Miscellaneous Ramblings

Name:
Location: Oshawa, Ontario, Canada

Sunday, November 19, 2006

Miscellaneous Ramblings

Haven't posted for a while due to other commitments, and a lack of anything to say.

Why do we have a youth criminal justice system? That is, why do we treat offenders differently before a certain age?

Presumably it is because we know, by intuition, from experience and, increaingly, through scientific study, that young peoples' understanding of right and wrong - their judgement - takes time to develop.

Yet, whenever a kid proves this thory by perpetrating a serious crime, there is a hue and cry to have him (sometimes her) tried and sentenced as an adult. It isn't so much the jail time that worries me. It is the idea of putting a teenager into an adult penitentiary.

Saturday, August 26, 2006

Really gettin' old, I guess.

When I answer my business phone I say, "Ooten Aboot speaking" which I consider a business-like way to answer, especially since I do business under my own name. People who call my business phone legitimately call because they want to speak with me.

I get a lot of calls from people I don't know, trying to sell me something I don't need or want. They almost all open with "Hi Ooten! How are you?" Why do businesses train people to behave that way?

Recently I responded with, "Do we know each other?" to which the voice replied, "No, I'm just asking how you are." "Well," I said, "I'm busy working, and I suppose you are too." Then I hung up.

Later I got an e-mail that read as follows (names changed to protect the innocent until proven guilty):

Hi Ooten,

I tried to contact your [sic] earlier today to pass along my contact information, but it sounded like you were a little busy.

Please do not hesitate to contact me should you have any needs.

Thank you,

Gnu Guy
Inside Wholesaler
Colossal Investments Canada Ltd
123 Any St. Suite 1000000
Toronto, ON P05 T4L
Tel: (999) 555-1212/ (888) 555-3434
Fax : (999) 555-7777

gnu.guy@colossal.com

Okay. I was rude. But why didn't Gnu identify himself on the phone the way he did in the e-mail? If he had opened with "Ooten, this is Gnu Guy from Colossal. I'm your new inside contact . . ." he would have got an entirely different reception. Phoning someone is just like knocking on their door. When they answer, it is up to you to identify yourself and state your reason for being there.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

This morning I left a post on another blog: Crap Every Time by Barb. To turn the comment around, life is like soup: it is what you make it.

So why, I wonder, am I doing this? Why are you reading it (if anyone is reading it)?

I have just been trying to figure out something in a magazine article (Hemmings Classic Car #24, September 2006). In the Mechanical Marvels column on piston rings, Ray T. Bohacz states, "One quart of oil contains approximately 36,500 drops. If a vehicle is driven 55 mph and consumes 1/864 drop of oil during each piston stroke, then this would equate to one quart of oil burned in 1,000 miles . . . ."

I am a bean counter, not a gearhead, so maybe I missed something, but aren't there some undisclosed assumptions here? For example, don't the gearing (transmission and final drive) and/or the number of cylinders come into it?

Lemmesee:

36,500 x 864 = 31,536,000 piston strokes.

Dividing by 2 gives 15,768,000 piston cycles (a piston makes 2 strokes - down and up, or up and down - per revolution of the crankshaft.) Dividing by 1,000 gives us 15,768 piston cycles per mile.

If Bohacz were an old-time reader of Road & Track, he might have made the calculations easier by assuming 60 mph, since engine revs per mile in high gear is the same number as rpm at 60 mph (remember the Tapley Meter, RIP?). At 55 mph, a vehicle travels about 0.91666 mile per minute. Stand that on its head and it takes about 1.0909 minutes to go a mile. The mind boggles. Anyway, 15,000 is a lot of rpm for a passenger vehicle, so Bohacz must be talking piston cycles rather than engine revolutions. The cars I've driven recently do a little under 2,000 rpm at 60 mph in high which, in those cars, has usually been an overdrive.

Dividing 15,768 by 2,000 gives 7.884 so I conclude that Bohacz was contemplating an 8 cylinder vehicle. Did he work backwards to come up with 1/864 drop of oil, or is that some SAE rule of thumb?

