http://BakerDavid.com// The weblog of David Baker en-us Copyright 2008 me@bakerdavid.com me@bakerdavid.com http://BakerDavid.com/journal/alone?id=532 <p>Okay, I've got this neighbor who's making me nuts.</p> <p>When we moved in on New Year's Day, I noticed it. Like many people in the area, the guy across the street had a flag posted on his eaves. Unlike everybody else, though, he was flying his flag upside-down.</p> <p>We thought that it might be a mistake, and watched the flag to see if it would be fixed. It wasn't. I've actually met the guy, though I don't know his name. He seems like a nice enough dude. His kids go to school with my kids. He and his wife are both smokers, and they're often outside late at night, puffing away. That doesn't make them bad people. But what they're doing with the U.S. flag does.</p> <p>That flag was up from the day we moved in, through winter, spring and summer. I watched as the flag got rattier and rattier. The stripes all came apart, the ends frayed. The white stars and stripes got dingy and gray. And of course, it was still upside-down.</p> <p>In mid-September, when I could stand it no longer, I did some research. There's a state law on the books that makes it a class 2 misdemeanor to publicly degrade a "venerated object" like a flag or a cross. I collected the federal flag display code, along with the state law, and printed it all out with the following note:</p> <blockquote> <p>Dear Neighbor:</p> <p>Please read the attached, paying special attention to the sections highlighted in red. Your continued display of a ragged, upside-down US flag is not just offensive and unpatriotic, it’s also a violation of both federal and state laws. According to Arizona statute 13-3703 ("Abuse of venerated objects"), your actions constitute a class 2 misdemeanor. If reported to the authorities, this offense is punishable by a fine, imprisonment, or both.</p> <p>If you can’t display the flag correctly, please don’t display it at all.</p> <p>--A Citizen</p> </blockquote> <p>I left the note where my dear neighbor would see it, and waited. A few days later, he replaced red, white and blue rag with a brand new flag. And it was upside-down.</p> <p>Last Friday, I finally did something I've been meaning to do for a long time. I called the police. The first officer I spoke to was very understanding, and had a lot to say about people who desecrate the flag. He took my name and cell number, and promised to send an officer out to my neighbor's place when one was available.</p> <p>A few minutes later, I got a call from a supervising officer. He said, "I'd like to send someone out to do something about that flag, but I can't, because the Supreme Court says he can do whatever he wants to the flag." This officer told me that he had dozens of officers who had just returned from Iraq who would like nothing better than to go over and cuff my neighbor and throw him in jail for an overnight stay. But no soap -- the Ruth Bader and the Supremes said it's okay to wipe your ass with our country's colors.</p> <p>With a sigh, the officer told me, "We can't do anything about this idiot." He did point out, though that we should all keep voting Republican, so Bush can have a majority to help him replace all of the Supremes who are getting old and ready to either die or retire. He also said he'd tip off his officers, and "if one of them catches this neighbor doing some illegal parking or something like that, then so be it." It was an interesting conversation to have with an officer of the law.</p> <p>Now I get to decide what to do (if anything) about my dear neighbor. "Avenger's Handbook," anyone? If I do decide to act, you can be sure I won't post my exploits here.</p> Mon, 16 Oct 2006 12:10:18 -0600 http://BakerDavid.com/journal/alone?id=526 <p><i>For a slight change of pace, here's a piece written by my brother, Joe Baker, who is a commercial airline pilot in the eastern US. Gives a pretty good idea of what it's like to be in the cockpit of a commuter airliner. Enjoy!</i></p> <hr> <h1>A Night in Philly</h1> <h2>Joe Baker</h2> <p>We were feeling pretty good about the trip so far.A couple of legs into it, and we'd managed not only to stay on time, but arrive early on a leg or two. Then it was our turn for Philadelphia International Airport. The last leg, no less.</p> <p>Arrival was non-eventful. The weather was good, that air was smooth, the air conditioning worked, and the passengers seemed as happy as commuter passengers ever are. But it was time to go. I got the ATIS, and dialed up the frequency that assigns departure clearances, just in time to hear another commuter call up.</p> <p>"Philly Clearance, Blue Streak 1507 with Kilo to Chicago."</p> <p>"Blue Streak 1507, Philly Clearance, on request."</p> <p>This was not good. Then one of ours.</p> <p>"Philly Clearance, Air Shuttle 2567 with Kilo to Atlanta."</p> <p>"Air Shuttle 2567, Philly Clearance, on request." This phrase was used to note one of two things, either you called earlier than 30 minutes prior to your filed departure time, or they were backed up so far that they were having a hard time keeping up with the clearances. I mentioned this to the Captain, a really cool guy named Bill, that clearance had the last two on request. He rolled his eyes.</p> <p>Ok, so a line was forming, and there was no way to know how far back we were. Might as well jump in line with the rest of them.</p> <p>"Philly Clearance, Air Shuttle 2821 with Kilo to Charlotte."</p> <p>"Air Shuttle 2821, Philly Clearance, on request."</p> <p>The next call from another air shuttle was met with a whiny and juvenile "Ah maaaan!" on the radio. I couldn't help but smile. Welcome to Philly.</p> <p>It took about 20 minutes for Philly Clearance to get through the mess. And all the while other flights were calling for release in the middle of it.</p> <p>"I have your release but can't get to you until all these guys stop calling!"</p> <p>Yeesh.</p> <p>"Air Shuttle 2821 taxi to runway 27 Left via Charlie, Mike, Mike two, hold short of 27 Right, turn right on Victor and monitor tower on 135.1."Whew! I repeated it back, and we were actually moving. Wow. So far only about five minutes late.</p> <p>As soon as we rounded the corner of the terminal, and spotted the line for 27L, all hope evaporated. My old undergraduate days came haunting back. "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here" or something like that. <i>Ozymandias</i>, if I remember correctly. Captain Bill does not recognize the quotation, and I laugh anyway. We were suddenly confronted with a line at least 10 airplanes long, and which included a Lufthansa A-340, which burns up as much ramp space as three Regional Jets.</p> <p>And our change to tower frequency brought little hope.</p> <p>"Blue Streak 1102, might as well shut them down, because they've just shut down the Pottstown line, and no word on when it might reopen." We were somewhere near twelfth in line for the Pottstown departure, so we shut them down too, electrics and air conditioning coming from the APU, and just sat there talking.</p> <p>"Might as well break the news to the passengers," Captain Bill suggested.</p> <p>"Ladies and Gentlemen, you might have noticed that we have shut down the engines. They have shut down our departure corridor because of weather, and we're waiting in line. We expect it to take another twenty to thirty minutes before we can get going again, so we'll let you know as soon as anything changes. In the meantime, please let our flight attendant assist you however she can. Thank you for your patience." I hoped that we had enough soda and pretzels for this. We actually expected it to take close to forty minutes until things got going, but we felt that as long as we were still talking to the passengers, they could handle it.</p> <p>The line was truly scary. We were tenth in line on taxiway Alpha, and we could see another six to our right directly from the terminal, another eight on Alpha coming from the opposite direction, and five others coming to 27L from the other side of the runway.</p> <p>"Philly Tower, we hate to be a pest, but any news on Pottstown?"</p> <p>"Not now, they're keeping them thirty miles in trail now for spacing into Atlanta, we'll let you know."</p> <p>Then a ray of hope.</p> <p>"OK, everybody, start 'em up, they're starting to take 'em into Pottstown now, I'll get you out as fast as I can."</p> <p>"Parking brake on; bleeds, set for start; Start/Stop [switch] Start/Run, start time." It doesn't take very long to get the engines running in the Embraer Regional Jet.The good folks down there in Brazil hired a bunch of Boeing engineers, who automated as much as they could. If we were in the Canadair RJ, this process would take twice as long.</p> <p>"USAir 152, cleared for takeoff, American 59, cleared for takeoff, Delta 1892, cleared for takeoff." And on and on. Things were looking up.</p> <p>"BlueStreak 1507, hold your position, they've closed Pottstown now. I have no other information." At least the guy in the tower was sympathetic.</p> <p>Conversations in the cockpit take many forms, but with a new crew, it contains only a few major topics of conversation--where you are from, where you learned to fly, who you flew for before this, and how awful the company treats you, and every now and then, stories of the company weirdo. You know, the guy who requires that you to sanitize the cockpit. Moaning about the company is usually the safest form of ice-breaking, since it not only ascertains the political bent of your crew (rarely do you find someone who appreciates the way he has been treated by crew tracking), but it also establishes you as "one of them," the union stalwart, and dutiful son. But Bill and I hit it off early, since he was building a Glasair back home, and was an avid EAA member. Going to Oshkosh in a few weeks, even. So we talked airplanes. By this time it was really late, and the cargo guys were coming out of the woodwork. And they still fly old airplanes. DC-9s, 727s and even a number of those UPS DC-8s started landing. Runway 27R was frustratingly departure-free.</p> <p>I tried to monitor the activity on the radio, since it was kinda interesting.</p> <p>"Well, it's gonna be a while, but I can't tell you to shut down the engines, since that is up to you. If it were me, I probably would."</p> <p>"Delta 1678 is shutting them down."</p> <p>"Candler 1426 shutting them down."</p> <p>"Waterski 1859 shutting down."</p> <p>"Delta 1678, Philly Tower, company has called and requested that you taxi back to the gate, clearance will get you a new release with a new clearance once you get there."</p> <p>"What? yagottabe kidding! Gotta reason for this?"</p> <p>"Nope, they just called."</p> <p>These guys had been in line at least 90 minutes by now, and were well ahead of us. As the 737 crept onto the adjoining taxiway, we could tell the crew wasn't happy at all. I was glad for once to NOT be involved in that cockpit conversation.</p> <p>So we talked, and listened, and listened and talked.Every ten minutes of so, we'd make an announcement to the passengers. I sympathize with them wanting to know what is going on, but you have to be careful what to tell them.Most appreciate knowing exactly what is going on, but you run the risk of triggering an anxiety attack—or worse, in that one susceptible passenger back there--so it is better to err on the side of minimalism. We'd rather have them frustrated and impatient than having to deal with an out-of-control sociopath.</p> <p>"Ok, guys, they've opened up Pottstown again, so get' em running, and let me know who is ready."</p> <p>"US Air 95 is ready." And off he goes.</p> <p>"BlueStreak 1507, is that you at the hold short line?"</p> <p>"Ah, ummm, yessir, this is BlueStreak 1507, but we need to balance fuel before we take the runway." Bill laughs out loud at this. Seems he ran one engine too long on one tank--very likely the same tank that feeds the APU. One wing tank was probably eight or nine hundred pounds heavier than the other, putting him out of take-off limits. Not exactly good form when you are the first in line. You could almost see the steam coming from each flight deck stuck behind this idiot while he just sits--burning both engines from the other tank to get the weight within limits. Not a good way to make yourself popular.</p> <p>The 767 ahead of us got them both running, as did everyone else in the line. By the time we reached the number two position, it was pitch dark, and you could see the glow of the burner cans inside those huge engines, a deep reddish-orange that shimmered through the heat. We bucked and rolled every time he pushed power up to taxi. It was really kinda beautiful, in a sinister, don't-wanna-be-right-there sorta way. Like looking into a volcano.</p> <p>Some airports require that you contact the tower when you are holding short of the runway ready for takeoff. But they are usually the smaller airports, places like Asheville, NC and Gainseville, FL. But not Philly. Calling that you are ready for takeoff will incur the ire of an already over-ired tower controller. You just sit comfortably until your turn. Unless you are the BlueStreak CRJ 200 that didn't have the presence of mind to keep his fuel balanced. No comfort for him.</p> <p>Finally it was our turn.</p> <p>"Air Shuttle 2821, position and hold. Be ready for immediate."</p> <p>The checklist took a few seconds.</p> <p>"Fuel Quantity (and balanced), Lights and Strobes, Radar, Transponder, Ice Detection, EICAS messages checked" (both crewmembers must note this--usually it is only that the bleed air cross-feed valve is open), and then you push a button and "Bitchin' Betty" comes over the aural warning system telling us that our takeoff configuration is OK.</p> <p>It was Bill's leg.</p> <p>"Set Thrust," He calls.</p> <p>I watch the engines spool up and reach their limits.</p> <p>"Thrust Set."</p> <p>"V1, Vr, V2, Positive Rate."