maddie jane

: : : geek diaries : : :

welcome... this is bolander.net, a collection of musings, random thoughts, some pictures of me and my friends, and lots of my daughter, maddie, some links to favorite places on the 'net, and various sundry other things. have a look around, you might find something useful, or even interesting.

there isn't any rhyme or reason, this is a place for me to vent, post thoughts, comment on the mundane, quote verse, and sometimes share the very rare flashes of sheer, unadulterated genius. they can happen to anyone, even me.

: : : i'm a geek, get over it : : :

this site, and all pages, images, and content herein are (c) brian j. bolander. you may not link to nor use any image or content without prior written permission.
: : :   the archives   : : :



. . . unf unf unf

knapp 410


droolage.




. . . burn, fi-fi, burn!!!

hah! turn it up to eleven.




. . . the real katrina story...

from this site - long read, well worth it.

sep 6, 2005, 11:59, by parmedics larry bradshaw and lorrie beth slonsky:

two days after hurricane katrina struck new orleans, the walgreen's store at the corner of royal and iberville streets remained locked. the dairy display case was clearly visible through the widows. it was now 48 hours without electricity, running water, plumbing. the milk, yogurt, and cheeses were beginning to spoil in the 90-degree heat. the owners and managers had locked up the food, water, pampers, and prescriptions and fled the city. outside walgreen's windows, residents and tourists grew increasingly thirsty and hungry.

the much-promised federal, state and local aid never materialized and the windows at walgreen's gave way to the looters. there was an alternative. the cops could have broken one small window and distributed the nuts, fruit juices, and bottle water in an organized and systematic manner. but they did not. instead they spent hours playing cat and mouse, temporarily chasing away the looters.

we were finally airlifted out of new orleans two days ago and arrived home yesterday (saturday). we have yet to see any of the tv coverage or look at a newspaper. we are willing to guess that there were no video images or front-page pictures of european or affluent white tourists looting the walgreen's in the french quarter.

we also suspect the media will have been inundated with "hero" images of the national guard, the troops and the police struggling to help the "victims" of the hurricane.

what you will not see, but what we witnessed, were the real heroes and sheroes of the hurricane relief effort: the working class of new orleans. the maintenance workers who used a fork lift to carry the sick and disabled. the engineers, who rigged, nurtured and kept the generators running. the electricians who improvised thick extension cords stretching over blocks to share the little electricity we had in order to free cars stuck on rooftop parking lots. nurses who took over for mechanical ventilators and spent many hours on end manually forcing air into the lungs of unconscious patients to keep them alive. doormen who rescued folks stuck in elevators. refinery workers who broke into boat yards, "stealing" boats to rescue their neighbors clinging to their roofs in flood waters. mechanics who helped hot-wire any car that could be found to ferry people out of the city. and the food service workers who scoured the commercial kitchens improvising communal meals for hundreds of those stranded.

most of these workers had lost their homes, and had not heard from members of their families, yet they stayed and provided the only infrastructure for the 20% of new orleans that was not under water.

on day 2, there were approximately 500 of us left in the hotels in the french quarter. we were a mix of foreign tourists, conference attendees like ourselves, and locals who had checked into hotels for safety and shelter from katrina. some of us had cell phone contact with family and friends outside of new orleans. we were repeatedly told that all sorts of resources including the national guard and scores of buses were pouring in to the city. the buses and the other resources must have been invisible because none of us had seen them.

we decided we had to save ourselves. so we pooled our money and came up with $25,000 to have ten buses come and take us out of the city. those who did not have the requisite $45.00 for a ticket were subsidized by those who did have extra money. we waited for 48 hours for the buses, spending the last 12 hours standing outside, sharing the limited water, food, and clothes we had. we created a priority boarding area for the sick, elderly and new born babies. we waited late into the night for the "imminent" arrival of the buses. the buses never arrived. we later learned that the minute the arrived to the city limits, they were commandeered by the military.

