Random stuff.

--Last night, we drove my mother and my newly-minted 14 year-old to dinner last night for their respective birthdays. We went to a French bakery and cafe that, while a chain, still puts out some really great food. Mom got a Sacher torte, and moaned: "This is as good as the one that I had in Brussels." Mom had gone on a tour of Europe after graduating from SMU in the mid-'60s.

My brother's eyes shone. "My mother has been waiting over 40 years for just the right opportunity to say that!" he proclaimed. I laughed so hard the excellent coffee that I was drinking almost came out my nostrils.

--While checking out some city property on duty last weekend, I got stung in the right earlobe by a wasp. After finishing what I was doing, I found some Windex to spray on my ear, the ammonia in which actually did quell the pain somewhat. For the next several hours, my ear lobe was bright red and swollen, but it went down within the day. But for the next several days, there was a seriously sore nagging kind of itch behind my jawbone in the neck, ranging up to the ear. The venom must have managed to get to the mandibular nerve, and sat there.

Back in police academy, they taught us how to use the mandibular nerve as an effective pressure point for pain compliance techniques.  One technique was to place the thumb into the notch behind the jaw to activate the mandibular nerve, and the stiff blade of the hand rolled firmly into and across the philtrum to activate the infra-orbital nerve. This is called the "C-Clamp," and is pretty effective at getting an uncooperative person (especially if they are sitting, as in an automobile) to move where you want them to go, without causing injury. We practiced it on each other repeatedly in class, and the soreness behind my jaw felt a lot like it did after those pressure point classes, but with an extra kick. Today it finally feels better.

--The Subaru Outback that we bought had a lot of road noise in the rear. The salesman that demo'd the car to me assured me that it was a tire that needed replacing, with a broken belt in it. I didn't think so, and took it by my mechanic. He rode in the back seat, and pronounced the problem to be the right rear wheel bearing. He then got out his laptop, and I bought a new bearing for $79 and had it sent to him. I took the car to him yesterday. He chatted with me as he swapped out the bearing over a leisurely hour in his driveway. We hopped in the car to road test it, and it was silent. Success. I picked up some cash from the bank to pay the guy. This was undoubtedly why no one else had bid even $7k on a car that was about $30k six years ago. Success! The wife is happy (it's her car), which means that I'm happy.

-- The Outback has heated front seats, with a rheostat for each seat. This will be really useful for that weekend when the temperature drops below 30 degrees.

--I've signed up for a Public Administration graduate class this semester. Three hours. $1370. Good gawd.

--My old roommate Bill needs a gun to shoot his CHL class with. I'm borrowing Dad's Glock Kit, which is a .30 cal ammo can stuffed with a Glock 19, a loaded magazine, two spare magazines in a carrier, a Fobus paddle holster, a box of 9mm, and usually an oily rag to keep everything from rattling around. Dad keeps it as a quick and easy loaner kit, and frankly, I think that it's a great idea. It also would make a great car gun set, in its almost indestructible O-ring-sealed steel box. I need to set up something modular like that, myself.

--My 14-year-old daughter doesn't much want her picture taken. She's okay with her Dad, but she's aloof. Hugs are rare. The 10-year-old still loves to come hug Daddy. But I know that the time is coming when she'll be too cool for that, too. I expect these things. But it still makes my heart ache a bit when they come to pass.

--This weekend, I have to do some work on a state grant, and get a hunter's license, and get my text book, and install a new porch door for my mom, and get Bill his loaner gun, and speak to my university adviser, and... I better get moving.

The Lost Week.

Occasionally, we have a week that went away with little to show for it, and little regret for that, either.

Two or three months ago, I made reservations at the local hostel near Phlegmmy's, to enjoy a weekend at her now Almost-World-Famous Phlegmfest. Either my calender or my reckoning was off, because I was scheduled to work that weekend, which I only realized a week or two before the date. I had just gotten a memo from my Human Resources person at work, informing me and my boss that I was no longer accruing vacation time, as I had maxed out at 360 hours. Also, I still had 56 of my 80 use-it-or-lose-it holiday hours left on the books, to be burnt no later than September 30th. This gave me some leverage to get a weekend off, and my supervisor was kind enough to make it happen.