</p> <p>Climbout was serene considering that it was Philly, and that the weather at Pottstown was still icky. Climbing through about 9,000 feet the stars came out of America's best industrial haze--and there were plenty of them. But it was good to get out of there. Rarely do you feel that good about leaving somewhere. That night we did.</p> Thu, 18 Aug 2005 11:37:08 -0600 http://BakerDavid.com/journal/alone?id=525 <p>Today, I made my much needed departure from The Braun Corporation. Since it's been an interesting nine months, and since I know the gossip machine at Braun is probably already working overtime glossing over my experience and demonizing me for leaving "with no notice," this is my one and only chance to set the record straight, so here goes.</p> <p>It all comes down to Carolyn Watts. I still haven't figured out whether she actually has some sort of fractured personality disorder, but I guess it doesn't matter now. I would still be working for The Braun Corporation if it weren't for Carolyn Watts, so actually, I have her to thank for my recent good fortune. (And Carolyn, if you read this, feel free to respond to me via e-mail. I promise to post any response you send me.)</p> <p>I first met Carolyn Watts as a competitor. She was the head marketing person for Braun when I was running marketing efforts at IMS. We would see each other at trade shows, trade hugs, and catch up a little. This went on for about a year and a half, until the acquisition.</p> <p>Ah, the acquisition. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. For those who weren't in on that, here's the scoop. In January of 2003, just after I began at IMS, we released the Toyota Sienna Rampvan, which turned out to be one of the hottest mobility vehicles ever. Toyota knocked it out of the park with the Sienna, and the conversion was very good. Suddenly, we literally couldn't build enough Sienna Rampvans to satisfy demand. We were kicking the pants off the competition, because all anyone wanted was a Toyota Sienna conversion. This was the single most important reason that Braun decided to buy IMS. If you can't beat 'em, buy 'em.</p> <p>As a prelude to the acquisition, Jeff Ruff, Braun's main Sales and Marketing VP met with me. After our discussion, he asked me, "How would you feel about moving out to Winamac, Indiana?"</p> <p>Well, at first, we weren't sure. Then, after thinking for a while, we decided it was a good idea. One of my major concerns was that they had a whole team of marketing people out in Winamac, and if I stayed in Farmington I would never really be part of the team. I figured I'd have a target on my head if I didn't take pains to be part of the group. (Little did I know...)</p> <p>The company flew Melanie and me out on their corporate jet to look around the place. We instantly fell in love with Indiana. It was the height of summer, and the corn was elephant-eye high, and everything lush and green. Carolyn played host to us, driving us around, showing us the town. She was so friendly, I just knew that we'd become fast friends once I got out to Winamac.</p> <p>The first hint of trouble was after the actual move. I told Carolyn that it would probably take three or four days to drive the moving truck from Point A to Point B. "No problem," she said, "Take a week and get out here." So I loaded up on Monday, drove on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, arriving in the late afternoon. The next week, they docked me five days of vacation for my move time. Carolyn blamed it on Bill Roth, one of the Executive VPs, but I wouldn't exactly say she "went to bat" for me. What did they expect me to do, beam myself up to Indiana.</p> <p>The next thing they did was take away my laptop. It was something I'd been fighting for for about six months, and the Information Services folks instantly took it away, gave it to somebody else, and replaced it with a rickety cast-off PC. Then the Software Wars began. Since Braun doesn't trust its employees, all software installations have to be done by members of the IS crew. I made a list of the tools I'd need. Several of them were denied. Mozilla Firefox? Nope. (IS person: "I know Internet Explorer sucks, but it's the browser we use here.") CD burner? No way, Jose. Putty and WinSCP? Nope. QuarkXPress? No -- we use Adobe InDesign here.</p> <p>I have a sneaking feeling that this is what soured Carolyn on me. Here's how it happened. The Adobe people had managed to make it possible to import QuarkXPress files into InDesign, so Carolyn told me to just convert all of my files and work on them in InDesign. Then she left for Europe or somewhere, and left me with instructions to update a particular piece of product literature. Well, as it turned out, InDesign could import Quark files up to version 4, and I had been working in Quark 5, so my files weren't importable. I let her know about this problem in a very clearly worded e-mail to her. She came back with an edict saying that I was not authorized to install Quark. Frustration.</p> <p>I asked my next-cube-neighbor if there was anyone else I could talk to about this, since Carolyn was out of the country. She pointed me to Sam Marks, and I went and explained the situation. Bad idea. He immediately contacted Carolyn in Europe and she sent me a scathing e-mail about staying in proper channels and keeping things "in the department." She lectured me on good communication, telling me she can't make adequate decisions if I don't communicate with her. I immediately forwarded to her the message I had sent to her the day before, in which I had explained it all very clearly. She sent back a reply that she guessed she hadn't read my e-mail thoroughly enough, and that it was okay to go ahead and install QuarkXPress.</p> <p>I have a brother-in-law who is very difficult to get along with. (For everybody -- it's not just me.) We've decided that with him, you only get one chance. If you ever piss him off, he's pissed off at you for good. I kind of feel like Carolyn has the same policy, because since this episode, she has not once smiled in my presence.</p> <p>Over the next couple of months, I tried to do the best I could to work hard, fit in, and make Carolyn happy. I know she was definitely not happy, because at my 90-day review, I had apparently done nothing right. Supposedly, this was our chance to wipe the slate clean and make a fresh start together. For about three days, Carolyn actually said hello to me when I came in in the mornings. Then it was back to the silent treatment. In addition, the marketing work dried up. Instead of having me do marketing work (even though the department, in Carolyn's words, was "too busy to stop for breath"), she lent me to the IS department.</p> <p>I was already doing work on the new Braun website, spending hours finding elegant ways to implement Jack Johnston's impossibly complex site designs. I taught myself ASP since that's what was available on the machine that hosts the Braun site. I was also maintaining the HTML and the forms on the company Intranet. At the same time, I had to learn a bunch of PHP so that I could manage the code that ran the various Intranet facilities, like the database-driven phone book, and various electronic forms. Eventually, I was working on the Intranet essentially full-time, scratch-building a new forms facility, and building several other online tools for in-house use.</p> <p>Since Carolyn wasn't talking to me, I tried to keep her updated as to the work I was doing, so she would feel more involved and so she'd know that I was actually working. At various points, I would send her a progress report. In several of these reports, I'd alert her to the fact that I would soon be in a holding pattern, waiting on feedback or deliverables from others, with literally nothing to do. Instead of assigning me more work -- perhaps one of the projects that had the whole department buried -- I got no response at all.</p> <p>I was beginning to wonder whether I had actually become invisible when Carolyn informed me that she was bumping me from being a salaried employee, and that from then on, I would have to punch a clock for the first time since I left college. She also called me on the carpet for spending too much time on a particular website, which I freely admitted I had been doing during the various lulls in my IS work. "We've got too much to do around here for that to be happening," she said. I received a few token assignments, finished them in a few days, then had to go back to begging for Intranet work.</p> <p>My few months as a clock puncher were the worst. For the first time in my life, I found myself literally counting the minutes until clockout time. I took to wearing my headphones and listening to the most relaxing music I could, just to maintain my sanity. I began spending an hour every other evening or so, applying to jobs on monster.com and careerbuilder.com, fantasizing about past bosses (and venting to at least two of them).</p> <p>The turning point came about three weeks ago when Carolyn took me into her office to tell me that she was leaving for a couple of weeks. "I don't have any work to give you at this point," she said, "so if you find yourself running out of things to do, don't sit around surfing the web or anything, just punch out and go home." I shouldn't worry about my employment, because she had checked with the administration and they told her that as long as I worked at least 75% of the standard 40 hours a week, it wouldn't affect my full-time status. "What about my paycheck?" I asked. "Oh, it'll affect your paycheck," she told me, "but not your full-time status."</p> <p>Bully for me. I can't pay my mortgage with full-time status.</p> <p>The next Monday, I got a call from a company that had seen my resume on monster.com. They weren't turned off by the fact that I was in Indiana, and they were turned <i>on</i> by my qualifications. They thought I might be a good fit for a new position they were creating. I had a couple of telephone interviews, and then they told me they'd like to fly me out to Phoenix for a face-to-face interview. This was during a two-week period when Carolyn was scheduled to be out of the office, so the timing was very good.</p> <p>Last Thursday, on the day I was leaving for Indianapolis for an overnight stay so I could catch my early-morning flight to Phoenix, Carolyn popped in. Apparently she had a few hours between arriving back from Europe and leaving for a trade show in New Jersey, so naturally she came into the office. When I arrived, she was in her office talking to somebody. I got to work and listened carefully as she chatted for a while with Jack, then chatted for a while with Tom, then chatted for a while with Cyndi (my next-cube neighbor), and then left without another word. No "Hi, Dave." No "Screw you, Dave." No "Oh -- are you still here, Dave?"</p> <p>(An aside -- I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. When we moved to Winamac we bought a house just three doors down from Carolyn and her husband. She's never once popped in to check on us, to see what we've done with the place, perhaps to egg the house. Nothing. This is a small town -- we're on a first-name basis with the mail man. But we never even see my boss who lives three doors down. Creepy.)</p> <p>In sharp contrast, the dozen or so people I met during my interview in Phoenix were wonderful. They were friendly, laid back but driven, kind of quirky, but very driven. I called it a "speed dating" interview, because it seemed like very 20-30 minutes, I was sitting with another intelligent, friendly person telling me how great it was to work there. By noon I knew the culture was a good fit. By 4:30 I had an offer that was too good to pass up.</p> <p>I had an exit strategy, and was ready to stick to it. I'd been through the Braun employee handbook, to see what kind of notice was required when quitting. Well, according to the handbook, "Employees may leave employment at any time with or without a reason. Likewise, the company reserves the right to terminate any employee at any time within the provisions of the law." So since either of us could end the employer-employee relationship at any time, it made sense to do so with no notice. There was another major consideration: after all of the shoddy treatment I'd seen from my supervisor, I was seriously concerned about reprisals, like a summary firing, or further cutting back on my assignments in the final days.</p> <p>So my plan was to resign on Monday, since Carolyn was supposedly not returning until Tuesday or Wednesday. But there she was Monday morning, fresh from New Jersey. I had some work left to do on a couple of projects, so I clocked in, sat and wrote code for 8 hours with my headphones on, then went home. And Carolyn actually spoke to me once on Monday, to actually give me an assignment. They must have been in pretty desparate straits to toss it to me, and I nodded and said, "Sure, that sounds like something I could do," while inside I was thinking, "Go find another sucker to tackle this one." Unfortunately, I wasn't able to finish the projects on Monday, so I went back there on Tuesday. My plan Tuesday was to work a full day, stop by and see John Bawcum, the human resources manager, and let him know I wouldn't be returning. Well, John was gone most of the day on Tuesday, so that shot that. Note: true to form, Carolyn didn't speak to me at all on Tuesday.</p> <p>(One more aside here. I had been concerned about my trip out West, worried about my little truck. It needed some work, and I wasn't sure the work would help it be more reliable or not. On Tuesday, while I was still a Braun employee, I stopped at the Braun Chrysler dealership and got myself a used Dodge Ramp 1500 with a quad cab and a locking camper shell. Since I told them that "Ralph sent me," I got a screamin' deal. Woo hoo.)