by day 4 our hotels had run out of fuel and water. sanitation was dangerously abysmal. as the desperation and despair increased, street crime as well as water levels began to rise. the hotels turned us out and locked their doors, telling us that the "officials" told us to report to the convention center to wait for more buses. as we entered the center of the city, we finally encountered the national guard. the guards told us we would not be allowed into the superdome as the city's primary shelter had descended into a humanitarian and health hellhole. the guards further told us that the city's only other shelter, the convention center, was also descending into chaos and squalor and that the police were not allowing anyone else in. quite naturally, we asked, "if we can't go to the only 2 shelters in the city, what was our alternative?" the guards told us that that was our problem, and no they did not have extra water to give to us. this would be the start of our numerous encounters with callous and hostile "law enforcement".

we walked to the police command center at harrah's on canal street and were told the same thing, that we were on our own, and no they did not have water to give us. we now numbered several hundred. we held a mass meeting to decide a course of action. we agreed to camp outside the police command post. we would be plainly visible to the media and would constitute a highly visible embarrassment to the city officials. the police told us that we could not stay. regardless, we began to settle in and set up camp. in short order, the police commander came across the street to address our group. he told us he had a solution: we should walk to the pontchartrain expressway and cross the greater new orleans bridge where the police had buses lined up to take us out of the city. the crowed cheered and began to move. we called everyone back and explained to the commander that there had been lots of misinformation and wrong information and was he sure that there were buses waiting for us. the commander turned to the crowd and stated emphatically, "i swear to you that the buses are there."

we organized ourselves and the 200 of us set off for the bridge with great excitement and hope. as we marched pasted the convention center, many locals saw our determined and optimistic group and asked where we were headed. we told them about the great news. families immediately grabbed their few belongings and quickly our numbers doubled and then doubled again. babies in strollers now joined us, people using crutches, elderly clasping walkers and others people in wheelchairs. we marched the 2-3 miles to the freeway and up the steep incline to the bridge. it now began to pour down rain, but it did not dampen our enthusiasm.

as we approached the bridge, armed gretna sheriffs formed a line across the foot of the bridge. before we were close enough to speak, they began firing their weapons over our heads. this sent the crowd fleeing in various directions. as the crowd scattered and dissipated, a few of us inched forward and managed to engage some of the sheriffs in conversation. we told them of our conversation with the police commander and of the commander's assurances. the sheriffs informed us there were no buses waiting. the commander had lied to us to get us to move.

we questioned why we couldn't cross the bridge anyway, especially as there was little traffic on the 6-lane highway. they responded that the west bank was not going to become new orleans and there would be no superdomes in their city. these were code words for if you are poor and black, you are not crossing the mississippi river and you were not getting out of new orleans.

our small group retreated back down highway 90 to seek shelter from the rain under an overpass. we debated our options and in the end decided to build an encampment in the middle of the ponchartrain expressway on the center divide, between the o'keefe and tchoupitoulas exits. we reasoned we would be visible to everyone, we would have some security being on an elevated freeway and we could wait and watch for the arrival of the yet to be seen buses.

all day long, we saw other families, individuals and groups make the same trip up the incline in an attempt to cross the bridge, only to be turned away. some chased away with gunfire, others simply told no, others to be verbally berated and humiliated. thousands of new orleaners were prevented and prohibited from self-evacuating the city on foot. meanwhile, the only two city shelters sank further into squalor and disrepair. the only way across the bridge was by vehicle. we saw workers stealing trucks, buses, moving vans, semi-trucks and any car that could be hotwired. all were packed with people trying to escape the misery new orleans had become.

our little encampment began to blossom. someone stole a water delivery truck and brought it up to us. let's hear it for looting! a mile or so down the freeway, an army truck lost a couple of pallets of c-rations on a tight turn. we ferried the food back to our camp in shopping carts. now secure with the two necessities, food and water; cooperation, community, and creativity flowered. we organized a clean up and hung garbage bags from the rebar poles. we made beds from wood pallets and cardboard. we designated a storm drain as the bathroom and the kids built an elaborate enclosure for privacy out of plastic, broken umbrellas, and other scraps. we even organized a food recycling system where individuals could swap out parts of c-rations (applesauce for babies and candies for kids!).
this was a process we saw repeatedly in the aftermath of katrina. when individuals had to fight to find food or water, it meant looking out for yourself only. you had to do whatever it took to find water for your kids or food for your parents. when these basic needs were met, people began to look out for each other, working together and constructing a community.

