Weekend Update

Saturday Night at Ypsi High

I was blown away by the high school production of The Music Man. It was so full of talent and professionalism that I almost forgot I was watching high school students. Let me just call it delightful because I've been smiling about it for more than 24 hours.

Among all the bright stars who sang and danced and acted across that stage, I must single out Josh Glassman, Prof. Harold Hill, as the brightest star. I believe Josh has a stage and/or film career ahead of him--if he chooses to grow in that direction. He's also sharp academically and talented on the viola (according to his viola teacher, that is.) I look forward to watching his meteoric rise, regardless of what he chooses to do.

Sunday Afternoon at the Showcase Cinemas

We loved Robots. From the simple "idealistic small-town boy makes good in the big city" plot and the funny star turns through the heart-stopping animation, Robots kills. I don't care whether you have kids -- you will enjoy this film. If Robots is converted to Imax, you'll find me somewhere in line.

Shaving 101

Tonight I taught Andrew a bit about shaving:

1. Lubricate your beard well with shaving gel.
2. Always pull the razor straight.
3. Never radically change the direction of the razor while it is in contact with your skin.
4. Rinse the razor in warm water.
5. Never leave a dirty sink for your mother.

Aren't we getting old.

Anniversaries I'd rather not celebrate.

Today is the second anniversary of the second day of the invasion of Iraq.

It also happens to be my birthday.

I used to associate my birthday with the first day of spring and its promise of renewal. (Because the ground is still frozen and only the crocuses have the guts to declare themselves, the first day of spring in Michigan is only a promise.) Warmer weather, snow melting on the crocuses, and isn't that a hint of a bud I see on the cottonwood tree?

Lately, of course, I am like as not to remember foreign policy opportunities squandered, BushCo lies, the deaths of my countrymen, and a profound sense of impotence.

Impotence and fatigue. I have argued, blue in the face, over this immoral war and I have not been able to change it or opinion of it. I have worked hard in political campaigns to end the war, I have given money and sweat for my country, and although I haven't given my life, I have given what I could to bring back the country I love.

Spring once smelled so sweet.

Today I am 44. Regardless of my political fatigue and impotence, I am alive and loved.

Another good read on Bush and Social Security

Stirling Newberry's essay George Bush's Leveraged Buyout of Social Security nicely complements Jon Chait's piece from last week.

In Newberry's piece, he argues that the Bush Administration is just another sleazy corporation using debt to buy up a nice property, Social Security, in order to chop it up. He concludes that we all must fight back, not just against privatizing Social Security, but against the Bush policies that inhibit wage and economic growth.

What do you think?

Cat's-eye View of the Petco Shot Clinic.

Beyond the indignity of being caged, Maya and Tiger suffered the smell of excited-dog pee on the floor. Why can't they just hold it until they get back to the litter box?

Ypsilanti Needs More Gay Men.

Well, it worked for Asbury Park, New Jersey.
Listen to this story from NPR.

A Grand Unification Theory for Ypsilanti.

I just posted this to Mark Maynard's blog.

When you listen to people's frustrations with the city council and city management, they could be talking about the Ypsilanti school district administration. There's the "we know better than you do" component. There's the "you're complaining too much--you're giving Ypsi a bad name" component. There's the "this is the way we've always done it; it was good then and it's good now" component. Worst of all, there's the "settle for something less than ideal" component, where we lower our standards because we're poor little Ypsi with low self-esteem.

We can do better.

I think we can take the school reform movement over to city hall by finding common ideals and taking political action. It's all about the grassroots, baby; all that as-yet-untapped energy that we can focus on the city establishment.

Tell me what you think.

Grim Satisfaction.

Last night, at around 7 p.m., I watched as the Ypsilanti Board of Education accepted the resignation of the superintendent, Dr. David Zuhlke.

Eyes welled up and tears flowed as he hugged supporters and staffers, then left the room. But what was a sad moment for some was a triumphal moment for those of us who want reform in Ypsi schools.

Several years ago, parents who didn't like the direction of the district began building a strong school board that would hold the superintendent accountable for his actions. It took us two (landslide) elections, but we finally achieved a board majority at the moment of crisis. With the school district's budget deficit, the loss of students, and poor MEAP scores, it was time for the superintendent to lead or get out of the way.

Dr. Z chose to get out of the way.