</p> <p>This morning, I drove my new-to-me truck to The Braun Corporation, parked it in my assigned space, and went in without clocking in. John Bawcum wasn't there yet, so I just sat and waited for him. As I sat there, one of the friendly IS guys came in to chat. I told him what I was there to do, and he was startled, but not surprised. When John arrived, I informed him that I was leaving Braun. He asked when. I told him "Now." We then talked for about half an hour about the problems I'd been having. He and I puzzled about Carolyn's attitude toward me since arriving at Winamac, but neither of us could come up with a satisfying explanation. In the end, he called up to Carolyn. "I have David in my office, and he's leaving," he told her. "No, today," he responded to her reply.</p> <p>Carolyn was down in about 15 seconds. She walked in, and the temperature in the office dropped about 30 degrees. John asked me to touch a little on my reasons for leaving. "Well, it's pretty obvious to me that I'm not wanted around here," I said. I explained that my decision to leave came when she informed me that she wouldn't be giving me any work, and that I was to "punch out and go home" if I ran out of projects. She came back: "Well, I just assigned you a big project!" I just shrugged -- too little, too late.</p> <p>That was that. I shook John's hand, shook Carolyn's hand, and walked up to my desk to collect the things I had carefully collected into a specific drawer. On my way out I stopped to talk to a couple of the IS guys, and we traded e-mail addresses and telephone numbers.</p> <p>I had to consciously stop myself from skipping all the way back to my new-to-me truck.</p> <p>I have a lot to thank Carolyn for. I now have a fully renovated house in Winamac with plenty of sweat equity to cash out. There's the truck that I will drive back to my new job in Phoenix, which is where most of my family and all of Melanie's family live. My new position is a substantial step up, both in status, in responsibility, and in salary. My new company is offering an extremely generous relocation package, plus two months' temporary housing for me with fly-backs every other weekend so I can visit the family and also help with preparations for the move. And, as I said at the beginning of this saga, it all comes down to Carolyn Watts.</p> <p>Thank you, Carolyn!</p> Wed, 20 Apr 2005 14:23:14 -0600 http://BakerDavid.com/journal/alone?id=524 <p>Late last night, or early this morning, Yasser Arafat died in Paris at the age of 75. This demonstrably evil man, who has done more than anybody to provoke and prolong the insanely obsessive Arab hatred of Israel and the United States, departed this world not as a gun-toting revolutionary, but as a drooling, trembling old man.</p> <p>Arafat's demise came as a shock to nobody. In spite of two weeks of the official tongue-in-cheek refrain that the old terrorist was in "stable condition," Arafat's own followers had spent the previous several days clearing rubble from his lair in Ramallah to provide a place to lay his carcass. One can only hope that an infusion of formaldehyde will keep Arafat's corpse in "stable condition" for years to come.</p> <p>As Israel braces itself for the inevitable onslaught of rabid teenagers blowing themselves up in tribute to the late murder-monger, the rest of the world shrugs its collective shoulders and thinks, What now?</p> <p>So what now? Well, it appears the next course of action is clear. In his speech to Congress on September 20, 2001, President George W. Bush stated: "From this day forward, any nation that continues to harbor or support terrorism will be regarded by the United States as a hostile regime. ...We will take defensive measures against terrorism to protect Americans." This pre-emptive doctrine still stands today. So obviously, it's time to bomb Paris.</p> <p>In keeping with its strategy of being on the wrong side of every issue, the French have provided as much "aid and comfort" for Arafat as they could, giving him state-of-the-art medical care and round-the-clock security. This is the same nation that illegally supported Saddam Hussein by funnelling untold millions of dollars to him through the United Nations' scandalous "Oil for Food" program, then ran interference for him with the UN to try to cover its tracks.</p> <p>During this past presidential campaign season, both candidates paid lip service to "building coalitions" with our "allies." A significant reason for John Kerry's loss (and our gain) was middle America's perception that he would ask permission from Paris before blowing his nose. What Kerry never seemed to appreciate is the fact that an <i>ally</i> is a person or nation who <i>stands with us</i>. When was the last time the French stood with us? World War II? Nope, even then the cheese-eating cowards were standing <i>behind</i> us and our true allies, Great Britain.</p> <p>France has done everything it can to counter the peace-seeking efforts of one of our other great allies, Israel. Creating more danger in Israel creates more danger for Americans in Iraq, Afghanistan, and here at home. As President Bush said so clearly, "Either you are with us or you are with the terrorists." Once more, the "hostile regine" in France has demonstrated which side it's on.</p> <p>So ... time to bomb Paris. We really have no other choice.</p> Thu, 11 Nov 2004 09:47:11 -0600 http://BakerDavid.com/journal/alone?id=523 <p>I swear, during my recent trip back from Indiana, just about everything that could go wrong went wrong. The first thing that went wrong, in my opinion, is me booking a flight with my new least favorite carrier, Frontier Airlines. Their complete ineptitude started a chain reaction that ruined our day, our night, and most of the next day.</p> <p>First off, I'll explain the reason for the trip. On July 1, my employer, Independent Mobility Systems (IMS), was purchased by The Braun Corporation, which is headquartered in Winamac, Indiana. If you haven't heard of Winamac, don't be surprised -- nobody else has, either. Of the 300-odd people at IMS (some of them <i>very</i> odd), I'm one of only two so far who has been asked relocate to Indiana (probably so they could keep a closer eye on me). So they asked me to go out there with Melanie to see how we liked the place.</p> <p>On Friday, Melanie and I flew out with some Braun folks (and I've always wanted to say this) in the <i>corporate jet</i>. We landed right in Winamac, got a car that they'd rented for us, and drove out to the hotel room they rented for us. We stayed in the kind of cruddy town of Logansport, but concentrated our "looking around" in Rochester and Winamac. By Tuesday, we had a pretty good idea of where we wanted to be, and had found a home to buy. (We actually signed an offer for the house today, Thursday.)</p> <p>We liked the place. It was beautiful. Lots of trees and corn fields and soybean fields. We saw pretty lakes, and lovely rivers, and Amish people in their buggies. After some meetings and more house hunting Tuesday morning, Melanie and I set off for Chicago in a chauffeured Braun Entervan, courtesy of The Braun Corporation. We left at about 2:00, knowing there could be traffic, and arrived at Midway more than two hours early for our flight.</p> <p>Naturally, since we'd flown in on the Braun jet, we were returning on one-way tickets. Since we're obviously not young Muslim men, it was a gimme that we would be "selected" for the whole cavity search routine. Luckily, this took us out of the big line and into a much shorter one, and once we replaced our shoes, belts, and undergarments we were into the terminal in no time.</p> <p>Now, when we booked our flights back to Farmington, Expedia gave us a 30-minute layover. It's not much, but it's generally doable. Unfortunately, it's <i>never</i> doable when both airlines involved exhibit complete and utter idiocy -- which, of course, is what happened.</p> <p>At about an hour before departure, they notified those of us waiting at the gate that the plane would be about half an hour late taking off. They didn't tell us <i>why</i> (we'll get to that later), but asked everybody to be patient. Easier said than done. We had kids at home waiting for us, and our babysitter (my mom) needed to head back to Phoenix first thing in the morning. Of course, we couldn't do anything but sit and wait. And hope.</p> <p>So, closer to 40 minutes after the scheduled time, we actually got on the plane and took off. Melanie and I were in the very back, the second row to the last. The flight attendants were joking in the galley about the delay, making fun of their idiot bosses at Frontier. It seems that the reason for the delay was that somebody or other had <i>forgotten to schedule a pilot</i>. Yes, though most of us would assume that this was pretty much a necessity, apparently it had slipped the minds of the Frontier morons. And so the dominoes began to fall.</p> <p>As the time to land crept closer and closer, we asked whether anyone had thought to radio ahead and ask the other airlines with connecting passengers to hold their planes. The flight attendant said, "Oh, I'm sure it's been taken care of." Needless to say -- coming from the same company that thought pilots were optional -- this did not necessarily fill me with supreme confidence. To hedge our bets, Melanie and I got our carry-ons and moved closer to the front of the plane so we could be among the first to get off. The plane landed in Denver right at 9:00, exactly the time we were scheduled to take off on Great Lakes for the flight back to Farmington.</p> <p>To their credit, the flight attendants asked the people without connecting flights to stay seated while the rest of us ("doomed to stay overnight," in airline parlance) made a mad dash for other gates. Melanie and I got off and literally ran, dodging the dawdlers. Of course, our gate was at the complete other end of the airport. We alternated between running and walking fast (to catch our breath in the mile-high altitude). Some sadist had turned off many of the "moving walkways." When we reached Gate 1,256 at about 9:15, nobody was there -- they'd taken off already. You'd think that, with a plane that seats about 12, they'd wait for 1/6th of their total passengers. But nope -- they were <i>outathere</i>.</p> <p>Once we managed to get some oxygen back into our lungs, we trudged back to the oddly named "customer service" counter, a-cussin' and a-spittin'. The battle-axe who "served" us asked us first to tone down our language, and then gave us vouchers for a hotel room, and meals (dinner and breakfast). Little did we know how useless this "service" would turn out to be.</p> <p>The battle-axe also informed us that the next flight to Farmington left at 11:00 a.m., arriving at 1:00 p.m. I think my response was "Sheeeee-iiiiit." She didn't appreciate this. We asked her to double-check, but she said she had. That was it. Period, dot, the end. She gave us new tickets, and sent us away with her steely glare.</p> <p>Down we went to baggage claim. By now, it was almost 9:45. On the way, we checked to see if there happened to be a car we could rent, and drive the 7 hours from Denver to Farmington. I could have done it, arriving home by 5:00 a.m. But of course, nobody had a car. I also got both local and national numbers for Greyhound. But the Gods of Travel were already ticked at us, and both numbers were busy on multiple calls. 'Round about this time, we also discovered that the Great Lakes staff, just before ditching us and going home, had managed to lock our baggage somewhere completely inaccessible. So not only were we stuck, we were stuck with no luggage. Nice.</p> <p>While we headed out toward the shuttle stands, I happened to overhear one of our fellow doomed travelers say something about "no more rooms." That sounded vaguely ominous, so I asked one of Frontier's baggage people whether the rooms were actually guaranteed. "No problem," he assured me. "They always reserve a huge block of them." Not completely convinced, I got the phone number for the hotel to which Frontier's battle-axe had so dutifully vouchered us. Sure enough, the desk guy informed me that they couldn't accommodate us, because they were completely full. Sure -- that would fit in with the rest of the trip. Off we trudged to the Frontier ticket counter.</p> <p>An obliging Frontier employee found us <i>another</i> room at <i>another</i> hotel, the Sleep Inn. When I asked her how far it was, and whether there would be someplace close by where we could buy some fresh clothes, she said, "It's about five miles from the airport, but there's nothing there but hotels and restaurants." (The restaurants, remember, at which the meal vouchers would be honored.) The girl at the desk did, however, find a flight at 8:40 or so that arrived in Durango (an hour away from Farmington) at 10:00. This would get us home two hours earlier, at 11:00 or so. Note that this was actually about 12 hours <i>later</i> than we'd have been home if these nitwits had bothered to schedule a pilot for our Chicago-Denver flight.</p> <p>Off we went to catch the shuttle bus. As we arrived there, we found a number of our fellow doomed travelers. All were headed for the Sleep Inn. I asked when the shuttle was expected, and was told, "It just left, but it was full. They said we had to wait for the next one, which should be back in about half an hour." Current time: 10:20 p.m.</p> <p>After a few moment's difficult pondering, I resolved to take a taxi. We tried to get a few of the others who were waiting to come with us, but they refused. Honestly, I was just tired of waiting for stuff. <i>And after all</i>, thought I, <i>It's only about five miles out, according to the gal from Frontier.</i> It must have been getting late, because I was actually believing information from the people who (yeah, I know -- I keep saying this) forgot to schedule a pilot, made us miss our connection, and booked us into a hotel that didn't have any rooms. Twelve miles and $28 later, our non-English-speaking cab driver dropped us off at the Sleep Inn.