if the relief organizations had saturated the city with food and water in the first 2 or 3 days, the desperation, the frustration and the ugliness would not have set in.

flush with the necessities, we offered food and water to passing families and individuals. many decided to stay and join us. our encampment grew to 80 or 90 people.

from a woman with a battery powered radio we learned that the media was talking about us. up in full view on the freeway, every relief and news organizations saw us on their way into the city. officials were being asked what they were going to do about all those families living up on the freeway? the officials responded they were going to take care of us. some of us got a sinking feeling. "taking care of us" had an ominous tone to it.

unfortunately, our sinking feeling (along with the sinking city) was correct. just as dusk set in, a gretna sheriff showed up, jumped out of his patrol vehicle, aimed his gun at our faces, screaming, "get off the fucking freeway". a helicopter arrived and used the wind from its blades to blow away our flimsy structures. as we retreated, the sheriff loaded up his truck with our food and water.

once again, at gunpoint, we were forced off the freeway. all the law enforcement agencies appeared threatened when we congregated or congealed into groups of 20 or more. in every congregation of "victims" they saw "mob" or "riot". we felt safety in numbers. our "we must stay together" was impossible because the agencies would force us into small atomized groups.

in the pandemonium of having our camp raided and destroyed, we scattered once again. reduced to a small group of 8 people, in the dark, we sought refuge in an abandoned school bus, under the freeway on cilo street. we were hiding from possible criminal elements but equally and definitely, we were hiding from the police and sheriffs with their martial law, curfew and shoot-to-kill policies.

the next days, our group of 8 walked most of the day, made contact with new orleans fire department and were eventually airlifted out by an urban search and rescue team. we were dropped off near the airport and managed to catch a ride with the national guard. the two young guardsmen apologized for the limited response of the louisiana guards. they explained that a large section of their unit was in iraq and that meant they were shorthanded and were unable to complete all the tasks they were assigned.

we arrived at the airport on the day a massive airlift had begun. the airport had become another superdome. we 8 were caught in a press of humanity as flights were delayed for several hours while george bush landed briefly at the airport for a photo op. after being evacuated on a coast guard cargo plane, we arrived in san antonio, texas.

there the humiliation and dehumanization of the official relief effort continued. we were placed on buses and driven to a large field where we were forced to sit for hours and hours. some of the buses did not have air-conditioners. in the dark, hundreds if us were forced to share two filthy overflowing porta-potties. those who managed to make it out with any possessions (often a few belongings in tattered plastic bags) we were subjected to two different dog-sniffing searches.

most of us had not eaten all day because our c-rations had been confiscated at the airport because the rations set off the metal detectors. yet, no food had been provided to the men, women, children, elderly, disabled as they sat for hours waiting to be "medically screened" to make sure we were not carrying any communicable diseases.

this official treatment was in sharp contrast to the warm, heart-felt reception given to us by the ordinary texans. we saw one airline worker give her shoes to someone who was barefoot. strangers on the street offered us money and toiletries with words of welcome. throughout, the official relief effort was callous, inept, and racist.

there was more suffering than need be.

lives were lost that did not need to be lost.



sick.




. . . off. the. chain.

wow.




. . . bah

best comic strip evar.

bah

bah. so say we all.




. . . a treatise on geek guys

from craigslist, some time ago. i came across this whilst stumbling around on the 'net. some anonymous female hit the nail on the proverbial head...

read on, all of you women who whine about crappy relationships - and for those of you who don't appreciate your geeks, get real. this is all true, you morons.



in the wide world of dating, there are many options. do you go for the flashy guy with the smooth smile, or the dude in the corner typing away on his laptop? the following are reasons why i think my fellow females should pay more attention to the quiet geeks and nerds, and less attention to the flashy boys.

