in love with someone that I met during a spring break gathering. Now? Silence. As a businesswoman, I believe very strongly that the benefits of college as being twofold...what you get to learn and who you get to know. Unfortunately there has been none of the latter, and that frustrates me.
I just hope that, some years down the road, I don't regret putting my tuition money in to my retirement fund. Somebody that I respect very highly said the most important investment that one can make is books, and the second most important is bricks. Meaning: education and buying your a home.
Maybe one out of two ain't bad...that's like .500 batting average, eh?
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Teenage atheists, and organic produce
Originally, I had met him through a business networking group. He was a very bright, ambitious young man, JT. He had an idea for a part-time web business and needed some help understanding databases. I gave him tips and pointers when I could, and in the processed learned that JT was a talkative young lad.
I unexpectedly met up again...at Whole Foods. He was his usual talkative self, and decided to gab a bit about how he now digs organic veggies. It seemed like a a perfectly normal thing to do at Whole Foods, and on an icy cold day like today, the company was welcome. Even when the company involves listening to a young person with a looping, teenage conversation style.
In some ways, talking with JT showed us how much we were alike...but it also underscored our differences. JT was not long out of high school, I'm nearly 40. He was rebelling from an extremely devout religious family, I was happy with with my own place in the universe. He was originally from the Bible Belt, I was born and raised in the Northeast. He loathed the idea of college, I was enrolled at UMass for the umpteenth time.
"I'm an atheist", JT said. There was something about his tone that smacked of posture. He paused, presumably waiting for a reaction from me. Perhaps he suspected that I would be shocked. Perhaps he expected something of a judgmental nature. I wasn't up for either.
"Hi there Athiest, I'm Freezing My Butt Off. Nice to meet you." I quipped.
"Cute," JT responded. "Real cute."
"So what kind of atheist are you, JT?" I asked. My question was met with confusion.
"Well you know...some atheists get on a rampage about people that are believers. Others could care less. Which one are you?"
Silence.
He talked a bit. He spoke of rejection from the community. He stressed being brought up in a culture that highly respects parents, only to find that "respect" meant not having an adult disagreement. He mentions a childhood friend back home that no longer speaks with him because he hasn't accepted Jesus. He spoke of people that say one thing and do another. And so on, and so forth...and then he said...
"Some people say their life got better when they found religion. I say, good for them. Mine got better when I divorced my god."
This time, I'm the one silent.
I unexpectedly met up again...at Whole Foods. He was his usual talkative self, and decided to gab a bit about how he now digs organic veggies. It seemed like a a perfectly normal thing to do at Whole Foods, and on an icy cold day like today, the company was welcome. Even when the company involves listening to a young person with a looping, teenage conversation style.
In some ways, talking with JT showed us how much we were alike...but it also underscored our differences. JT was not long out of high school, I'm nearly 40. He was rebelling from an extremely devout religious family, I was happy with with my own place in the universe. He was originally from the Bible Belt, I was born and raised in the Northeast. He loathed the idea of college, I was enrolled at UMass for the umpteenth time.
"I'm an atheist", JT said. There was something about his tone that smacked of posture. He paused, presumably waiting for a reaction from me. Perhaps he suspected that I would be shocked. Perhaps he expected something of a judgmental nature. I wasn't up for either.
"Hi there Athiest, I'm Freezing My Butt Off. Nice to meet you." I quipped.
"Cute," JT responded. "Real cute."
"So what kind of atheist are you, JT?" I asked. My question was met with confusion.
"Well you know...some atheists get on a rampage about people that are believers. Others could care less. Which one are you?"
Silence.
He talked a bit. He spoke of rejection from the community. He stressed being brought up in a culture that highly respects parents, only to find that "respect" meant not having an adult disagreement. He mentions a childhood friend back home that no longer speaks with him because he hasn't accepted Jesus. He spoke of people that say one thing and do another. And so on, and so forth...and then he said...
"Some people say their life got better when they found religion. I say, good for them. Mine got better when I divorced my god."
This time, I'm the one silent.
Monday, February 25, 2008
In Pre-Soviet Russia, Pictures....take you!
This may be the most captivating photo collection that I have seen in awhile.
A chemist by the name of Sergei Mikhailovich Prokudin-Gorskii (1863-1944) had a dream to create color photographic images.
He made the dream a reality...more than 30 years before George Eastman would patent his KodaChrome film. He invented a system that would capture images on glass plate negatives. One negative would capture red, another green, the third was blue. The negatives would then be assembled in a projector that would, by alternating levels of luminosity, create a clear color composite of the image. His work would catch the attention, and the enthusiasm of Tsar Nicholas II.