</p> <p>Just a side note. There were two shuttle vans parked beside the Sleep Inn when we arrived. There were still people at the airport, waiting to be picked up. As long as it took us to check in, we never did see the others arrive. It's my sincere belief that they're still sitting on a bench outside the Denver airport. I wish them well.</p> <p>At 10:40, we got in line behind <i>seven others</i> to check into the Sleep Inn. The sleepy bearded desk dude kept loudly complaining that he was having to pull a double shift because Shaniqua (or some such person) had called in sick. Actually, she'd called in in labor. She'd actually had a baby. That's a pretty good excuse, in my book, but he wasn't happy about it. To retaliate, he worked as slowly as he could, stopping constantly to answer the phone and bitch about his double shift. When we finally got to the front of the line, he yawned and slowly checked us in. He winced when we told him we wanted a non-cancerous room, and told us he'd "do what he could." We got our key card at 11:00 -- coincidentally the <i>precise moment</i> that our meal vouchers became useless (since the restaurants had all closed).</p> <p>As we turned away and walked, luggageless, to the elevators, Melanie said to me, "At this point, all I want is a hot bath and a bed to sleep in." Naturally -- since the Travel Gods were by now just having a great big laugh at our expense -- when we got to the room we discovered that the room only had a shower.</p> <p>Naturally, exhausted as we were, we didn't sleep very well.</p> <p>The next morning, we had to take the 5:45 shuttle to get to the airport in time to be strip searched again (one-way ticket, non-Muslim travelers) and make the 8:40 plane to Durango. This made our other meal vouchers worthless. Thank you very much, Frontier.</p> <p>The flight to Durango was on United, so it was uneventful -- exactly the way you want a flight to be. We landed in Durango just after 10:00, and were picked up by Alan, the engineering intern from work. At one point Melanie told Alan, "If you don't drive faster, I'm going to push you out and take the wheel myself." Alan drove faster. Of course (of course!), we hit construction traffic. We made it into Farmington at 11:15.</p> <p>The final "screw you" from Frontier Airlines came just minutes after we got home. As we hugged our kids, who we hadn't seen since Friday, someone from the Farmington airport called and informed us that our luggage had already arrived and was waiting for us at the Farmington terminal. Apparently, it had arrived on an "earlier flight" from Denver -- the earlier flight that multiple Frontier agents had assured us didn't exist.</p> <p>Needless to say, I'm not going to be flying on Frontier again for a very, very long time. I have a suggestion, though. When we book a flight nowadays, they tell us that, due to increased security, it's a good idea to arrive at the airport two hours before your sheduled departure time. My suggestion to Frontier Airlines is that it might be a good idea to follow their own rule, and make sure the crew is there two hours before the flight is supposed to take off. Round everybody up and pay close attention to the uniforms. Ideally, at least one of the people there should probably be a pilot.</p> <p>If there's no pilot, they might want to ask for volunteers from the among the young, male Muslim travelers -- the ones who never get selected for the private TSA patdown. I hear lots of them have been taking flying lessons.</p> <p>It's just a suggestion.</p> Fri, 30 Jul 2004 01:01:53 -0600 http://BakerDavid.com/journal/alone?id=522 <p>I don't usually post stuff that other people have written, but this one was too good to pass up.</p> <hr> <blockquote> <p>Liberals claim President Bush shouldn't have started this war. They complain about his prosecution of it. One liberal recently claimed Bush was the worst president in U.S. history. Let's clear up one point: President Bush didn't start the war on terror.</p> <p>Try to remember, it was started by terrorists BEFORE 9/11. Let's look at the "worst" president and mismanagement claims.</p> <p>FDR led us into World War II. Germany never attacked us: Japan did. From 1941-1945, 450,000 lives were lost, an average of 112,500 per year.</p> <p>Truman finished that war and started one in Korea. North Korea never attacked us. From 1950-1953, 55,000 lives were lost, an average of 18,333 per year.</p> <p>John F. Kennedy started the Vietnam conflict in 1962. Vietnam never attacked us. Johnson turned Vietnam into a quagmire. From 1965-1975, 58,000 lives were lost, an average of 5,800 per year.</p> <p>Clinton went to war in Bosnia without U.N. or French consent. Bosnia never attacked us. He was offered Osama bin Laden's head on a platter three times by Sudan and did nothing. Osama has attacked us on multiple occasions. Over 2,900 lives lost on 9/11.</p> <p>In the two years since terrorists attacked us, President Bush has liberated two countries, crushed the Taliban, crippled al-Qaeda, put nuclear inspectors in Lybia, Iran and North Korea without firing a shot, captured a terrorist who slaughtered 300,000 of his own people. We lost 600 soldiers, an average of 300 a year. Bush did all this abroad while not allowing another terrorist attack at home.</p> <p>Worst president in history? Come on! The Democrats are complaining about how long the war is taking, but...</p> <p>It took less time to take Iraq than it took Janet Reno to take the Branch Davidian compound. That was a 51-day operation. We've been looking for evidence of chemical weapons in Iraq for less time than it took Hillary Clinton to find the Rose Law Firm billing records.</p> <p>It took less time for the 3rd Infantry Division and the Marines to destroy the Medina Republican Guard than it took Teddy Kennedy to call the police after his Oldsmobile sank at Chappaquiddick.</p> <p>It took less time to take Iraq than it took to count the votes in Florida!</p> <p>Our military is GREAT! Pass it on.</p> </blockquote> Wed, 07 Jul 2004 13:39:05 -0600 http://BakerDavid.com/journal/alone?id=521 <p>Just an update on our reading of <i>The Hobbit</i>. In spite of several interruptions, we're well on our way. We're presently about halfway through the "Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire" chapter (the goblins and wolves are just about to attach Bilbo, Gandalf, and the dwarves).</p> <p>When we first started reading, Nathan was restless and didn't look like he'd be able to focus long enough to make it through a chapter, let alone the entire book. However, now he is sitting and enjoying the book thoroughly. Before we read, he insists on getting a sword, a cape, and a ring to make him into a hobbit.</p> <p>The adventure continues...</p> Wed, 07 Jul 2004 13:36:47 -0600 http://BakerDavid.com/journal/alone?id=520 <p><i>Well, it's been a while and Fozz keeps bugging me, so I'm putting in an entry. Hopefully, I'll do this at least once a week for the foreseeable future.</i></p> <p>So this week, I got started on something that I've been waiting most of my life to do. Or at least 6 years or so. It's summertime and the kids have had their bedtime pushed back to 9:00. Every night, part of my "special time" is to read them their story. Ever since I was a teenager I've been looking forward to the day that I can read <i>The Hobbit</i> to my own kids. Since Ian's already 6, and Nate's 4 (and since they've both already seen the abysmal animated version of the story) I figured it was time to go ahead.</p> <p>I ordered a special <i>Hobbit</i> just for the occasion. It's actually <i>The Annotated Hobbit</i>, revised and expanded edition, by J.R.R. Tolkien (of course) with annotations by Douglas A. Anderson. I'm really enjoying the supplementary material. Plus, there are some fun pictures.</p> <p>The annotation also has excerpts from early reviews of the book. The following comes from the <i>Times Literary Supplement</i>'s review of 1937:</p> <blockquote> <p><i>The Hobbit</i> ... will be funniest to its younger readers, and only years later, at a tenth or twentieth reading, will they begin to realize what deft scholarship and profound reflection have gone to make everything in it so ripe, so friendly, and in its own way so true. Prediction is dangerous: but <i>The Hobbit</i> may well prove a classic.</p> </blockquote> <p>I don't know if this is my twentieth reading of the book or not, but I'm certainly past number ten. By the way, Ian is getting into the book more than Nathan (who is still kind of young for this kind of thing). Also, by the way, the reviewer's name was C.S. Lewis.</p> Mon, 07 Jun 2004 23:40:26 -0600 http://BakerDavid.com/journal/alone?id=519 <p>Some of you may know I spent most of last week down in Arizona on a photo shoot for IMS, my employer. I went down with four vehicles and Justin Kiddoo, one of our engineers, who came along for the ride "just in case."</p> <p>We spent Sunday traveling, shot pictures around Phoenix on Monday and Tuesday, and had a spectacular day in Sedona on Wednesday. Thursday was our trip back, and I just had to record my little brush with death in this journal.</p> <p>The trip was mostly uneventful. That is, if your idea of "uneventful" is driving 300 miles in a prototype vehicle with a paper dealer plate that hasn't been filled out. We made pretty good time, stopped in Gallup (the armpit of the West) for lunch, and headed north on the dreaded road that connects Gallup and Shiprock.</p> <p>For those of you who have never driven this road, it has a reputation of being the road from hell. It's a two-lane road most of the way, with the speed limit shifting between 65, 55, and 45 at seemingly random intervals. In addition to slow-driving locals, loose animals and drunken hitchhikers, you also have to watch out for reservation police. No wonder that -- until just recently -- this road was officially designated Route 666. (I'm not making this up.)</p> <p>Not too far out of Gallup is the little town of Tohatchi. At the risk of offending someone, Tohatchi is kind of a cruddy little reservation town, not much more than a bump in the road. As with most of the towns along the former 666 (now known as Route 491), Tohatchi requires drivers to slow down to 45 while driving through "town." I was at the wheel as Justin and I were just leaving Tohatchi, just coming to the point where the speed limit jumped from 45 back up to a more invigorating 65.</p> <p>At exactly this point, I was aware of movement in my peripheral vision. I turned to see a big 18-wheeler (or so I assume -- I didn't exactly have time to count wheels) passing me <i>on the shoulder</i>. The problem was, at just about the point I realized he was overtaking me on the right, we actually ran out of shoulder. I was probably going 50, the trucker driving at about 60.</p> <p>I was just about level with the middle of his trailer when we ran out of shoulder, and the trucker forced his way back onto the road, forcing me into oncoming traffic. And there was traffic -- a large pickup pulling a trailer. I managed to slam on my brakes and swerve back behind the tractor trailer just in time to miss getting clobbered by the truck heading the other way.</p> <p>As the panic wore off and the cussing subsided, Justin mentioned that he'd seen one of those "how's my driving" stickers on the back of the truck that passed us. By this time the truck was about half a mile up, so we sped up until we were several car-lengths behind. Since the road was pretty gravelly, and we were driving this prototype, I pulled into the left-hand lane as I came up behind this idiot trucker, so we didn't get peppered with rocks. He thought we were trying to pass <i>him</i>, so he actually moved his big rig into the middle of the road, straddling the dashed yellow line, to keep me from getting in front. We managed to write down the contact number and decal code.</p> <p>The next half an hour, were were in and out of cell reception, and by the time we actually reached (800) 2-ADVISE, the idiot trucker was pretty far ahead. It took 3 calls to actually complete a conversation. After giving the decal code to the operator, she told me that the company connected to that decal was "on their inactive list" -- that is, they hadn't been paying for the service. So there was no recourse down that avenue.</p> <p>Finally, I gave up and called the Shiprock police. By this time we were about half an hour out of town, and I knew this truck was already several miles ahead. The very helpful officer in Shiprock dispatched two patrol units to intercept this truck. Unfortunately, in our hurry to get the decal code off the truck, we'd neglected to put together much of a description. We didn't have a plate number or much else on the truck itself. After several calls back and forth, Officer Benally in Shiprock told me they'd seen several trucks, but weren't sure which one had overtaken us so recklessly.</p> <p>I told Officer Benally that I thought I could see the truck several miles ahead. I was pretty sure I could catch up to him, but it would require exceeding the speed limit. His response was: "Do what you gotta do."</p> <p>This was the fun part. We were driving a Toyota Sienna minivan, and they've got some good power under the hood. I floored the thing and pretty soon we were doing 90 mph toward Shiprock, with the police on the phone. That's a pretty good feeling. We quickly ran out of highway, and finally caught up with this idiot trucker right in the middle of town, pulling behind him as he prepared to turn off the highway going toward Kayenta, Arizona.</p> <p>As we copied down the Washington license plate, we saw a local patrol car come from the opposite direction, and turn in the same direction this trucker was headed. I called Officer Benally back and let him know the plate number, and a detailed description of the vehicle. "You have a patrol unit right in front of him," I told the officer. "All he's gotta do is pull off the road and wait." Benally told me he'd take care of it, so we rejoined traffic and headed back toward Farmington.