1. while geeks and nerds may be awkward, they’re well-meaning 9 out of 10 times. that smooth dude with the sly grin and the spider hands? wonder what his intentions are... plus, i’ve never had a geek guy not call me when he said he would. score major points there.

2. they’re useful. in this tech-savvy world, it’s great to have a boyfriend who can make your laptop, desktop, and just about anything else that plugs into a wall behave itself.

3. they’re more romantic than they’re given credit for. ok true, their idea of romance might be to make up a spiffy web-page with all the reasons why they love you, with links to pics of you and sonnets and such... but hey. it lasts longer than flowers, plus you can show your friends.

4. due to their neglected status, there are plenty to choose from. you like ‘em tall and slender? there are plenty of geeks/nerds who are. you like ‘em smaller with more meat on their bones? got that too.

5. they’ve got brains. come on now, how can intelligence be a bad thing?

6. most are quite good at remembering dates. like birthdates and such, especially if they know it’ll make you happy. due again to their neglected status, they’re more attentive than guys who “have more options”. plus, with all that down time without a steady girlfriend, they’ll likely have mental lists of all the things they’d love to do once they got a girlfriend.

7. sex. yep. sex. i’m not really familiar with this myself, but i’ve friends who’ve been intimate with geek guys and it’s raves all around. they say a virgin wrote the kama sutra... all that time thinking about sex, imagining sex, dreaming about sex, (they are male after all coupled with a desire to make you happy? use your imagination!)

8. they’re relatively low-maintenance. most can be fueled on pizza, twinkies and mountain dew. no complicated dinners needed here, so if you’re not the best cook, meh. can you order a pizza?

9. most frequent bars as often as slugs frequent salt mines. you won’t have to worry much about your geek guy getting his “groove” on with club hotties because, frankly, he’ll be too busy rooting around under his computer wondering where that spare cable went. you won’t have to worry about him flirting with other women because, 9 out of 10 times, he’ll zip right by them in a perfect bee line towards the nearest electronics store. i’ve seen this happen.

for example: female: “eww. victoria secret’s models... they’re so skinny. how is that feminine? you can see her ribs!”
geek guy: “ooooooo...”
female: “hey!” *notices he is staring lustfully towards the computer store*
geek guy: “what?”
female: “never mind...”

10. although he may not want to go to every outing with you, you can arrange swaps, as in, you’ll go to his gamer con dressed as an elf princess if he’ll take you to the ballet. plus, if he doesn’t want to go someplace with you, you won’t have to worry much about what he’s up to. you’ll probably come home to find him asleep on his keyboard in a sea of mountain dew cans with code blinking from the screen. It’s ok. he’s used to this. just toss a blanket over him and turn out the light.

11. his friends aren’t jerks. i can’t stress this enough. you’ll more likely get “omg! a girl!! can i see?!” than “hey hot stuff back that @$$ up here and let me get some grub on...” they’re awkward geeks too and will, 9 times out of 10, treat you with the utmost respect and, more than likely, a note of awe. a cute girl picked one of their clan to date? it could happen to them! hope! drag some of your single girlfriends over, open up a pack of mountain dew, crack open the dungeons and dragons set and get working. nothing impresses geek guys more than a girl who can hack-n-slash (well ok maybe if she can code... a geek can dream).

12. they’re rarely if ever possessive. they trust you, so you can be yourself around them. you like to walk around the house in a ratty t-shirt for comfort? he won’t care. he does too! they won’t get pissy if you don’t wear make-up or don’t want to bother primping your hair. if you gain a few pounds, they won’t try their best to make you feel like crap.

13. they’re usually very well educated. physics majors and the like. (see item 5). you won’t have to listen to him blathering on about his car (ok maybe a little), he’ll have loads of other interesting things to talk about. politics, world events, how much the chicken burgers down at the local place rock, so long as you douse them in hot sauce...

14. you’ll almost never have to hear, “yo dawg whazzup!!” pop out of their mouths. unless it’s in jest. they spell properly, use correct punctuation, and are able to tell the difference between the toilet and the floor. they almost never get “wasted”, so you won’t have to worry about coming home to find him and his friends passed out on the floor amidst a pile of beer bottles. mountain dew cans, perhaps...

