Too Soon to Snark?

Yeah, I know the people of Vermont are still reeling from Irene's aftermath, but can't a fella snark?

With the Vermont flooding, the worst since 1927, one can only hope that evidence of a hostile alien presence will come to light, much as it did in the 20's:


The whole matter began, so far as I am concerned, with the historic and unprecedented Vermont floods of November 3, 1927. I was then, as now, an instructor of literature at Miskatonic University in Arkham, Massachusetts, and an enthusiastic amateur student of New England folklore. Shortly after the flood, amidst the varied reports of hardship, suffering, and organized relief which filled the press, there appeared certain odd stories of things found floating in some of the swollen rivers; so that many of my friends embarked on curious discussions and appealed to me to shed what light I could on the subject. I felt flattered at having my folklore study taken so seriously, and did what I could to belittle the wild, vague tales which seemed so clearly an outgrowth of old rustic superstitions. It amused me to find several persons of education who insisted that some stratum of obscure, distorted fact might underlie the rumors.
The tales thus brought to my notice came mostly through newspaper cuttings; though one yarn had an oral source and was repeated to a friend of mine in a letter from his mother in Hardwick, Vermont. The type of thing described was essentially the same in all cases, though there seemed to be three separate instances involved - one connected with the Winooski River near Montpelier, another attached to the West River in Windham County beyond Newfane, and a third centering in the Passumpsic in Caledonia County above Lyndonville. Of course many of the stray items mentioned other instances, but on analysis they all seemed to boil down to these three. In each case country folk reported seeing one or more very bizarre and disturbing objects in the surging waters that poured down from the unfrequented hills, and there was a widespread tendency to connect these sights with a primitive, half-forgotten cycle of whispered legend which old people resurrected for the occasion.
What people thought they saw were organic shapes not quite like any they had ever seen before. Naturally, there were many human bodies washed along by the streams in that tragic period; but those who described these strange shapes felt quite sure that they were not human, despite some superficial resemblances in size and general outline. Nor, said the witnesses, could they have been any kind of animal known to Vermont. They were pinkish things about five feet long; with crustaceous bodies bearing vast pairs of dorsal fins or membranous wings and several sets of articulated limbs, and with a sort of convoluted ellipsoid, covered with multitudes of very short antennae, where a head would ordinarily be. It was really remarkable how closely the reports from different sources tended to coincide; though the wonder was lessened by the fact that the old legends, shared at one time throughout the hill country, furnished a morbidly vivid picture which might well have coloured the imaginations of all the witnesses concerned. It was my conclusion that such witnesses - in every case naive and simple backwoods folk - had glimpsed the battered and bloated bodies of human beings or farm animals in the whirling currents; and had allowed the half-remembered folklore to invest these pitiful objects with fantastic attributes.
The ancient folklore, while cloudy, evasive, and largely forgotten by the present generation, was of a highly singular character, and obviously reflected the influence of still earlier Indian tales. I knew it well, though I had never been in Vermont, through the exceedingly rare monograph of Eli Davenport, which embraces material orally obtained prior to 1839 among the oldest people of the state. This material, moreover, closely coincided with tales which I had personally heard from elderly rustics in the mountains of New Hampshire. Briefly summarized, it hinted at a hidden race of monstrous beings which lurked somewhere among the remoter hills - in the deep woods of the highest peaks, and the dark valleys where streams trickle from unknown sources. These beings were seldom glimpsed, but evidences of their presence were reported by those who had ventured farther than usual up the slopes of certain mountains or into certain deep, steep-sided gorges that even the wolves shunned.


Bernie Sanders has got to be in on the plot- his support of single-payer healthcare is a ploy to weaken the American people, softening us until we all fall prey to the alien menace and end up with our brains in jars. Oddly enough, with our brains removed, we'd be more likely to vote Republican... Damn you, Sanders, for coming up with such a convoluted, counterintuitive scheme!

Of course, other extraterrestrial threats are being downplayed by the mainstream media. Yes, the media and all those pointy-headed science-talkin' folks don't want you to know about the giant killer planet masquerading as a comet, or is that a spaceship? Sure, the establishment types say the comet is breaking up, but that's what they want the sheeple to believe! Hell, the media even refuses to cover what the queers are doing to the soil.

I have to post a link to this video, because it contains the beautiful admission: "MY MAJOR ERROR HAS OPENED THE DOOR TO SOME TROLLS." Damn, that's one of the great realities of the internet, innit?