</p> <p>So there you go. We arrived safe and relatively sound. I still haven't heard what happened after we left this idiot trucker, but I'm hoping he got a citation and a half. I plan to call back and find out the full story tomorrow. Hopefully, I can find out what outfit this guy hauls for, and file a formal complaint with his employer. Somebody who would pull a stunt like this doesn't have any business driving for a living.</p> Mon, 16 Feb 2004 17:33:27 -0600 http://BakerDavid.com/journal/alone?id=518 <p>Well, the new year is well underway, and so is our new barbershop chorus. For those of you who read my <a href="/barbershop_rebuilding.html" target="_new">chorus rebuilding document</a>, creating a new chorus within the San Juan County Chapter of SPEBSQSA has been one of my main priorities. Now it's a reality -- the board and the membership have both voted to disband the Farmington Gaslight Chorus and create a new chorus called <b>Four Corners Harmony</b>.</p> <p>This week I created a website for the new chorus and populated it with information. You can view the new site here:</p> <blockquote> <p><a href="http://www.fourcornersharmony.com" target="_new">www.fourcornersharmony.com</a></p> </blockquote> Fri, 16 Jan 2004 15:08:54 -0600 http://BakerDavid.com/journal/alone?id=517 <p>In the ongoing saga of tracking the prosecution of Brian Sullivan, who killed his wife and daughter in February, 2003, here are the latest developments.</p> <hr> <h2>Suspect is competent to stand trial</h2> <h3>Man is accused of killing wife and daughter</h3> <p>Tuesday, September 30, 2003<br/> <a href="http://www.deseretnews.com/" target="_new">Deseret News</a></p> <p>By Linda Thomson<br/> Deseret Morning News</p> <p>Brian Christopher Sullivan, charged with capital murder in connection with the deaths of his wife and 4-year-old daughter, is legally competent to stand trial, according to a judge.</p> <p>Third District Judge Ann Boyden ruled Monday that Sullivan, 39, has "the presumption of competency" under the law and set Dec. 5 for a preliminary hearing.</p> <p>Sullivan had been refusing to answer questions by mental-health evaluators, invoking his right against self-incrimination under the Fifth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution. His attorney, Lisa Remal, cited federal case law and also said Sullivan was within his rights under the Utah Constitution as well.</p> <p>The ruling was prompted by a motion filed by prosecutors asking the judge to order Sullivan to comply with the evaluators.</p> <p>"I don't believe the court has the power to order Mr. Sullivan to answer questions," Remal said, arguing that in doing so the court would be forcing Sullivan to relinquish his constitutional rights.</p> <p>Prosecutor Kevin Murphy said the judge had already ordered the mental competency evaluation, and now prosecutors were simply asking that the order be enforced. Murphy said prosecutors were "trying to protect the integrity of the court" by ensuring Sullivan was competent and that the court's orders were enforced.</p> <p>In a somewhat unusual twist, the prosecutors had asked for the competency evaluation, which ordinarily is requested by defense attorneys. In April, Boyden ordered that one be performed.</p> <p>At the time, prosecutors were concerned about statements Sullivan reportedly made about "religious sacrifices" and "operating under God's command" and how "some people might consider him crazy."</p> <p>But Boyden said Monday the case now presented a "new and separate issue" of whether Sullivan can invoke the Fifth Amendment and remain silent.</p> <p>"I find I would be in violation of the defendant's rights to compel him to answer those questions," the judge said.</p> <p>Since she had not been given any evidence to show Sullivan was incompetent, the judge determined he is competent, as is presumed by the law.</p> <p>Boyden noted the issue of competency can be raised again at any time during the court proceedings.</p> <p>Being "competent" to stand trial does not mean an individual has to be perfectly healthy. The law requires that the person must be able to understand how the court system works, understand the charges being brought and be able to assist defense attorneys.</p> <p>Sullivan is charged with killing LaRae Marara Sullivan and their daughter, Kehaulani Nui Sullivan, in their West Valley home on Feb. 13.</p> <p>A state medical examiner determined they were stabbed to death, but police found the two bodies covered with blankets in a bed, according to court documents. The bodies apparently had been cleaned. But police found large bloodstains on the carpeting and articles of clothing that had cuts in the front consistent with the stab wounds on the victims' bodies, according to court documents.</p> <p>If convicted of two counts of aggravated homicide, Sullivan could face the death penalty.</p> <hr> <h2>Jan. 26 court date set in 2 stabbing deaths</h2> <p>Sunday, December 14, 2003<br/> <a href="http://www.deseretnews.com/" target="_new">Deseret News</a></p> <p>Associated Press</p> <p>A new court date has been set for Brian Christopher Sullivan, who is charged with capital murder in connection with the deaths of his wife and daughter.</p> <p>Third District Judge Ann Boyden set Jan. 26 for a scheduling conference for Sullivan.</p> <p>Both prosecutors and defense attorneys are continuing to investigate aspects of the case, according to prosecutor Paul Parker.</p> <p>Sullivan, 39, is charged with fatally stabbing his wife, LaRae Marara Sullivan, and their daughter, Kehaulani Nui Sullivan, 4, in their West Valley home.</p> Wed, 24 Dec 2003 10:34:45 -0600 http://BakerDavid.com/journal/alone?id=516 <p>I heard on the news today that San Francisco's Steinhart Aquarium just celebrated the 65th birthday of one of its residents, a lungfish named Methuselah. In keeping with this theme, I thought I'd get out my poisson pen (sorry) and make a record of some fish in my own life.</p> <h2>A Fish Called Bruce</h2> <p>A number of years ago, I created my very own MacQuarium. For those of you who don't know what this is, it's a fish tank made from an old all-in-one Macintosh computer. Following the very entertaining <a href="http://www.jagshouse.com/macquarium.html" target="_new">instructions by Andy Inhatko</a>, I chopped up a non-working 512K Macintosh and ended up with a fish tank.</p> <p>My Macquarium had several residents during my years at Sorenson Vision and Ingeo, but has been vacant since I moved to New Mexico. Recently I dragged out the tank, cleaned it, scraped the calcium off the glass, and made it ready for its new owner, a beta named Bruce (in honor of the shark in <em>Finding Nemo</em>).</p> <div align="center"> <a href="/media/misc/macquarium.jpg" target="_new"><img src="/media/misc/macquarium_thumb.jpg" width="150" height="100" border="0"></a> <h4>Click the thumbnail to see a larger image</h4> </div> <h2>Because They're So Delicious</h2> <p>I'm a desk-snacking guy. I sit and nibble most of the day. Generally, my snack of choice is sunflower seeds, but today I got out my big carton-o-Goldfish from Pepperidge Farm. Much to my surprise, when I shook out a handful of fish, I got an entire school!</p> <div align="center"> <a href="/media/misc/goldfish.jpg" target="_new"><img src="/media/misc/goldfish_thumb.jpg" width="150" height="120" border="0"></a> <h4>Click the thumbnail to see a larger image</h4> </div> <p>We now return you to your regularly scheduled weblog...</p> Wed, 19 Nov 2003 16:04:56 -0600 http://BakerDavid.com/journal/alone?id=515 <p>Most people who know me know that I'm pretty active in barbershopping. For those who think this involves haircutting (which would be ironic, considering the state of my follicles), barbershop is a musical style characterized by male voices, tight harmony, and a specific type of 7th chord. I've been singing barbershop for a number of years, since my good friend Michael Morgan got me into SPEBSQSA, the Society for the Preservation and Encouragement of Barbershop Quartet Singing in America.</p> <p>In SPEBSQSA, there are two major types of singing groups. The main focus of barbershop is of course the quartet, since that's how it all started. In addition, there are barbershop choruses, which can range from 8-12 guys (sometimes called a Very Large Quartet, or VLQ) to several hundred. I've never really been a chorus guy, preferring instead to sing with three other guys in a quartet.</p> <p>Since moving from northern Utah to northern New Mexico, I've been quartetless. I had to leave my previous quartet, <a href="/barbershop.html" target="new">Voted Off the Island</a>, just as we were really hitting our stride. When I wasn't able to find three other guys here in Farmington that I wanted to sing with, I joined the local barbershop group, the Farmington Gaslight Chorus. This group has been struggling for some time, struggling in membership, struggling with music, struggling to find some sort of cohesive unity. Part of the problem has been leadership.</p> <p>For a while, the Farmington chorus was directed by the conductor of the Durango chorus, who lives about an hour to the north. When she stopped coming down, we were led by another Durango person, who has dual membership in both the Durango and San Juan chapters. Then he underwent quintuple bypass surgery and was out of commission for months. During this past summer, the chorus (which had already been leaking members) went into full hemorrhage. Summer is always a bad time for choruses, but with no musical leadership, the chorus was on a steep downhill slide.</p> <p>At this point, I was pressed into service to fill the gap as chorus director. I dragged out some new music -- simple stuff that was within the ability of our group -- and we did some Pole Cat singing (traditional pieces that are learned by everyone within the society). To my surprise, we found that the arrangement worked. At the end of the summer, I stayed on as director and moved full speed into the Christmas music season.</p> <h3>Epiphany in Denver</h3> <p>Last weekend, I attended the Chapter Organization Training School (COTS) in Denver. I drove up with Robin Harris, our current chapter president, who is also the newly elected Membership VP of the Rocky Mountain District of SPEBSQSA. All the way up, Robin and I talked about the issues facing our chorus. In Pueblo (local pronunciation: "Pee-EH-blow") we picked up Joe Macaluso, another one of our chapter officers. Joe, Robin and I continued the discussion all the way to Denver.</p> <p>At COTS, my main focus was CDWI1 (barbershoppers <em>love</em> acronyms!), which is the Chapter Directors Workshop -- Intensive. Five directors, including me, worked with two trainers, one of them Bill Ashleigh, a well-known harmony guy. The workshop was truly intensive, and I learned lots. One of the things that hit me the hardest was how much I still need to learn, but this is expected.</p> <p>In one of the later workshops, I lingered afterwards in a conversation with the director of another one of the district's smaller chapters. The more I talked with him, the more unsatisfied I was with the direction our chorus was heading. Finally, I got out a piece of paper and made a list of changes that I believed needed to be made:</p> <ol> <li><strong>Double Our Membership</strong>: We currently have about 12 guys who come every week. A few more are on the books, but don't come and sing. We need about 24 guys to begin getting the sound I want.</li> <li><strong>Realign Our Relationship with the Durango Chorus</strong>: Currently, we rehearse and perform the same songs as the Durango chapter. One problem is our group takes a little more time to learn the music than Durango does. The current batch from Durangohas more songs, and more difficult songs, than our membership can handle right now. The biggest issue, though, is that all of our music is being selected by someone else. We don't have control over our own repertoire.</li> <li><strong>Location, Location, Location</strong>: We're currently rehearsing in a small church. It's an okay space, but there's no room for risers. Also, I think our current digs might be turning some people off. They see the place and associate it with our music, which is not good. We need a non-religious setting where we can get some risers.</li> </ol> <h3>Moving Forward</h3> <p>While driving back from COTS, Robin, Joe and I worked on these issues. When I got back, I wrote up <a href="/barbershop_rebuilding.html" target="_new">this document</a>, which distills all of the problems and possible solutions into a proposal form. Robin, Joe and I presented this stuff to the other members of the board, and got a positive (if a little hesitant) reception. So, we're on track for some major changes, hopefully for the better. I'll keep you posted.