15. and the final reason why geeks and nerds make great boyfriends: they actually give a darn about you. not how you look (though that’s a plus), not how skinny you are, not how much make-up you primp yourself up with, but they like you for you. that kind of thing lasts longer than “damn baby you got a fine @$$!!!” believe me.




. . . air quotes

after 13.5 years in the usaf, these are near, dear, and totally believable quotes (from this site):

- a pan am 727 flight waiting for start clearance in munich overheard the following:

lufthansa (in german): "ground, what is our start clearance time?"

ground (in english): "if you want an answer you must speak in english."

lufthansa (in english): "i am a german, flying a german airplane, in germany. why must i speak english?"

unknown voice from another plane (in a beautiful british accent): "because you lost the bloody war."

- a military pilot called for a priority landing because his single-engine jet fighter was running "a bit peaked." air traffic control told the fighter pilot that he was number two, behind a b-52 that had one engine shut down. "ah," the fighter pilot remarked, "the dreaded seven-engine approach."

- allegedly the german air controllers at frankfurt airport are renowned as a short-tempered lot. they not only expect one to know one's gate parking location, but how to get there without any assistance from them. so it was with some amusement that we (a pan am 747) listened to the following exchange between frankfurt ground control and a british airways 747, call sign speedbird 206.

speedbird 206: "frankfurt, speedbird 206 clear of active runway."

ground: "speedbird 206. taxi to gate alpha one-seven."

the ba 747 pulled onto the main taxiway and slowed to a stop.

ground: "speedbird, do you not know where you are going?"

speedbird 206: "stand by, ground, i'm looking up our gate location now."

ground (with quite arrogant impatience): "speedbird 206, have you not been to frankfurt before?"

speedbird 206 (coolly): "yes, twice in 1944, but it was dark,...... and i didn't land."

comedy gold ++




. . . foamy on katrina

foamy

i love illwillpress. it's carcastic, vulgar, and funny as, well, yuou know. foamy has a "special report" about hurricane katrina that i have to post. don’t let the language put you off, what he says is dead on the money - i've tried to articulate this myself, but can't do it justice like foamy.

rated nc-17

the point is, stop whining/reporting/looting/shooting and freakin' help. now. click this link to be taken directly to the red cross/yahoo donation site.




. . . part of the problem

came across this when i was reading tonight:

"i miss...that sort of connection with someone. part of what makes us human is what we mean to other people...i miss meaning something to someone, having that part of being human. that's what I miss..." - john scalzi, "old man's war"

yep. of course, what does it do to your humanity and sense of self when you realize that you meant nothing and it was all a waste of time, life, energy, spirit, and money? a bloody waste. come on, use your imagination.

so, what do you do? so far, i've managed to breathe in and breathe out until i don't have to remind myself to do it. beyond that, i don't know.

"i know god will not give me anything i can't handle. i just wish that He didn't trust me so much." - mother theresa

yeah. what she said.




. . . being poor

when i was in the 'stan, i read an e-book provided free of charge to military members serving in combat zones - it was written by a man named john scalzi. the book was called old man's war, and it was great.

well, scalzi seems to be a man of many talents - this is from his "whatever" blog:

being poor

being poor is knowing exactly how much everything costs.

being poor is getting angry at your kids for asking for all the crap they see on tv.

being poor is having to keep buying $800 cars because they're what you can afford, and then having the cars break down on you, because there's not an $800 car in america that's worth a damn.

being poor is hoping the toothache goes away.

being poor is knowing your kid goes to friends' houses but never has friends over to yours.

being poor is going to the restroom before you get in the school lunch line so your friends will be ahead of you and won't hear you say "i get free lunch" when you get to the cashier.

being poor is living next to the freeway.

being poor is coming back to the car with your children in the back seat, clutching that box of raisin bran you just bought and trying to think of a way to make the kids understand that the box has to last.

being poor is wondering if your well-off sibling is lying when he says he doesn't mind when you ask for help.