With the support of the Tsar backing his work, Prokudin-Gorskii traveled throughout Russia between 1909 and 1915. He lived in a customized rail car that served as his living quarters as well as his laboratory.
After the Russian revolution, he fled to the west, eventually settling in France. After his death, his heirs sold his photograhic plates to the Library of Congress.
His work has been recreated through digital composites...I found this to be absolutely stunning.
More info on source link: http://www.loc.gov/exhibits/empire
A chemist by the name of Sergei Mikhailovich Prokudin-Gorskii (1863-1944) had a dream to create color photographic images.
He made the dream a reality...more than 30 years before George Eastman would patent his KodaChrome film. He invented a system that would capture images on glass plate negatives. One negative would capture red, another green, the third was blue. The negatives would then be assembled in a projector that would, by alternating levels of luminosity, create a clear color composite of the image. His work would catch the attention, and the enthusiasm of Tsar Nicholas II.
With the support of the Tsar backing his work, Prokudin-Gorskii traveled throughout Russia between 1909 and 1915. He lived in a customized rail car that served as his living quarters as well as his laboratory.
After the Russian revolution, he fled to the west, eventually settling in France. After his death, his heirs sold his photograhic plates to the Library of Congress.
His work has been recreated through digital composites...I found this to be absolutely stunning.
Self-Portrait, from "On the Karolitskhali River"
"Portrait of Pinkhus Karlinsky, 84 years old" (Supervisor of the Cherigov Floodgate, 1909)
General View of the Nikolaevskii Cathedral from Southwest (St. Nicholas Cathedral, Mozhaisk, 1911)
Kareshka Boat Yards (Lake Onega, 1909)
Three Generations, A. P. Kalganov poses with his son and granddaughter who work for the Zlautist arms plant
Austro-Hungarian prisoners of war, 1915.
More info on source link: http://www.loc.gov/exhibits/empire
Sunday, February 24, 2008
"Park Ranger? I got all nervous for a Park Ranger?"
Back at during a (*ahem*) younger and slightly more rebellious time of my life, I was out with some galpals in South Boston. We had all piled in to a friend's car heading on to our...next destination. Inching up behind us was a black and white car with a rack of lights on the roof. My friend cursed and slowed down. The cruiser passed us without incident. We watched the car as it passed us. "Park Ranger," it said on the side, along with a splashy reference to the Boston Parks Department.
"PARK RANGER???" (Picture this being shouted in a heavy townie accent)
"I got all nervous for a Pahk Raynjah?"
A range of expletives and groaning laughter were shared between the driver and her passengers...and we continued on to the next...um...establshment....without further incident. Good times :D
It felt like I was reliving that day when I got to my engineering homework. The lecture notes from the teacher, the texts, all referenced some heavier math. The lecture notes mentioned taking our previous assignment and expanding upon it, also making sure we add in the corrections the professor suggested.
The project was basic, yet it incorporated powerful logic. Simple, but not simplistic. I was trying to figure out just how such a project like this would integrate higher math. I couldn't see how we were....unless the work was very complex, very quickly. I was dreading the assignment and getting panicked that I wouldn't have this one done in time.
I opened the assignment to see that it was rather basic. The class was doing the same thing only adding a loop. There were some other (optional) parameters to work with as well, but they were...optional. Natch I did them anyway even though the professor said that there would be no extra credit. The crux of the assignments was adding loops at the proper time.
A "for" loop.
I got all nervous over a Park Ranger...err...I got all nervous over a "for" loop?
Grrrrrr.....
Mmmkay. I feel stupid now. In cyberspace, no one can see you blush...but that doesn't prevent you from looking like an absolute dork. LMAO!!
"PARK RANGER???" (Picture this being shouted in a heavy townie accent)
"I got all nervous for a Pahk Raynjah?"
A range of expletives and groaning laughter were shared between the driver and her passengers...and we continued on to the next...um...establshment....without further incident. Good times :D
It felt like I was reliving that day when I got to my engineering homework. The lecture notes from the teacher, the texts, all referenced some heavier math. The lecture notes mentioned taking our previous assignment and expanding upon it, also making sure we add in the corrections the professor suggested.
The project was basic, yet it incorporated powerful logic. Simple, but not simplistic. I was trying to figure out just how such a project like this would integrate higher math. I couldn't see how we were....unless the work was very complex, very quickly. I was dreading the assignment and getting panicked that I wouldn't have this one done in time.
I opened the assignment to see that it was rather basic. The class was doing the same thing only adding a loop. There were some other (optional) parameters to work with as well, but they were...optional. Natch I did them anyway even though the professor said that there would be no extra credit. The crux of the assignments was adding loops at the proper time.
A "for" loop.
I got all nervous over a Park Ranger...err...I got all nervous over a "for" loop?