POSTSCRIPT What we need is for an intrepid young reporter to investigate extraterrestrial activity in Vermont.

I'd Say Irene Blew Their Brains Out...

...but they're not that brainy to begin with. Right wingers, predictably, are losing their shit over media coverage of, and government response to, Hurricane Irene. The fact that governmental agencies tracked the storm and coordinated the response to the storm's destruction during and after the "weather event" has their panties in a bunch. Pretty inconvenient for them, having government function well.

I'm going to focus on two responses I find particularly enraging, then provide some commentary on another asshole who has been thoroughly excoriated elsewhere.

The first asshole I want to call on the carpet is Ron Paul, who wants to take us back to 1900, citing the example of Galveston, Texas, which was largely destroyed by a hurricane which resulted in the loss of 8,000 lives. Ron Paul glosses over the reality of history by claiming that the federal government played no role in the reconstruction of Galveston, but the truth differs from his hare-brained free-market fappery. The construction of the Galveston seawall, which allowed the continuing existence of Galveston, was accomplished by local state, and federal entities, most notably the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. Paul is technically correct when he states that FEMA wasn't in existence then, but he ignores the fact that the Corps of Engineers, a massive federal agency, was a close analogue. As usual, Bernie Sanders, whose constituents have suffered greatly, tells it like it is- Ron Paul is out to lunch, but at least it's not a government handout school lunch! Oh, who am I kidding? Ron Paul's been living on the public dime since 1997.

The next person I want to single out for scorn is conservative intellectual (heh heh) George Will who complained about the media "hype" surrounding Irene, which he dismissed as a "tropical storm". Yes, by the time Irene hit the Northeast, it was not a hurricane, according to the Saffir-Simpson Hurricane Scale, which measures sustained wind speeds. It does not measure rainfall, and as I wrote while in the thick of things, it was the rainfall, not the wind speed, which was of primary concern. Irene was a wet, wet slow-mover, she just poured buckets and buckets of rain in the areas she affected. Maybe the Saffir-Simpson Hurricane Scale is inadequate to express the true damaging potential of storms, so weasels such as Will can play their semantic games on national television in order to make asinine points. Of course, the Saffir-Simpson scale should not be confused with the Ashford-Simpson scale, which measures the solidity of a rock (RIP, Nick Ashford). Like Paul, who bashes government from the inside, Will bashes the media, while working for the media- can't these fuckers go "Galt" once and for all?

I hadn't heard about Howard Kurtz' bloviations about Irene "hype" until today, but he's been well excoriated elsewhere. I have little to add to Brad's takedown of Kurtz, except to say that, as Kurtz was writing his "Hurricane of Hype" article, I was standing in dirty mid-calf deep water, which had just overtopped the banks of a body of water on the grounds, watching the basement of one of our buildings get flooded to a depth of one-and-a-half feet. This occurred well after the rains had stopped, and we members of the skeleton crew had a brief "we think we'll skate out of this" moment before the water broke and birthed an unholy mess. Even today, two days after the rains ended, the flooding continues.

I got off easy- sure, I ended up crawling home sore and fatigued after thirty hours of work, but there was no major damage either at work or at home. I got my ass kicked, but I'm alive and well, and did not incur any losses as a result of the storm. Others have been devastated, and it really pisses me off the hear the lies and dismissals of people who live in bubbles. If Ron Paul, George Will, Howard Kurtz, and the others had been the ones standing in the pounding rain checking the function of some woefully overtaxed pumps throughout an overnight endurance tour, they wouldn't have been so nonchalant about things.

Fuck... it just hit me, these guys have never had "skin in the game" about anything. Their casual dismissal of Irene is much like their (with the notable exception of Ron Paul) dismissal of the true cost of the Iraq invasion, like their dismissal of the true extent of the economic crisis. Damn, these people need a reality check in the worst way.

Irene's Aftermath

I got home with no real problems last night (the roads were deserted, the flooding had subsided), then took a half-hour power shower (spending much of the previous twenty-four hours calf deep in dirty water, and having strong winds blowing up a fine spray of gack in which one finds oneself leads to a not-so-fresh feeling). I crashed hard around eleven PM, and slept until noon. Yeah, I can still pull all-nighters and function well, but I can't recover from such stints as well as I did when I was younger. I was pretty spacey for a couple of hours, and felt like I'd caught a major ass-whupping (I guess I did). A couple of cups of coffee, and I finally felt somewhat civilized. The Director of Operations, with whom I'd had a running phone conversation throughout my long Irenish slog, called me to thank me for my dedication, and inform me that the picnic had been cancelled (so much for swapping Irene stories with everybody). I've had good bosses in the past, but I've never been in love with the boss before.