</p> Fri, 14 Nov 2003 09:29:07 -0600 http://BakerDavid.com/journal/alone?id=514 <p>Yesterday I had an interesting bit of correspondence with Reed Winterton, corporate counsel for Sorenson Development, the parent company of the now defunct Sorenson Vision. While working for Sorenson, I developed the <a href="/signlink.html" target="_new">SignLink CD-ROM</a>, an educational software title intended to help Hearing people improve their sign language skills. Naturally, I haven't had much to do with this product since I stopped working for Sorenson. Here's the message I got from Mr. Winterton:</p> <blockquote><tt> <p>Subject: SignLink<br/> Date: Thu, 10 Jul 2003<br/> From: Reed Winterton<br/> To: David Baker</p> <p>David, please contact me at 801/XXX-XXXX to discuss your ongoing sales of the SignLink software. I have been directed to contact you to have you stop selling the product. Evidently sales come with support burdens the company wants to avoid. Thanks,</p> <p>Reed 7/10/03</p> <p>Reed F. Winterton</p> </tt></blockquote> <p>Of course, I'm not selling the SignLink product. It's a six-year-old CD-ROM, desperately in need of revision. To add further irony, it's a Sorenson product that uses Cinepak compression, since it was released several months before the Sorenson Video codec was available. Here's my response to Mr. Winterton's incredibly misinformed accusations:</p> <blockquote><tt> <p>Subject: RE: SignLink<br/> Date: Thu, 10 Jul 2003<br/> From: David Baker<br/> To: Reed Winterton</p> <p>Hi Reed:</p> <p>I have not sold a copy of the SignLink software since Sorenson Vision shut down and I was unceremoniously laid off in early 2001. I believe Sorenson Media still sells this 6-year-old software title as part of an Instant Immersion software package. I do have some information about SignLink -- that is, my connection to the software as the software developer -- on my personal web page, but this has nothing to do with actual sales. You can view this site here:</p> <p><a href="/signlink.html" target="_new">http://www.bakerdavid.com/signlink.html</a></p> <p>You'll note that there is no reference to selling the product anywhere on this page. I'm not sure where you heard that I was selling SignLink, but your source was misinformed. I do, however, occasionally receive questions about the software -- mostly from people who bought it as part of the software bundle and have no idea how to get support. They find me through search engines, and send requests for help. Since I am no longer on Sorenson's payroll, I forward these queries to Sorenson.</p> <p>I *have* asked various people at Sorenson several times about the fate of the software. The title is getting old and creaky, and I still have about 2,000 additional sign clips that were never added to the unmaterialized SignLink 2. If Sorenson ever decides to update the CD-ROM (and it should since, this software was developed to be run under operating systems that are no longer sold and supported), I would love to be involved. If Sorenson decides to get out of the SignLink business, I would be happy to complete a revision on my own, with no Sorenson involvement.</p> <p>David Baker</p> </tt></blockquote> <p>What does it say about a company when an ex-employee has to tell them who is selling their products for them? Ponder that for a moment.</p> <p>Before the big split-up of the Sorenson companies, I had been working on creating a completely new version of SignLink. I had hired new sign models, filmed a bunch of new signs, and captured and compressed them using the company's own compression algorithms. I also re-compressed all of the original sign clips in Sorenson Video. We were on track to providing more than 3,000 high-quality signs on a single CD-ROM. Then the company exploded and everything related to SignLink shut down.</p> <p>Several times since Sorenson laid me off, I have tried to contact somebody -- anybody -- who can fill me in on the company's plans for SignLink. Not once has anybody there answered my calls or e-mails. I tried working through Jon Hodson, who has continued to work under Sorenson Development to keep the video interpreting project going. He hasn't had any luck either.</p> <p>Here's Mr. Winterton's response:</p> <blockquote><tt> <p>Subject: RE: SignLink<br/> Date: Thu, 10 Jul 2003<br/> From: David Baker<br/> To: Reed Winterton</p> <p>David,</p> <p>Thanks for the response. Your feedback is helpful. We'll look elsewhere. Best wishes in your various pursuits.</p> <p>If you want to discuss use of any Sorenson intellectual property pertaining to Sign Link and related technology, let Pat Nola, COO of Sorenson Media, Inc., know and he'll consider whether to involve corporate counsel. Thanks,</p> <p>Reed Winterton</p> </tt></blockquote> <p>There are two very funny statements in this e-mail. The first is "We'll look elsewhere." Like I said, how does a company the size of Sorenson not know where its product sales are coming from? Scary. The second funny statement is "let Pat Nola ... know." Pat was one of the main people I have tried to contact over the past few years. He came to Sorenson right before my part of the company was shut down, and has apparently risen to prominence. During the few times I had any dealings with Pat, I developed the impression that he was a pompous twit. Sorenson has been in the toilet since Lynn Blake left the company, and I believe people like Pat Nola are one of the major reasons.</p> <blockquote><tt> <p>Subject: RE: SignLink<br/> Date: Thu, 10 Jul 2003<br/> From: David Baker<br/> To: Reed Winterton</p> <p>FYI:</p> <p>Here's the company that's selling SignLink:</p> <p><a href="http://www.topics-ent.com/" target="_new">http://www.topics-ent.com/</a></p> <p>Here's the page with the "Instant Immersion ASL" product on it, which includes SignLink as one of its CD-ROMs:</p> <p><a href="http://www.topics-ent.com/topicsasp/extended_html/software/language/language15/language15_default.html#" target="_new">http://www.topics-ent.com/topicsasp/extended_html/software/language/language15/language15_default.html#</a></p> <p>About a year ago I contacted everyone I knew to contact about SignLink, mostly because I was getting so many e-mails about it. I sent mail and left voice messages for Pat Nola, Jim Sorenson Jr., and even Judy Sorensen. Not one person responded to my voice mails or e-mail messages. Do you think this is a matter worth pursuing?</p> <p>David Baker</p> </tt></blockquote> <p>Here, I'm trying to help these people out. Rather than having to "look elsewhere," Mr. Winterton can simply call the people who are actually selling their product.</p> <p>Briefly, here's the story of how I found out about Topics Entertainment. About six months ago, I was in Wal-Mart looking for a DVD. I happened to notice a CD-ROM on American Sign Language in their software section. Curious, I picked it up. You can imagine my surprise when I saw the product I developed included as one of the CDs in this software bundle.</p> <p>My first reaction was, <i>how can they still be selling this</i>? The product was released in early 1998, before Windows 98 even came out. It was a remarkably stable product, but after a couple of years and a couple of revisions of <a href="http://www.apple.com/quicktime/" target="_new">QuickTime</a>, it became obvious that the product needed to be revved. Even after I left Sorenson, I was getting calls from the company's tech support staff asking me how to fix a new bug that resulted from the evolution of these multimedia drivers. Apparently, after one particular QuickTime upgrade, the video screen tended to move to the top, left corner of the screen, instead of where it was supposed to be.</p> <p>I took a quick look inside the product packaging, and sure enough, the bug was still there. Get this -- <i>Topics Entertainment included the video screen bug in a screenshot they used for the product packaging</i>. Don't take my word for it; check out <a href="/media/topicsent_signlink.jpg" target="_new">this screenshot</a> and you'll see.</p> <blockquote><tt> <p>Subject: RE: SignLink<br/> Date: Thu, 10 Jul 2003<br/> From: David Baker<br/> To: Reed Winterton</p> <p>David,</p> <p>Responsive to your question, I do not think this is a matter worth pursuing unless contacted by Sorenson.</p> <p>Thanks for your inquiry.</p> <p>Reed.</p> </tt></blockquote> <p><b>Don't call us -- we'll call you. And the horse you rode in on.</b></p> <p>So here ends this chapter of the continuing saga of SignLink. This is a product that has been close to my heart for a long time. I still have all of this great new content, but there's no way for me to do anything with it. The only time I get <i>any</i> communciation out of the company is when they think that I'm actually selling the product! (<i>For shame!</i>)<p> <p>The company apparently doesn't want to do a new product, but they won't let me do anything with it -- not even sell it. No wonder Corporate America has such a great reputation these days...</p> Fri, 11 Jul 2003 10:06:13 -0600 http://BakerDavid.com/journal/alone?id=513 <p>You ever get the feeling that something is not meant to be?</p> <p>When we first looked at our home before buying it, we were happy to see a lush lawn with a pretty good sprinkler system installed. As we got closer to closing day, we noticed that the current owners had essentially stopped mowing. I knew that we'd want to mow the lawn as soon as we got into the house, because it was getting pretty long.</p> <p>Then, of course, <a href="/journal/12" target="_new">things got crazy</a>. Our lawn mower, which was in storage at our rental, was one of the last things we brought over. By the time we had a mower with which to mow, the grass was about 8 inches high.</p> <p>So, Saturday, on my way from bringing one of the last loads of stuff, I filled up a gas can with regular unleaded and prepared to tackle the lawn. Naturally, after I filled up the tank and primed the engine, it refused to start. Pulled the sucker a bunch of times, primed some more, pulled it some more, <i>ad nauseum</i>. The mower, to quote Monty Python, had "shuffled off this mortal coil and joined the bleeding choir invisible." This was a dead mower.</p> <p>Okay, no problem. I've got family and friends in town. I'll borrow a mower. <p>Easier said than done. <p>First I went to my dad's place. Their front yard, what there is of it, is mostly gravel. Their back yard was originally grass, but due to some kind of worm infestation had reverted back to the dirt from whence it came. Still, he had a mower -- an old non-powered push mower with blades like butter knives. Okay, consider that Plan B.</p> <p>So, I called my brother. He and his family were going out of town, but he would leave his mower in his back yard so I could come and grab it while they were gone. Cool. Sunday morning, I went over to get the mower. I jumped the side fence, made nice with Joe's dog Bear, and looked around. Nothing in the back yard, or in the side yards, or in the shed. I gave Bear some extra food for not biting me, and jumped back over the fence.</p> <p>Drove back to my dad's house, and took him up on his offer to lend me his push mower. I got it home and gave it a push, in the least densely overgrown part of the front yard. It wouldn't go two feet without clogging up. There was just too much grass. I gave up for the day in frustration.</p> <p>Tuesday evening, I decided to try again. Melanie called one of her friends who lived near our old rental place. They had a mower, and since they were presently installing a sprinkler system, they wouldn't be using it for a while. So I went over there in my truck. She pulled the mower out of the shed, put a bit of gas inside, primed it and yanked the cord. It started up, though it was pretty noisy. I checked underneath and saw that the blade was kind of loose -- that probably accounted for the noise. I told her I'd tighten it up before I used it, and return it in the morning. It went into the truck and back to the new house.</p> <p>With a crescent wrench, I tightened the nut that holds on the blade. I put in some more gas and started it up. It was still noisy, but it was cutting the grass. I pushed it about 10 feet, and the noise lessened. Pushed it another few feet and realized why the noise had stopped. The bolt that held the blade on had broken right off. The collet that holds the blade was cracked, and the blade and lots of little pieces were lying on the ground.</p> <blockquote> <p>(In case you're keeping score, that's four mowers -- mine, my dad's, my brother's, and Melanie's friend's -- that for one reason or another refused to cut my lawn. This is the part where I begin to get paranoid.)</p> </blockquote> <p>It wasn't late yet, but I decided then and there that I was going to take care of that lawn that night. I was going to kick its butt, no doubt about it. I went to the garage and fished around for my WeedEater. I have two, one electric and one gas-powered. I didn't have oil to mix with the gas for the gas-powered one, so I chose the electric one. Naturally, I hadn't used it for a while, and the spool that holds the string had fallen off. No problem, dammit -- I was going to make it work. I fished around in my gardening stuff until I found the spool, empty, and then some string. I couldn't find the spring that puts tension in the spool, but what the hell. I was going to make it work. Put the thing together and went to work on the back yard. It took an hour -- first trimming the tall areas, raking up the excess, and then cleaning it up with the push mower -- but it worked. I ended up with a nicely trimmed yard. Yeah!</p> <p>Now for the front yard, or as I came to call it, "The Heart of the Amazon."</p> <p>There were no "tall areas" in the front yard -- it was all one big tall area. The grass was probably 10 inches or higher in most places, and thick as a Frenchman's armpit hair (though not as curly). I kind of lost track of time as I trimmed and raked, trimmed and raked, working in small sections at a time. It was getting dark and people were our walking their dogs, looking at the idiot mowing his lawn with his WeedEater. I didn't care. I just trimmed and raked, trimmed and raked.</p> <p>It was after 9:00 p.m. when I finally got it to the point where I could get my dad's push mower up and down the front lawn. Then I raked again, trimmed around the edges, and gathered up an entire garbage can full of clippings.</p> <p>You ever get the feeling that something is not meant to be? It wasn't meant to be, but dammit, I made it meant to be. Men are judged by yards, not inches, and I kicked mine's butt. Kicked it good.</p> Wed, 25 Jun 2003 16:18:05 -0600 http://BakerDavid.com/journal/alone?id=512 <p>Well, the we're out and we're in, but that's about all we can say at this point. <p>We got the keys to our new home a week ago last Friday, and for a week and a half now we've been moving things from our rental place and storage unit, and trying to get things put away, we're still living in a jumble. But at least it's <i>our</i> jumble. (Or at least, the bank's.)