Grrrrrr.....
Mmmkay. I feel stupid now. In cyberspace, no one can see you blush...but that doesn't prevent you from looking like an absolute dork. LMAO!!
Friday, February 22, 2008
panic
On New Year's I made a pledge to myself to break some of my bad habits, such as drinking coffee...and not look back.
But can I? I spent all of the day...all week...working on work stuff...even at home before I came in. My office counterpart may have the day off tomorrow. My engineering homework is due in less than 24 hours and I haven't even started it. I'd think seriously about pulling an all-nighter but I'm too damn tired to do so.
FAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWK!
I'm so screwed...
But can I? I spent all of the day...all week...working on work stuff...even at home before I came in. My office counterpart may have the day off tomorrow. My engineering homework is due in less than 24 hours and I haven't even started it. I'd think seriously about pulling an all-nighter but I'm too damn tired to do so.
FAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWK!
I'm so screwed...
Monday, February 18, 2008
Chinese New Year, part 2 - Gong Xi Fa Cai!
Gong Xi Fa Cai! Mandarin for "Wishing you increased prosperity". In other words...Happy New Year! And who wouldn't want to become more prosperous in the coming year, eh? Mr. Tony Yee, a Chinatown business leader described how the rat was traditionally seen as the guardians of prosperity. The rat is also the first animal in the Chinese zodiac. The Year of the Rat...rebirth, hard work, activity, renewal. Mr. Yee spoke about how the different civic associations were starting to come together in ways they hadn't before, and that it was his hope that the Year of the Rat would bring a fresh start to the community working together. My thoughts flitted to my own goals of a renewal to my own life, by working to build better practices for myself. There seemed to be something amazingly wonderful in the air as he talked.
Mayor Menino even arrived and wished everyone well!
The lion dancing demonstrations followed, most of the dances were done by area martial arts schools. My friends really made the trip come alive, each sharing their knowledge of Chinese culture and history by describing the traditions of what was going on around us. As each group's lion dance came to a close, the leung would "chew" up lettuce and oranges, which would then be tossed in to the crowd as a wish of prosperity. The lettuce represented money, the oranges represented gold. I ended up catching an orange in one of the final dances. Yay!
After the dances concluded, some of the martial arts schools came out to do a demo. Unfortunately for me, my back injury started acting up. I told my friends I needed to sit down someplace for awhile. While I told my friends that they were welcome to stay, they decided to join me. One of my friends lead the way across Chinatown and we ended up sitting down at...
Um...we walked all the way across Chinatown to sit down at a Mickey D's? I soon changed my attitude as I heard the drums of one of the lion dance troupes going by...perhaps I'd get to take in more of the dancing from the window seat. I was totally unprepared for what happened next. The lion dancers actually came through McDonalds! The entire troupe came in, the leung moved slowly towards me...sliding right by my table...close enough to touch. They moved all the way up to the front, and performed an additional routine at the counter, then backed slowly out. It was an amazing sight to see!
My friends described how leungs often honor an important general in Chinese history. The individual general is signified by the colors of the leung.
We wandered about for a bit more time, watching the leungs and the fireworks as they stepped from business to business. After that, we split apart...saying goodbye to our two friends as they headed off in their own direction. My colleague and I went to warm up with a noodle bowl at a Vietnamese restaurant. It felt incredibly good to take a few moments to let the heat, and the experience, soak in. He began to cheerfully tabulate the restaurants that he thought his gf would like the most.
As happy as he was, he seemed to be running out of gas. We made our final circuit through to do some quick shopping as we headed to the car. I picked up a suburi-to (a wooden practice sword used to help develop arm strength), some incense, a souvenir for my desk at the office, then made a final stop at a Chinese grocery that abutted our parking garage. We had to go...my colleague was tired, I had friends coming over later in the evening for dinner, yet so much of me was saying noooooo....I want to stay awhile longer!
The firecrackers were still going off as we left.
I didn't want the day to end.
Mayor Menino even arrived and wished everyone well!
The lion dancing demonstrations followed, most of the dances were done by area martial arts schools. My friends really made the trip come alive, each sharing their knowledge of Chinese culture and history by describing the traditions of what was going on around us. As each group's lion dance came to a close, the leung would "chew" up lettuce and oranges, which would then be tossed in to the crowd as a wish of prosperity. The lettuce represented money, the oranges represented gold. I ended up catching an orange in one of the final dances. Yay!
After the dances concluded, some of the martial arts schools came out to do a demo. Unfortunately for me, my back injury started acting up. I told my friends I needed to sit down someplace for awhile. While I told my friends that they were welcome to stay, they decided to join me. One of my friends lead the way across Chinatown and we ended up sitting down at...