As we were down to one car for the weekend, and that one sans air conditioning, my bride declined to attend the event. So it was that I called Ambulance Driver, en route from Louisiana, and caught a ride with him and Katy Beth.

It was remarked upon by someone that the 120 year old renovated B&B that some of us were staying at during the weekend may have quaint and rustic, but also seemed to be designed (with its hardwood floors and tin ceiling and transoms and brick walls and such) to magnify the acoustics of amorous endeavors. Thus it was rather ironic that I should have drawn the most remote of the upstairs rooms for my solitary chaste self.

We shot at LawDog's club range on Saturday (a write-up of the Mustang Pocketlite later), and discovered that some fathers don't parent their kids at the range. Another patron of the range, intent on showing off to his buddy, corralled his 7 year old son only once, that I saw... when the boy ran some 15 to 20 feet forward of the firing line during a hot range. The boy then continually ran among us as we unpacked firearms, spraying us with volleys from his very real-looking electric MP5K sub machine gun toy. This made us twitchedy. In fact, Stingray found himself raising his voice at me about TIME TO GO! YOU SAID AN HOUR! IT'S BEEN AN HOUR AND A HALF! And pointed at his watch, inquiring if I in fact knew how to use one of these. Stingray is not a noted fan of juvenile humans. (Katy Beth is a noted exception.)  We left, and enjoyed good cheer again for the departure.  (It's a decent range. But Annoying Kid was Really Annoying.)

While I was driving us back, I whipped into the drive-through a Braum's for some ice cream for AD, KB, and me. This of course was the only thing that made us immune to this beautiful piece of marketing by Dairy Queen, just moments later:

(Click to embiggen.) (Photo Credit: Ambo Driver.)

Well played, Dairy Queen. 

The next day, I went to training in Addison, TX, for a silly court officer class. In our small department, all the patrolmen have to do a monthly or bi-monthly rotation as bailiff, and we all serve municipal warrants. I was NOT looking forward to this school, even though it was held at a rather nice hotel. Actually, the classes were pretty good, and I got some ideas for skip tracing and for grants that I'll import to my regular job. The food was superb, too. I called my wife and asked her to take a day off of come join me. When I got out of class the third day, she and I went to a movie. Moonrise Kingdom, which I'd never heard of before, was actually a nice dry comedy that gave some nice tastes of what summer Scout camp was like. It's set in 1965, and even though it's got some big names, it seems to be something of an art house flick.  My wife and I gave it two thumbs up. 

When I got home on Wednesday evening, it was storming. I got the fire page that a house was burning, and I went in and suited up, still wearing my business casual work outfit from training. We fought that fire for hours, but we lost it. 

Though I crossed the threshold of it pulling a hose to attack flames within, I certainly wouldn't claim that I made an "interior attack" on a fire, because there was blue sky above me while I did it.

The next day, I had lunch with Mr. Fixit, a firefighter and Texas lawman his own self, whom I'd spoken with on the phone several times before, but never met. It's embarrassing to be late to meet a guy for the first time. It's more embarrassing to discover that you've forgotten your wallet for lunch and have to beg off of him. It's MORE embarrassing to afterwards discover that your best slacks were badly split open, from the events of the night before.

Friday, I went with my partner to do some work on a grant that we received, and assisted my coworkers in the briefest possible way on a warrant that they put together on a child molester. (Always a satisfying thing to do.)  Then, leisure man that I am, I went to go see Promethius. I was very impressed. Go see it in 3D. Go see it in the theater. Do not do any research about it. Don't let anyone tell you anything about it. I will only say that it is a science fiction flick with an easy-to-follow plot, that it is visually stunning, and that it has some scary scenes in it.

After the movie I had some beers with Scott, and we debated yet again the issue of the contents of a classic martini (which neither of us drank).

Today, I dropped off my elder daughter to go on her youth mission trip (she was so excited that she couldn't sleep last night) and my wife took my younger daughter to stay with her grandmother down in Austin.

Beers tomorrow night with my partner. One might almost wonder if I ever work. :)

What a great week.

Excercise for you physics boffins.