</p> <p class="subhead">Friday</p> <p>Got the keys in the early afternoon, as soon as the title company received word that the loan had funded. Melanie went and got a bunch of paint, because we had decided that we would paint several rooms before we moved stuff into them. After work, I went over and Melanie and I unloaded the trailer. Friday night, Grandma Jan sat with the sleeping kids while Melanie, my dad and I prepped several rooms for painting. Then they went home while I painted the master bedroom.</p> <p>My brother brought my truck over so I can drive it home (his truck had the trailer hooked up to it), but I forgot to get the keys from him, so when I finished at 1:30 a.m., I couldn't drive my truck. I ended up unhooking Joe's truck, parking the trailer in the street, and driving it home, piano and all.</p> <p class="subhead">Saturday</p> <p>All hell broke loose. Melanie came down with a nasty sinus infection, which made her miserable and grumpy. In spite of feeling lousy, she helped me unload the trailer and truck, moving everything into the garage or family room. Then we had some of the guys from church come over and help us move most of the big stuff out of the rental.</p> <p>After the first load, I realized that we wouldn't be able to bring anything in until I'd done all of the painting, so I sent Melanie back to supervise the second load while I did the front room. I got it all masked off by the time she got back, but then it was time for Megan's nap so she went back to the rental before I started painting. I was done by the time she got back, and she wasn't happy with the color. She was so unhappy, in fact, that I ended up mixing up a new color with some of the paint we had from several rooms, and repainting the living room (again).</p> <p>Saturday afternoon, I painted my office, mostly because it was an easy room to paint. I really like the color I chose -- kind of a medium brown-grey. It's smaller than my previous office, but I'm looking forward to having a place at home to work again.</p> <p>Late Saturday night, my brother Joe came over and we moved all of the furniture (which had been sitting out in the driveway). We slept in the house that night, but it was more like camping out than anything.</p> <p class="subhead">Sunday</p> <p>Melanie was feeling (if anything) worse. So I painted the boys' room (2 colors: blue on the top and tan on the bottom). We set up the bunk beds and moved some other things in as soon as the paint was dry. Megan's room was another issue. Before we did the painting, we had to cover up some blue paint around the windows and door frames. It actually took 3 coats to cover that up. Plus, we ripped out the old carpet and exposed the hardwood floors there (and in the office too). That took some doing, but by the time the kids were ready for bed, I was ready to paint.</p> <p>I painted after everyone was in bed -- the boys in their own room and Megan in my office -- this striking shade of light yellow. Eventually there will be pink trim, but for now, it's done.</p> <p class="subhead">Monday through Thursday</p> <p>Had to go back to work. Melanie spent the week running loads of smaller stuff from the rental, cleaning both there and at home, and putting things away. I spent my time at the new house doing things like hanging blinds, doing paint touchup, moving things from room to room, and so on. The best thing that happened this week was that Melanie got some antibiotics for her sinus infection, so she was able to recover from that.</p> <p class="subhead">Friday</p> <p>Friday was our 8th anniversary, so instead of working on the house, Melanie and I took a break and spent the night at a bed and breakfast in Aztec. It was cute, though not as nice as some of the places we've stayed on our anniversaries. But it was a nice getaway, especially from the mess. During the night, the babysitter was awakened by the sound of gushing water. The supply line had come off the evaporative cooler, and the water was running down the roof. She called her dad to come over and shut off the water. Luckily, she didn't think she needed to call us and -- er -- disturb us.</p> <p class="subhead">Saturday</p> <p>After a pleasant breakfast, Melanie and I went back home to tackle the mess. Even though we were entirely out of the rental, we weren't out of the storage unit, and we needed to be. First, I had to clean out the shed. There was a whole winter's worth of firewood (for our wood-burning stove) in the shed, which we piled behind the shed (eventually, I'll cover it with a tarp). After some extensive shop-vaccing, it was ready to hold our crap. In between hanging more blinds, sorting boxes, and sorting the garage, we ran 4 or 5 loads of stuff over from the storage shed.</p> <p>I also got up on the roof to see what happened with the cooler. Turns out the compression fitting that holds the supply hose on had just popped off, so I got a wrench and tightened it back on. I may end up replacing it, if it doesn't hold, but for now we're keeping cool again. <p class="subhead">Sunday</p> <p>Day of rest, my hind end! There are still blinds to be hung, doorstops to put in, and a few more trips to the storage unit. Had to move a bunch of things around between the garage, the house, and the shed, to make room for the last stuff out of storage. Oh, and I tried to tackle the grass with my dad's old push-mower, but the grass was too high. We'll see if my gas mower will work if I give it some fuel.</p> <p>Best of all, I finally got to spend some time in my office, organizing things. I'll eventually be building cabinets and a wraparound workspace to go there, but for now I've got two folding tables and a pile of boxes. I also sorted my cables -- it's amazing how many cables of different kinds one accumulates over the years.</p> <hr> <p>There's still a bunch to do, but we're in, and feeling good about it. The kids finally have a place to play, and bedrooms for their stuff. I have my treasured office so I can get back to work on my clients' projects. And Melanie again has a place she can call her own, to decorate and organize and nest in.</p> <p>I'll post some pictures as soon as things are in a less cluttered state.</p> Mon, 23 Jun 2003 16:54:53 -0600 http://BakerDavid.com/journal/alone?id=511 <p class="subhead">Background</p> <p>For those of you who haven't been following this saga, you might want to get yourself up to speed. Here's the required reading:</p> <ul> <li><a href="/journal/2" target="_new">2 Bodies Found in West Valley Home - 26 Feb, 2003</a></li> <li><a href="/journal/6" target="_new">Great -- Now I'm Getting Hate Mail - 01 May, 2003</a></li> <li><a href="/journal/7" target="_new">Update on Brian Sullivan Case - 01 May, 2003</a></li> <li><a href="/journal/9" target="_new">Running t'ru da Gun - 02 Jun, 2003</a></li> </ul> <p class="subhead">My Friend Tommy</p> <p>Okay, here's the latest from my good buddy Tommy:</p> <blockquote> <p>X-Originating-IP: [66.74.45.200]<br/> X-Originating-Email: [cwog2@hotmail.com]<br/> From: "thomas wong" <cwog2@hotmail.com><br/> To: xxxxx@xxxxxxxxxx.com<br/> Subject: Re: larae niu<br/> Date: Mon, 02 Jun 2003 20:32:40 -1000<br/> X-OriginalArrivalTime: 03 Jun 2003 06:32:41.0084 (UTC)<br/> FILETIME=[EEDF1BC0:01C32999]<br/> Status:</p> <p>#1- you're an asshole. personal journal huh? online for the whole world? wheres the part about you jacking off? why hadn't you entered something about your own family, you know something 'real' personal, like your parents having ugly ass sex parties with the rest of you fucking faculty's from the mainland. personal journal is ...."personal". like for the bookshelf in your own house for your own family and close friends. it is usually factual and uplifting, something we think will benefit our family and kids for the positive. that is the personal journal i know. i guess by now you can tell by my bad choice of words i'm still a hotheaded bully. actually very pissed. this family is very close to me and has been my whole life, 36 years. well, that aside lets move to #2.</p> <p>#2 this is my home address ...270 vereda norte palm springs, ca. 92262 also this here is my phone#760-323-7604. this is my cell 760-413-6650. fuck you! i go to arizona all the time, lotta family there. you are just a hop skip and a jump from where i live. chances of us meeting up? reply me with your info and i'll show you how far i'll go for my friends, the niu family. your info is not hard to find anyways with this personal internet. much nicer for you to just let them be.</p> <p>#3 last but not least, you have beautiful children. must be fun. i know, i have 6 of my own.</p> <p>no need for more analizing, reply with info or shut the fuck up. wanna chat, call me. wanna come to palm springs thats my address, we got plenty of room. like i said, much nicer for you to let them be.</p> <p>_________________________________________________________________<br/> Help STOP SPAM with the new MSN 8 and get 2 months FREE*<br/> http://join.msn.com/?page=features/junkmail<br/> </blockquote> <p>Let me just point out a few things to everyone out there:</p> <ul> <li>It's a bad thing to use someone's personal information (including home address, home phone number, and cell phone number) to harrass them or make their life a living hell.</li> <li>It's a bad thing to sign a person up as a member of an organization (such as the North American Man-Boy Love Association, or the Rainbow/PUSH Coalition) without their assent.</li> <li>It's a bad thing to sign a person up for mailing lists (for information on such subjects as hardcore pornography, child pornography, bestiality, bondage/sado-masochism, white supremacy, gay rights, and so on) using their e-mail address or home address.</li> <li>It's a bad thing to use a person's name, address, and telephone number to find other personal information, such as that person's social security number, in order to commit fraud or identity theft.</li> </ul> <p>I just wanted to clear all of that up, because I wouldn't want any of these things to happen to my friend Tommy Wong, who says he lives at 270 Vereda Norte in Palm Springs, CA. I also wouldn't want anyone to call him on his home telephone at (760) 323-7604 or on his cell phone at (760) 413-6650. That would definitely be a bad thing.</p> Tue, 03 Jun 2003 10:07:52 -0600 http://BakerDavid.com/journal/alone?id=510 <p>Okay, this has been one of the weirdest days ever.</p> <p>For a couple of weeks I've been working my tail off getting ready for a big sales training meeting and trade show. Tomorrow is the day I fly out, and the big meeting is the next day, so I've been tieing up loose ends and making final preparations.</p> <p>While I was at home for lunch, Melanie chipped her tooth biting off a tag from one of the kid's new shoes. She always does this, in spite of warnings not to. So she finally chipped it, had to go in to the dentist to get it fixed.</p> <p>When I got home from work, Melanie didn't feel like cooking, and knew that we'd be away from each other for a week, so we decided to go out to Chili's. Megan was really cranky, so halfway through the meal, Melanie decided to take Megan and Ian and walk over to OfficeMax (across a big strip center parking lot). I stayed with Nathan to finish up, box up the uneaten food, and pay the bill.</p> <p>I've already <a href="/journal/8" target="_new">written</a> about the moths that are currently swarming Farmington, New Mexico. Well, when we out to the van, they were swarming in full force. I got Nathan into his chair, and as I was walking around to get into the driver's seat, I watched in slow motion as a moth buzzed around me and then flew into my ear.</p> <p>Having a live insect in one's ear canal is not something I want to do every day. The little sucker burrowed in as far as he could go. I could feel his wings or feet or some part of his anatomy scrabbling at my ear drum. As I told Ian later, it felt like something was eating my brain. I can't imagine how I looked standing in the parking lot, clutching my head, screaming obscenities.</p> <p>First I tried to dig the thing out with my finger. Not only did that not work, it also pissed the bugger off. Then I tried to squeeze the side of my head to crush it. It only made the moth scrabble harder.</p> <p>As I struggled with my internal demons, a guy came up to me and asked me if I needed help. I told him I had a moth in my ear. He said, "You'd better get to the emergency right away. We've had four cases like this just today." He even offered to drive me, but of course Melanie was at OfficeMax, and poor Nathan was in his car seat, wondering what was happening.</p> <p>So I jumped in the van and roared across to OfficeMax, doing pretty much a straight diagonal across the parking lot. Jumping out, I saw Melanie inside. When she saw me, I signed to her -- "COME NOW" (it helps to know a little sign language). The moth kept struggling against my ear drum as I tried to explain what had happened. We threw the kids into the van and drove across the street (literally) to the urgent care center.</p> <p>Melanie dropped me off, and I ran in, fumbling for my insurance card. When I finally managed to get the nurse to understand why I was screaming and holding my ear, she took pity on me and took me right in. (Melanie later told me that the counter ladies were referring to me as "shrieking moth man." As in, "I'm here to pay for my husband's care." "What's his name?" "David Baker." "Oh -- shrieking moth man.")</p> <img src="/media/themoth.jpg" width="250" height="217" align="left" hspace="10" vspace="10"> <p>The nurse had me lie down on the examination table while she poured two different kinds of liquid into my ear. Whatever it was, the moth certainly didn't like it. His death throes were probably the worst of it. I clutched the railing of the bed as the moth finally managed to die. Then she put a wad of cotton into my ear and sent me out to the waiting room.