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Gettin' old. My morning paper (the Globe and Mail, which styles itself "Canada's National Newspaper") arrived with its monthly "magazine for men" called Toro. Besides being short for Toronto, I guess, "Toro" is supposed to connote "bull" in the sense of tough, muscular, masculine. Of course, bull has other connotations.

The magazine amounts to Playboy Lite. (I don't read Playboy except when I accidentally come across a copy lying around. Unlike Hugh Hefner, I stopped being a thirteen year-old boy when I turned fourteen.) As Playboy is soft porn with articles, Toro is ultrasoft porn with even softer articles. The cover come-ons include "Exclusive: How a normal kid became Canada's pedophile killer", "Stripper fitness" and "High cholesterol? No Problem."

"Canada's pedophile killer" shot two men listed on the Maine registry of sex offenders in April. It's a sad story all around. The article adds nothing of substance to the newspaper stories of four months ago. It certainly does not deliver the explanation promised on the cover. What grates on me is that the newspaper that aspires to be Canada's answer to The Times (London or New York? Take your pick) assumes I want supermarket tabloid trash delivered to my doorstep.

Saturday, August 19, 2006

It's my birthday. The first thing I checked was my blogger profile, which confirms I am suddenly one year older; six hours into the last year of my sixth decade. While big deal, eh? What's so special about a birthday?

A birthday is a time to reflect on the past year, s sort of personal New Year's Day that you only share with just over a quarter of one percent of your fellow human beings. The most significant event of my last year was that my elder daughter and her husband made me a grandfather and my wife a grandmother. A quarter of a century after our girls ceased to be little, we again have a little girl.

Now, with no disrespect intended to little boys, nothing to my mind is so life affirming as a little girl in a pretty dress. She becomes joy personified. I mean pure joy, the simple exhilaration of being alive. There isn't anything prurient about it, just a reminder that for all its faults, life on this planet can be worthwhile.

Why then - and this is brought to mind by the recent developments in the JonBenét Ramsey case - do some adults insist on gilding the lily? That little girl - be she my grandaughter, your daughter or just a neighbourhood kid playing in the park - doesn't need head-to-toe makeup or sequins or jewelry except maybe a simple gold necklace with a heart-shaped locket. Okay, perhaps a small cross or whatever religious symbol her parents might choose.

She doesn't need high boots. let alone high heels. She needs rain boots if it's raining and snowboots if it's snowing, but then she'll be wearing a raincoat or a snowsuit. High-heeled hooker boots she doesn't need.

I think all that junior beauty contest stuff just panders to the pedophile. Why the pedophile finds the little girl, or little boy for that matter, an object of sexual attraction is beyond me. It is also beyond our justice system that treats pedophilia as just another crime when it's probably a mental disorder. Of course, the justice system treats drug addiction the same way. Twenty-first century North America has the world's best nineteenth century criminal justice and penal systems.

Most women spend a good deal of time and money making themselves as attractive as possible. When a woman overdoes it, what do we say? She looks like a whore! So what are we to think when a parent, usually a mother, overdoes it for her daughter? What is she trying to tell the world about her little girl?

Friday, August 18, 2006

It's been almost a week since I had the energy to post. We've been recovering from a round of home renovation: exterior painting, new eavestroughs (gutters to some) and downspouts, replacing three-quarters of the windows, replacing the gas furnace, installing central air and having the chimney rebuilt and relined. Three of those projects were going on at once, making us feel as if we were the intruders. It was an interesting study in people.

The painters were good guys, neat and efficient. The only problem was that they started with two guys, then left one to finish up - fine except my wife and I had to pitch in at the end to help him remount the window shutters. That was a puzzle because the guys who first put them up had not used consistent screw hole patterns, and the painters had not labelled them when they removed them. Live and learn, eh?

The eavestrough guys were also neat and efficient, although far from quiet. They were a French Canadian Mutt and Jeff - a big strong fellow and a small quick one - who made a perfect team and seemed to make the job fun. They laughed and joked the whole time. Luckily my French is just good enough to be sure that it wasn't all about me!