Um...we walked all the way across Chinatown to sit down at a Mickey D's? I soon changed my attitude as I heard the drums of one of the lion dance troupes going by...perhaps I'd get to take in more of the dancing from the window seat. I was totally unprepared for what happened next. The lion dancers actually came through McDonalds! The entire troupe came in, the leung moved slowly towards me...sliding right by my table...close enough to touch. They moved all the way up to the front, and performed an additional routine at the counter, then backed slowly out. It was an amazing sight to see!
My friends described how leungs often honor an important general in Chinese history. The individual general is signified by the colors of the leung.
A summer performance by Chinatown's Shaolin Hung Gar students
We wandered about for a bit more time, watching the leungs and the fireworks as they stepped from business to business. After that, we split apart...saying goodbye to our two friends as they headed off in their own direction. My colleague and I went to warm up with a noodle bowl at a Vietnamese restaurant. It felt incredibly good to take a few moments to let the heat, and the experience, soak in. He began to cheerfully tabulate the restaurants that he thought his gf would like the most.
As happy as he was, he seemed to be running out of gas. We made our final circuit through to do some quick shopping as we headed to the car. I picked up a suburi-to (a wooden practice sword used to help develop arm strength), some incense, a souvenir for my desk at the office, then made a final stop at a Chinese grocery that abutted our parking garage. We had to go...my colleague was tired, I had friends coming over later in the evening for dinner, yet so much of me was saying noooooo....I want to stay awhile longer!
The firecrackers were still going off as we left.
I didn't want the day to end.
Chinese New Year, part 1 - I can see Chinatown!
I can see Chinatown through the windshield!
We passed a Shaolin school as we approached our parking space. The loud amount of drumming eminating from the school hinted that final rehearsals were taking place. We were the first to arrive at the gate. There would be two other friends that would meet us there shortly. A couple of cell calls later, I learned that everyone else was on their way. Normally, I would be patient and wait but.....it was cold. A relatively moderate day (38 F) was forecasted. As of this early hour, unfortunately, it was about...17 F. We made a quick walk up and down Beach street. While the walk did wonders to keep me warm overall, I could feel my feet starting to go numb. My colleague seemed to be shivering a bit, but denied the weather was bothering him. Unfortunately, neither one of us brought digis.
My companion is my newest colleague...a bright young man that my employer recruited away from one of our partners in the heartland. He really wanted to see the celebrations, and I was happy to have him along. He has a wonderful appreciation and perspective of Asian culture...his gf has been teaching abroad for a few months, and he has been able to take a couple of trips to visit her. With return date approaching in a few days, my colleague was in a jovial mood...anticipating the chance to share the sites of his new city with her. This was his first trip in to the city since moving here a few days ago...and what better way to celebrate?
The gate on Beach street, as seen from inside Chinatown
We returned to the gate. No one there. We were getting colder...so we slipped in to Hing Shing Pastry hoping to purchase some hot tea. One of the workers smiled hello to us. We wished them a good morning, they said good morning back. Despite the presence of some tasty delights in their showcase it soon seemed clear that they weren't really open and ready for business...however, the kind folks made no effort to kick us out.
After a few minutes of absorbing their heat, we decided to venture back outside. It wasn't long before we met up with the other two. Dim sum was suggested, we all agreed to it. We sat down for a wonderful meal. The conversation drifted about, mostly hovering on subject of martial arts...perhaps to the chagrin of my colleague, who doesn't practice the arts. Nonetheless, he seemed to be a good sport about it.
After a very good meal, we shifted outside, just in time to find a good spot within 30 feet of the the stage.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Happy Year of the Honorable Rat!
Chinese New Year Celebration in Boston tomorrow!
I am really looking forward to this. It should be a wonderful time! The last time I was in Chinatown for New Year was college when a friend of mine and I stumbled on it quite by accident. I missed the parades and the lion dancing but had a chance to enjoy the confetti, and the street vendors. Its probably going to be crowded as hell...but I don't care. I just want to go!
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Restarting
Trying to get 2008 off to a good start, I'm getting back in to my workout routine. I was pulling some junk out of my storage space when I found my nearly-forgotten TorsoTrack. For a cheapo piece of exercise gear, that was actually a lot of fun to use.
10 reps of 10 on the torso track.
100 leg lifts (each), 45 degrees. Hard to keep form towards the end. I found myself speeding up to get through it faster.
100 leg extensions, 45 degrees.
Gotta make this a habit...
10 reps of 10 on the torso track.
100 leg lifts (each), 45 degrees. Hard to keep form towards the end. I found myself speeding up to get through it faster.
100 leg extensions, 45 degrees.
Gotta make this a habit...
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