Blocking Move by Jonathan Chait

Mr. Chait, an editor at The New Republic, makes an excellent case for opposing any change to Social Security that does not cure the program's insolvency. The president's "personal accounts" amount to nothing more than a foot in the door for the eventual dismantling of Social Security. Moreover, they will exacerbate the Social Security deficit, the national deficit, and ensure benefit cuts in the future. Democrats in particular, and people who respect the social contract in general, must oppose any effort to privatize the best social insurance plan in the world. We must ignore the taunts from the Right to even discuss privatization as a reasonable option, just as you would with anyone who wants to negotiate whether you put on a parachute before jumping out of an airplane at 3,000 feet.

Mr. Chait has done something very nice for us all by posting a free link to his article at Talking Points Memo, where he is the guest blogger this week. I've put a link to it on the sidebar here, so that it doesn't get lost with the rest of my verbiage. Needless to say, but I'll say it anyway, I think you should read Blocking Move right now. I'm interested in your comments.

Sunday Morning at the Ugly Mug Cafe

A brilliant late-winter morning catacorner from St. John the Baptist Church on Cross Street. A chance meeting and a spontaneous coffee with a dear friend. Double latte, skim, with an extra shot. The Killer Bagel: spinach, sprouts, cucumber, tomato, cream cheese, salt and pepper on an asiago bagel. Kings of Leon, Aha Shake Heartbreak. The absence of children and their demands. Wi-Fi.

It is good to be heathen.

Jeanine, heathen-enabling co-proprieter of The Ugly Mug Cafe. She puts a perfect pinwheel in your latte foam and makes your bagel Killer.

A Permit to Park on the Street... in Front of Your House.

The Normal Park Neighborhood Association is working to reduce parking congestion caused by EMU students. We don't have a problem in our neck of Normal Park, but I understand that homes closer to campus do.

The solution that NPNA proposes is an expansion and clarification of the existing permit parking program. Residents can buy a permit ($25) and display it on the windshield; ostensibly, Ypsi Police can then ticket cars without permits Monday through Friday, 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. Here's part of the email circulating through Normal Park:

Residential permit parking, Monday through Friday, 8 am to 8 pm. Normal
Park residents who wish to park on the street during those hours (in front
of their house, or anywhere else within the boundaries) would need to
purchase a residential permit for a one time fee of $25, which could be
renewed annually at no charge. There would be no limit of permits per
household, assigned one per car. Each residence would also be given 2
visitor parking passes.

The area of enforcement would be described by Washtenaw to the north,
Wallace to the west, Congress to the south and Summit to the east. We
will be asking for regular and stringent enforcement within that area,
so that neighbors can exit and enter their driveways and children will
be safer on the sidewalks.

Unfortunately, the zone includes my home on Wallace near Congress. I don't want to buy a permit to solve a problem I don't have, or be ticketed for parking on the street. I have suggested to Kirsten Mowrey, the NPNA Zoning person, that the southwest boundary be moved up to Wallace and Grant, somewhat closer to EMU.

If you have comments for Kirsten, please email her before March 19.

Now I Get It

I have to say how impressed I am with the local blog of Laura, a.k.a. ypsi-dixit. Her posts provoke thought as well as interesting discussions.

But why the name ypsi dixit? With a little googling I learned the Latin phrase "ipse dixit."

Clever. Very clever, Laura. :-)

One veggie omelet and a gall bladder to go

Maybe I shouldn't blame it on Abe's; his just happened to be the grease that put my gallbladder over the edge. Within an hour of eating Saturday brunch with Pat and Bob, my fellow Sons of Abraham, my gallbladder was in full revolt. By noon Sunday I turned myself over to the emergency room at University Hospital.

After ruling out my heart as the source (once a cardiac patient, always a cardiac patient) a HIDA scan showed that my gallbladder was indeed blocked, inflamed, and very, very angry.

I eventually made it into surgery Monday evening. The procedure went swimmingly, I am told. Before I was put under, the surgeon asked me to state my name, birthdate and the procedure I expected to have. I stated my name and birthdate and said, "I'm here to have you enlarge my penis." The doc asked me to say it again, correctly, amid the chuckles of the O.R. staff. I was immediately muzzled by the anesthesiology team.