being poor is off-brand toys.

being poor is a heater in only one room of the house.

being poor is knowing you can't leave $5 on the coffee table when your friends are around.

being poor is hoping your kids don't have a growth spurt.

being poor is stealing meat from the store, frying it up before your mom gets home and then telling her she doesn't have make dinner tonight because you're not hungry anyway.

being poor is goodwill underwear.

being poor is not enough space for everyone who lives with you.

being poor is feeling the glued soles tear off your supermarket shoes when you run around the playground.

being poor is your kid's school being the one with the 15-year-old textbooks and no air conditioning.

being poor is thinking $8 an hour is a really good deal.

being poor is relying on people who don't give a damn about you.

being poor is an overnight shift under florescent lights.

being poor is finding the letter your mom wrote to your dad, begging him for the child support.

being poor is a bathtub you have to empty into the toilet.

being poor is stopping the car to take a lamp from a stranger's trash.

being poor is making lunch for your kid when a cockroach skitters over the bread, and you looking over to see if your kid saw.

being poor is believing a ged actually makes a goddamned difference.

being poor is people angry at you just for walking around in the mall.

being poor is not taking the job because you can't find someone you trust to watch your kids.

being poor is the police busting into the apartment right next to yours.

being poor is not talking to that girl because she'll probably just laugh at your clothes.

being poor is hoping you'll be invited for dinner.

being poor is a sidewalk with lots of brown glass on it.

being poor is people thinking they know something about you by the way you talk.

being poor is needing that 35-cent raise.

being poor is your kid's teacher assuming you don't have any books in your home.

being poor is six dollars short on the utility bill and no way to close the gap.

being poor is crying when you drop the mac and cheese on the floor.

being poor is knowing you work as hard as anyone, anywhere.

being poor is people surprised to discover you're not actually stupid.

being poor is people surprised to discover you're not actually lazy.

being poor is a six-hour wait in an emergency room with a sick child asleep on your lap.

being poor is never buying anything someone else hasn't bought first.

being poor is picking the 10 cent ramen instead of the 12 cent ramen because that's two extra packages for every dollar.

being poor is having to live with choices you didn't know you made when you were 14 years old.

being poor is getting tired of people wanting you to be grateful.

being poor is knowing you're being judged.

being poor is a box of crayons and a $1 coloring book from a community center santa.

being poor is checking the coin return slot of every soda machine you go by.

being poor is deciding that it's all right to base a relationship on shelter.

being poor is knowing you really shouldn't spend that buck on a lotto ticket.

being poor is hoping the register lady will spot you the dime.

being poor is feeling helpless when your child makes the same mistakes you did, and won't listen to you beg them against doing so.

being poor is a cough that doesn't go away.

being poor is making sure you don't spill on the couch, just in case you have to give it back before the lease is up.

being poor is a $200 paycheck advance from a company that takes $250 when the paycheck comes in.

being poor is four years of night classes for an associates of art degree.

being poor is a lumpy futon bed.

being poor is knowing where the shelter is.

being poor is people who have never been poor wondering why you choose to be so.

being poor is knowing how hard it is to stop being poor.

being poor is seeing how few options you have.

being poor is running in place.

being poor is people wondering why you didn't leave.

do any apply to you? i know some do (or they used to apply) to me. wow.




. . . katrina

the horror


my prayers are with the people in new orleans. i've been reading the interdictor's blog - he's on the scene, and it is worse than you can possibly imagine.

watch this video.

i'm speechless.

yes, there is looting, and looters with televisions and dvds (including the police!) should be SHOT on sight. if folks are trying to feed thier kids and families in the face of imminent starvation, leave it alone. the government certainly wasn't doing very much to feed them...

mayor ray nagin gave a telephone interview on wwl radio (linked from cnn) that you NEED TO LISTEN TO.

his quote "get off your asses and let's do something" pretty much sums it up - the response from the federal government is appalling. simply horrific.

kudos to the mayor. don't buy the crap that is being fed you by the officials at fema or the hso - do some research and then, pray for them.

they need it.




powered by coranto