In my new hobby gig as a hose-dragger, I've been practicing SCBA drills. We've been changing bottles in the dark or with a blinder mask on, donning and doffing at speed, going through obstacle courses with wax paper in our mask plates, etc. At the end of each exercises, you go to the compressor and refill the tanks. This is a fairly straightforward process, but one can't just dump the air from the waiting storage tanks in all at once, or the SCBA tanks get hot, and the air doesn't seem to want to go in. I mentioned the issue of the liquid boiling up, and one of the younger firefighters said, "liquid? It's just air. There's no liquid." I tried to explain that, thanks to Charles' Law (and Boyle's Law), gases under enough pressure do go to liquid state*, but he didn't get it.

We use the Scott air packs with carbon fibre tanks, and I hadn't realized just how awesome they were until we did some training with a neighboring agency that uses old Scott air packs with old steel tanks. The carbon fibre tanks are slightly larger than a 3-litre bottle in diameter, and a bit longer. They are filled to 4500 psi. The steel tanks are much larger --about 11" in diameter and a few inches longer-- and weigh about 4 times more. The steel tanks only go to 2500 psi.  Here's the thing: both hold 45 cubic feet of air.

Interestingly, both packs will take each others' bottles, but the more modern carbon fibre bottles have to be bled down to 2500psi before being put on the older packs. Better than nothing, but not good. Given the decreased volume, 2500 psi on one of those is not much.

Supposedly, 45'^3 of air is good for thirty minutes. In my experience, I get about 10 to 15 when laboring. Hey, I'm a big boy.

While refilling the carbon fibre bottles, the same young guy gets really frustrated at how very long it takes to get from 3800 psi to 4000psi, which we've set as the minimum amount that the bottles must be filled. The large electric compressor labors for a long time, long after the storage bottles are depleted.
I told him that I am quite sure that the mass of air stacks with the volume-- it's not a linear progression for amount of air inserted for a given volume over a given time from 2500 to 2700psi, say, as it is to 3800 to 4000 psi.

So here is my question, and Stingray, take note:

For a given cylinder of, say: 6" X 21", what is the amount of volume of air (at STP) being inserted between between 2500 psi and 2700 psi?

Then, what's the volume of air (at STP) being inserted between 4000 psi and 4200 psi?

Express your answer in equivalent cubic feet, at STP.

________________________________
*EDIT: Though, probably not in this case. Consensus seems to be that the pressure isn't high enough to achieve liquid air, in these bottles.

No good deed...

I looked at the schedule. Chief was off. Sergeant was off. Rookie was scheduled to be on, tonight, by himself.

On New Year's Eve.

Huh.

I checked the schedule again. Plenty of overlap between me and the guy that I relieve later in the week.

My family are out of town. I'm scheduled off, but I'm not doing anything tonight but watching instant downloads of Battlestar Gallactica on NetFlix.

I called my sergeant. "Hey, how about I come in at 2200, or so, and help out our rookie until about 0200, and I can just shave the time off my shifts later in the week?" 

I kind of thought that he would be tickled to have the extra body on, and figured that it might save him a butt-chewing from our chief, who comes off vacation next week.

"Yeah, okay. Just email me the hours you worked tonight, so we don't have you going into overtime," said my sergeant. "Oh, and hey! If you're going to be out there, be busy!"

Great.

So I guess I'll go see if I can find a drunk driver, here in a little bit. Please don't let it be you, or yours. Protect those that you care for.

And please have a happy new year, friends.

Thursday afternoon thoughts.

--A north Texas Fox affiliate has started keeping a rogues' gallery of recent public mugshots from area departments. And it's greatness.

However, Sheriff Joe's Maricopa County S.O.'s page where you can vote on their best mugshot seems seedy to me. I know, I know-- both shots come from the published mugshots published by the sheriff's office. But in the MCSO case, it seems to me that THEM publishing the voting system and showing the results is unprofessional, and beyond the pale. There's a difference.

--When I mentioned to the girls that I was going to need their help grouting after a nap, I awoke to an empty house.

--Mom's coming back home from physical rehab, 9 days after the orthopedic surgeon cut out her left knee and replaced it with a titanium and silicone man-made one. The scar from her June 1 surgery on the other knee is tiny. It still blows me away that we can routinely do this kind of thing for people who aren't Steve Austin, or the president.