</p> <p>The funniest part was coming out and seeing the kids sitting there with Melanie. Both Ian and Nathan were sitting there holding their hands over their ears. Not a bad idea, since there were a few moths flying around the waiting room. As I waited for them to call my number I stomped on one or two.</p> <p>It didn't take long for them to call my number. It just took forever for them to finally come in with the tweezers. First, the physician's assistant had to take my vitals: blood pressure, height and weight, and of course, temperature. She made sure to do that in the <i>other</i> ear. Then more waiting. Eventually Melanie took the kids and left, because Megan was melting down and the boys were about to kill each other.</p> <p>I sat and read <i>Popular Science</i> until the doctor came in. She looked at me, sitting there comfortably, and seemed skeptical that anything was wrong. "Are you sure it's still in there?" she asked. I took out the cotton and showed her -- no moth, just whatever gunk they put in to kill it. Then she got the little lookie thingie out and took a peek into my ear. "Oh ... my ... God," she said. (These are not the exact words one wants to hear when one's doctor looks in one's ear.) She said, "It's still in there -- way in there -- and it's big." Then she left the room, and came back in a minute carrying two sets of tweezers.</p> <p>The first set was worthless. The second set, apparently, wasn't worth a lot more. "I'll be right back," the Doctor told me. I was wondering if she had gone to call Roto-Rooter when she comes back in towing an assitant, with a much longer pair of tweezers -- angled, this time.</p> <img src="/media/chekov.jpg" width="300" height="200" align="right" hspace="10" vspace="10"> <p>The assistant kind of held my ear open while the doctor reached in up to her elbow. (Or so it seemed.) Then, with a slurping sound, she pulled out the dead moth. The doctor and her assistant gawked at it for a minute before showing it to me. I had expected that the thing would be in shreds, what with me digging after it with my fingers and the way it was wiggling around. But it was completely intact, and all oily from the liquid moth death they poured in my ear.</p> <p>Naturally, I insisted that they put it in a specimen jar so I could take it home.</p> <p>So, I don't know why I was singled out by the moth community for this particular attack, but I have a theory. Over the past couple of days, I've been doing everything I can do to eradicate moths from the face of Farmington. I think the moths just figured it was time for payback. Either that, or they all stayed up last night watching <i>Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan</i>.</p> Mon, 02 Jun 2003 22:48:18 -0600 http://BakerDavid.com/journal/alone?id=509 <p class="subhead">Background</p> <p>On 2/26/2003, I posted a <a href="/journal/2" target="_new">journal entry</a> which talked about the tragic murder of an old high school friend and her young daughter. After some rather nasty e-mails, I posted a <a href="/journal/6" target="_new">follow-up entry</a>, and then some <a href="/journal/7" target="_new">recent news</a> on the case. This is another installment in that thread.</p> <p class="subhead">More Angry Mail</p> <p>It's been pretty surprising how much response I'm getting to that one journal entry. I didn't think it was offensive when I wrote it, and I still don't. The latest angry e-mail actually comes from someone I knew, a long time ago when I lived in Hawaii. Here's the message I received:</p> <blockquote> <p><b>what is the point of this webpage, are you that bored to be writing nonsense like this. i am not at all entertained by the information you're bringing up here, and would love to tell it to your face. i think its best you leave that kind of talk alone, the niu family don't need this kind of crap. i know you and your family, like i'm sure you remember me and mine. take this page off. i'll remember to tell you when i see you.</p> <p>tommy xxxx</p></b> </blockquote> <p>Just hearing from Tommy (I'll just leave it at his first name) dredges up memories that I haven't thought about in a long time. Our family moved to Hawaii when I was just about to turn 12. Now any family move is a difficult transition, but a move that involves a huge amount of culture shock and family upheaval can be pretty traumatic. It was at that point in my life that I met Tommy.</p> <p>Tommy's dad was the scoutmaster of the local Boy Scout troop. At least once a month, we would all hike into the mountains above Laie to have a campout. The first time I went up with the scouts, I was pretty excited. I'd just turned 12, so it was my first time camping with the scouts. The actual experience, however, turned out to be a nightmare.</p> <p>This was a jungle troop, nothing like the scouting I was used to. I didn't understand a lot of what the other scouts were saying, because I was a new <i>haole</i> and hadn't grown accustomed to pidgin. There was no "organization" per se -- it was really just a bunch of guys with machetes going up into the mountains. And these were big Polynesian guys, and I was an undersized haole punk. To tell the truth, they frightened the crap out of me.</p> <p>On my first campout, the other guys took most of the food I had brought. I can remember some of the guys chasing me around with their machetes. Once, when the scoutmaster wasn't looking, one of the scouts took his machete and started chopping the ground around my feet, just to scare me. The guys took to calling me "white ding-ding" (literally, "white dick") as a pet name.</p> <p>And that's pretty much how it went for my first year as a scout.</p> <p>I say "when the scoutmaster wasn't looking," but I wasn't entirely sure he would have had a problem with that kind of behavior. I don't know about how he is now, but back then Tommy's dad was a mean son of a bitch. Just about every week, I'd end up mouthing off at one of the other scouts who had inevitably been giving me a hard time. As a punishment, I was forced to "run t'ru da gun." Tommy's dad would have the scouts form two lines, and each would take off a shoe or flip-flop (they called them "slippahs"). Then I'd have to run between the two lines of boys. As I passed, each boy was encouraged to hit me as hard as he could with his footwear.</p> <p>Tommy's dad is one of the major reasons I still hate the Boy Scout program.</p> <p>All this is just to contextualize the e-mail. I can't remember the last time I saw or talked to Tommy. He was ahead of me a couple of years in school, so it's probably been at least 17 or 18 years. And now he's reading my web log, and e-mailing me casual threats. Isn't the Internet wonderful?</p> <p>Just for kicks and giggles, here is my response to Tommy's e-mail:</p> <blockquote> <p>Tommy, <p>Of course I remember you. How could I forget those old Fourth Ward days going up to the mountain with your dad and the scouts? <p>I hate to point out the obvious, but you obviously didn't get the point of that journal entry. (I can only assume that you're talking about this: http://bakerdavid.com/journal/2) Did you even bother to read my follow-up entry (linked here: http://bakerdavid.com/journal/6)? Or the follow-up after that? (Read it here: http://bakerdavid.com/journal/7) <p>First of all, this is an entry in my online journal. It's not a news story, or a fact-based essay. It's a journal entry, a piece of personal expression. I'm guessing you found it online through a search engine -- I'm not sure why Google and other search engines are ranking this site so high, but for some reason it's coming up near the top of search results when you search for information on "Larae Niu" and "Larae Sullivan." Can't really help that. <p>Just a few more detailed responses to your e-mail: <p><b>--> "are you that bored to be writing nonsense like this"</b> -- It's not boredom, it's actually something we've all been encouraged to do: keep a personal journal. It just so happens that mine is online. And if you think it's nonsense, you're certainly free to not read it. <br/><b>--> "i am not at all entertained by the information you're bringing up here"</b> -- It's not really my job to entertain you, Tommy. <br/><b>--> "...and would love to tell it to your face"</b> -- Nice to know that you haven't changed a bit in the 20 years since I've had anything to do with you. (See below) <br/><b>--> "i know you and your family, like i'm sure you remember me and mine"</b> -- It's been a long time, but I vividly remember you as a hotheaded bully, and your dad as a sadistic scoutmaster. Those memories aren't terribly fond for me. You probably remember me as a cocky, know-it-all haole. Not much has changed, apparently. <br/><b>--> "take this page off"</b> -- Where do you get off telling other people what to do? <br/><b>--> "i'll remember to tell you when I see you."</b> -- What are the chances of that ever happening? Nice macho posturing, though.</p> <p>I mean, come on, now. If you'd paid attention, you would have noticed that this entry is not really "about" the deaths of LaRae and Kehaulani. First and foremost, it's a collection of random thoughts and recollections. More importantly, it's also about a bunch of high school friends getting in touch, sharing information, and coping with news of a tragedy that happened to someone they all knew.</p> <p>So calm down, go back, read all 3 entries, and reassess your judgement. Oh -- and lay off the threats. Don't you think they're kind of ridiculous, given the situation?</p> <p>David Baker</p> </blockquote> <p>One more quick note to Tommy: there are these things called capital letters. All you have to do is press the shift key, then press the letter you want to capitalize. Just a handy hint.</p> <hr> <p>After replying to this latest e-mail, I had a crisis of conscience. I went back and re-read the <a href="/journal/2" target="_new">original journal entry</a>, just to make sure I wasn't recalling it incorrectly. Then, against my better judgement, I made a few edits. Nothing major, just tweaked a few things to be a little more sensitive to LaRae's family. Maybe it's just the memory of Tommy and his slippah -- or worse, Tommy and his machete. Maybe I'm just getting tired of <i>running t'ru da gun</i> every time someone stumbles across my online journal. Anyway, we'll see what happens.</p> Mon, 02 Jun 2003 00:51:21 -0600 http://BakerDavid.com/journal/alone?id=508 <p>I've been running on high for so many weeks now, I can't think of where to start. I've been to Los Angeles and Phoenix, run a photo shoot and a video shoot for IMS, and somehow managed to find a house and make motions towards buying. At this point, we've essentially abandoned the idea of building a home. Every time we tried to take a step toward that goal, it seemed circumstances conspired to prevent it. Then, when we decided to think about buying instead, a home presented itself. Even before we'd seen the whole house, we knew we'd make an offer on it. Happily, the sellers accepted our offer.</p> <p class="subhead">The House</p> <p>The house is a 40-year old 4-bedroom, smaller than our previous place, but considerably bigger than our first house. It's on a nice lot in a nice neighborhood, just a block down from one of the best elementary schools in Farmington. And it's about 4 blocks away from my brother's house, which is also a nice plus.</p> <p>Not to say that there's no work to be done. What good is a house if there are no projects? To start with, we'll rip up carpet in two of the bedrooms and expose (and refinish) the hardwood floors there. We'll need to install a bunch of ceiling fans, some new lighting, and perhaps even upgrade the old 100 amp service to 200 amps, in order to bring more power into the house. The most important fix will come later, when we'll retrofit all of the old wood-framed windows with better-insulated vinyl.</p> <p>I'm also looking forward to creating a new office in the spare bedroom. I've got it all planned out. I'll try my hand at some cabinetry, and do another L-shaped countertop to hold may various workstations. Then, I'll do some massive built-in bookcases so I can finally get out the books I've been hauling around in boxes. I won't quite know what to do with my library, once I have it out.</p> <p class="subhead">The Moths</p> <p>Farmington is a strange place. They always say that if you don't like the weather here, just wait 5 minutes and it will change. But "they" never told us about the moths. This started about 5 days ago. One day, we noticed that there were more and more moths flying around, and then the next night, they were literally swarming the city.</p> <p>Saturday night, Melanie and I would kill half a dozen moths that had made it into the house, only to have another half dozen appear. We closed every window in the house, and they were still getting in. Eventually, we realized they were squeezing in through the back door of our rental place. Since we don't really use that door, I simply taped it shut, creating a moth-proof zone.</p> <p>Sunday afternoon, I opened up our storage shed to move a few things around, in preparation for our move. Even before the doors came open, the moths started coming out. It was like something from a Hitchcock film. They flew in our faces, in our hair (which for me isn't that big a deal) -- one even wiggled up my pants leg. Ick.</p> <p>Our storage shed has a single window that was showing daylight, so I turned on my Shop-Vac, pointed the nozzle close to the window and created my own little moth hotel. I must have sucked up at least 300 of the little buggers. Of course, that didn't make a dent in the population. By Sunday night, we had enough moths around the back porch light to make us think that Pharoah was pissing off the Lord and Moses was trying to get out of Farmington.</p>