Tuesday morning I learned New Pain thanks to a urinary catheter. Three times I felt the New Pain. I thought I saw a flash of leather and heard a German phrase whenever the nurse removed my catheter, but I was probably mistaken. This kind of intimacy usually involves a kiss or two, but no. Late Tuesday afternoon I drove home, unmedicated, via every pothole-infested avenue in Ann Arbor and Ypsilanti.

Vicodin, vicodin and vicodin. That's all I've got to say at the moment.

Dear "24" Fans: Lemme splain it to you.

I love 24. I've loved the show since the opening credits in Season One. Jack Bauer has survived some wild shizzle and yet continues to save the world from (insert threat here.) But this year's storyline, about Islamic terrorists melting down American nuclear reactors, is pure fantasy. Okay, sure, there could be Islamic terrorists in the U.S. But the remote-control meltdown thing can't happen.

Disclaimer: I have 23 years of nuclear operations experience. Like doctors who laugh at E.R. or cops who jeer at CSI, I realize that enjoyable television takes liberties with the truth. I just want to point out how ridiculous is 24's premise this year because, in all likelihood, you already know a doctor or a cop. So allow me to introduce to you....

SIX AMAZINGLY STUPID NUCLEAR (PLOT) DEVICES ON 24

1. One device to rule them all; one device to bind them. Like Frodo's ring there's this remote controller, see, that can tell all 104 nuclear reactors to meltdown. Or imagine one evil remote car starter that can start an entire parking lot of cars, defeat their parking brakes, put them into gear and drive them all into the nearest Starbucks. It's just that ridiculous with reactors on 24. Factually, all reactors are different, made by different companies with different means of controlling reactor power. It's not possible to remotely control all the nuclear plant parking gates, much less the reactors.

2. Anything is possible on the Internet, right? That's so in the world of 24. Fortunately, we're not all wired, and there are things that should never be wired. Take my stove, for example. I know that I can hook up household appliances to programmable logic controllers (PLCs) and direct them by computer--from my office, or from Jack Bauer's car via satellite-enabled modem. On the other hand, I don't think it would be safe for me to turn on my stove before looking at the burners and making sure that Jackson hasn't covered them with Legos, firewood and lighter fluid. Considering that, how freakishly stupid would it be to enable even one nuclear reactor to be controlled by someone who can't see what's going on?

3. Where Were You When the Lights Went Out? The fictional controller somehow prevents really smart people from shutting down the reactors by simply turning off the electrical power to the reactor controls. My little reactor used to shut down regularly because some Detroit Edison transformer would get toasted in a storm. Power reactors have redundant power supplies and backup diesel generators to maintain electrical power to all devices that monitor and control the reactor. In 24, though, no one thinks to just pull the plug, open circuit breakers or, heaven forfend, remove the fuses from the fuse box.

4. All Your Bases Are Belong to Us. Remote control means total control in 24. Therefore, no one can figure out how to disconnect the fictional reactor from the fictional controller on the all-powerful Internet. I mean, can't someone just unplug the Internet connection? Maybe make a presidential call to AOL and order them to cancel all nuclear reactor subscriptions?

5. The good of the many outweighs the good of the few, or the one. American power reactors (French, British, German and Japanese, too) are located inside well-shielded containment buildings. Operators enter the containment--thereby exposing themselves to radiation--when the reactor is shutdown for maintenance. In other words, operators are able to do their jobs without being exposed to significant radiation--even during nuclear accidents. In one episode, control room operators told Erin Driscoll (CTU chief) that they were goners because the dose rate was 500 rem. Even at that level, called "LD-50" for having a 50% chance of dying within 30 days, the operator talking to Driscoll looked like Spock in "Wrath of Khan." They should get the heck out of there if they have no control over the reactor.

6. Meltdown = Massive Radiation-Induced Death for the General Public Uh, no. Not even. Do you know how many people died at Three Mile Island, the only meltdown of an American reactor?

Zero.
Zero.
Zero.

(Over the years at FNR, I've asked this question of dozens of tour groups. The answers ranged from "a few" to "a few thousand." It's just one of the many misconceptions about nuclear power plants.)

So, if the dose rate in the control room is 500 rem/hr, what is the dose rate in Edgar's mom's house? The dose rate decreases as you increase your distance from the source, you see, so she should be just fine. But I'm betting that Edgar's poor mom is gonna die a slow, painful death like Spock.

Comments Welcome.

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