--Younger readers will assume that I'm referring to a wrestler when I say Steve Austin. Hang on-- [checking] He quit wrestling 12 years ago, and is now an actor? Tells you how much of a wrestling fan I am. (Which is to say: not at all.)

--If you told a kid today that a person required Six Million Dollars to get well from a major accident, they would just shrug. According to the Inflation Calculator, $6M in 1974 dollars would be $26.2M in 2010 dollars. It won't calculate 2011. While that's a big jump, I think that the bigger jump is the amount of money that we're willing to spend on medical care.

--Which is why I'm pushing my elder daughter toward medical school.

--My kids have begun taking daily walks while on Christmas vacation. The 13 year-old keeps an eye on the nine-year old. The nine year-old tells on the 13 year-old. They have a cell phone with them. It's a good system. They're actually pretty good kids.

--The wife and I are sojourning into Dallas tonight to see The Old 97s play. I've been a fan for almost a decade and a half, but have never seen them live. I'm looking forward to it. They've got some good guitar hooks, some excellent lyrics, and they can walk the line between country/rockabilly and good old fast-paced rock. Plus, I've always loved their irreverent cover of Marty Robbin's great song "El Paso."

--I like the way the drum stutters as he's making his way back to Rosa's Cantina.

--The moon last night hung like a question mark, but when I saw it setting, it wasn't bold as milk; it looked more like a tequila sunrise.

--I accepted a minor challenge from a friend the night before last, and did 12 minutes of Crossfit, thinking afterwards that I would do 12:30 the next day. Um, no. There seems to be a mass that has grown between my chest and my knees, making situps/crunches much harder than I remember them. Odd. I get that XFit is scalable to your ability. But it's probably smart to understand your baseline. We'll do 12 minutes again, here in just a bit, to see how many sets I get through. (5 pushups, 10 situps, and 15 squats, wash-rinse-repeat, during the time set aside.)

--My 13 year-old daughter came in while I was doing the sets, laughed at me, and started doing the cycles with me. The next day she wasn't laughing so much. But it still makes me a little smug that she does good pushups without a second thought. Most girls just aren't taught to.

--I need to test her for time on the disassembly-reassembly-function check on my 1911s again. She was pretty brisk at it, as a 9 year-old. I need to also check the 9-year-old out on that.

--Why is Steven Tyler suddenly in the news so much, lately? I've liked Aerosmith since I was in junior high, and he's their frontman, but they haven't really done much beyond rock power ballads for the last 20 years, and... and... okay, I'm an ageist. Tyler's a guy in his 60's who wears gender-ambiguous garb and goofy hats, and still clearly uses a great deal of recreational drugs. Grampaw should start to act his age, or sumpin'.

--

Oops.

Last night my wife and I ran some errands together, and dropped by the local gettin' place.  When I say "local," I mean to say that everyone in town goes to this store, and that it's kind of an informal gathering spot. One of the cashiers made some light joke about "I wish y'all would quit coming by my house all the time unannounced. Last time I barely got the guns and drugs hid in time." For some reason, this guy brings up my job whenever I come in off duty. He knows that I know that he's a pretty straight arrow, and to the best of my knowledge he's not had any problems with the law.

His co-worker then teased me that she had seen my mother (who is my next door neighbor) the other day, and that Mom had all kinds of bad stuff to reveal about me. Also clearly a joke. She finished with something to the extent of: "Oh yeah. She and I sure brought up old times!"

Good-naturedly, I responded, also tongue in cheek: "Old times? I didn't know you were on her caseload from before she retired from CPS."

Instantly, she ducked her head into her shoulders, turned her back toward her co-worker, and said, wide-eyed and sotto voce, "Is that where I knew her from? You know, that was all a big misunderstanding, and we got that straightened out, and they finally closed that case on me, you know..."

I quickly said that I had just been joking, but she kept talking, "I never realized that, the whole time we were talking..."

Cue the crickets.

I explained quickly that my mother had never discussed cases with me, and I fled the store. I found my wife halfway to the car, already. She turned to me, and we exclaimed, in sing-song unison: "Awk-ward!"

And we left.