The window installers should give lessons to other contractors on how to behave. Considering they had to enter every room in the house, they caused a minimum of disruption and cleaned up so well there was no trace of them ever having been there, except for the new windows. They also bought our discarded window air conditioners!

The chimney guy was fine. He made a heck of a mess taking down old bricks and mortar, but cleaned it up nicely. He even hosed down the driveway when he was done. Funny thing: he had the loudest speaking voice I've ever heard, which likely comes from spending most of his life up on a roof talking to his helper on the ground.

I would recommend any of the tradesmen I've mentioned so far. If you are in my general area and want any of the names, just drop me a note.

The heating and air conditioning was another story altogether. I got four estimates and, against my instincts I went for the lowest. I probably wouldn't have done that except the costs of the other projects were starting to mount up.

As much as you try to do regular maintenance, when you've owned a house for twenty-five years some of the components and systems just have to be renewed, and a bunch of them seemed to come at once. We should have replaced the windows when we bought the place, but we had two little kids and other financial priorities. We had put in five new windows over the years, but there were still twenty to go so we decided to bite the bullet and put in vinyl windows. That meant we could no longer use window A/Cs because drilling holes in the vinyl voids the warranty. That in turn meant going to central A/C, and that meant a new gas furnace. The existing one was 22 years old, so it would have been due soon but probably not for two or three years.

Anyway, I tried to save a grand or so on the heating & cooling equipment, and ended up paying for it in frustration.

The house, which is about 60 years old, originally had a coal furnace in the center of the basement. When we bought it, the coal burner had been converted to oil, quite a common upgrade in these parts during the 1950s. At least you didn't have to shovel coal and breathe the dust. By the time we bought the place in 1981, the oil burner was overdue for replacement, natural gas was a lot cheaper than oil, and cleaner burning to boot.

What we didn't know was that we were sold a furnace at least a third too large for the house: 120,000 BTUH when we only needed around 80,000. This year, every one of the four estimators brought that up, and every one also said the furnace was installed illegally, as it was only 22 inches from the service door to the wall, when the building code requires 24 inches (now 600 mm). Fine. So the cowboy they sent to install the new furnace left only 16 inches clearance, because it meant less sheetmetal work. Then he failed to show up the second day (Friday) to finish the job. I spent the day trying to contact the company, to no avail until the installer's boss called me at 4:00 pm to ask how the job was going!

The local gas utility used to inspect installations, but now they'll only come the first time gas equipment is installed on a property. They leave it up to licensed contractors to follow the code on replacement jobs. That makes no sense, of course. If the licensed contractors' work needs to be inspected sometimes, why not all the time? After all, you're not dealing with a bathtub that might leak, or a driveway that might crack. If a gas appliance goes up in smoke, it can take half the neighbourhood with it.

The gas company was kind ebnough to inform me that if, in the future, a repair or service person determined that the installation was not up to code, they could shut off the gas until the defect was corrected.

The boss came Monday (the cowboy did not return), expressed his great disgust and proceeded to spend several hours of hammering and tinsnipping and "kicking the thing eight inches" to meet the code. So guess what? When he was done I measured the clearance at 21 inches! Oh no, he said, you measure with the access panels removed. Okay. 23 inches! After much argument, he says he's staking his licence on this installation being acceptable and "nobody's going to shut you down for an inch!"

Easy for him to say. Guess who will not be on my list of recommended contractors. Live and learn, eh?

Saturday, August 12, 2006

Saturday and time to recharge the old batteries. Right. Right after the housework, the yard work and the paper work.

What is it about batteries - dry cells for the pedantic? The most commonly used general purpose sizes seem to be AA, AAA and D. Of those, AAs seem to have the shortest endurance. The AAs were dropping like flies, so I bought a recharger and some rechargeable AAs for a number of devices including a digital camera, a wireless mouse and wireless headphones. Yet AAAs and Ds last so long I can't justify the cost of rechargeables. Can anyone explain that?

And another thing: where I live, batteries are usually sold in pairs or packs of four, yet more and more devices seem to require three cells. Is this a plot hatched by the people who brought us hot dogs packaged in sixes and buns in eights?