I spent a little bit of time checking out the area, and there are branches down all over the place, to the extent that some roads are still closed to through traffic. My neighborhood got off lightly (I live on top of a hill), and we hadn't even lost electricity at any time. All told, I've pretty much recovered from Irene, except for tha pile of damp, dirty laundry that's going to require some attention...

POSTSCRIPT: Monsieur Bouffant informed me in the comments that yesterday was Jack Vance's 95th birthday. Jack Vance being one of my favorite authors, his birthday would have merited a major post, had I not been calf-deep in dirty water and up to my neck in a shitstorm.

Not Out of the Soup Yet

I reported for work almost twenty-six hours ago, fully prepared for an utter shitstorm... which I got. I was able to take a break from twelve noon to four o'clock in order to take a nap and a shower- basically to claw my way up the evolutionary scale*, like the protagonist of a Clark Ashton Smith story in reverse trajectory.

Oddly enough, the wind seems to have picked up, though the rain has abated. We have small branches down, but the bulk of the damage to the site has been through flooding. Of course, the big problem now is the presence of slack-jawed gawkers pulling into the parking lot and asking stupid questions. People, stay the fuck home! Honestly, some people need a beating my tired, sore ass just isn't up for administering at this time. Here, take a rain sunshine check, and come back some other time so I can give you a whallop in the melon.

My relief should be here by 9PM, and I think I'll spend tomorrow aestivating. The company picnic will be on Tuesday, and I imagine I'll have a lot of tales to tell to co-workers who haven't been here over the last couple of days.


*Yeah, I know it's a bullshit concept, and that evolution is not a hierarchical process with the pinnacle of creation being a straight, white, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant male, but work with me, people!

UPDATE: Wow, fifteen more minutes before my relief comes. I desperately need a hot shower and a cold drink, and about fifteen hours of sleep. I'm beat, and I am at the end of my clean clothes allowance- I changed clothes over this thirty-hour stint more than Lady Gaga does at a typical concert (the shirt I wore yesterday afternoon is still damp!). Damn, damn, damn, it's been a rough time.

Not Exactly Live-Blogging Irene

I often joke that my job is very cushy, except when it isn't. Eighteen hours into a stormy ordeal (stordeal?), I have to say that I'm knackered and sore. After a stint at one site, working an event, I had to hotfoot it to another site in order to keep an eye on things overnight.

Everything was going pretty smoothly until about 5AM... I took a couple of walkabouts to make sure that important areas of the site weren't damaged by wind or water. The rain was heavy, but the wind was not too bad. Between 5 and 6 AM, the cumulative effects of the rain caused a serious threat of flooding. Thankfully, the head of the maintenance department had set up a pump near a building that is prone to flooding. I had to ensure that the pump was functioning well, and that the drains weren't clogged with debris. While the rain is slacking off a bit, the storm surge in the vicinity hasn't crested, so we're not out of the soup yet. I've gone through three changes of clothing, and am currently damp- my feet are wet and uncharacteristically tender. Things could be worse, though, I could be stuck working in the office of an insurance company.

My friend **REDACTED** always told me, "You're not happy unless you're getting your ass kicked." Well, the past hours have been one continuous ass-kicking and it wasn't particularly fun. Now, the storm is supposed to abate soon, but the roads are an unmitigated disaster. I am awaiting a call from the guy who is scheduled to work tonight, who may be hampered from coming in by the abysmal road conditions. Being my mother's son, though, I have to say that my current stationary situation is preferable to being on the roads.

Stormy Weather

The big news here is the Northeast is the impending arrival of Hurricane Irene. I began the workday at three o'clock this afternoon, and am pretty much resigned to stay on site until... whenever. Most of the evening up til now was occupied with working an event, and the couple who rented the site must have built up a lifetime of goodwill, because the real rain held off until they left the site. Of course, I got soaked to the skin while dotting the i's and crossing the t's before closing things up. Now that everyone's gone, it'll be me and Irene (and I hear she blows like anything) until whenever.

I often pack for work as if I were going on a camping trip- this trip just involved packing additional impedimenta. Of course, the brunt of the storm is supposed to hit tomorrow, and I am safely ensconced here, while the roads will all be a godawful mess.

It's always good to have a place to hide when the storm breaks:





Gotta love The Alarm... back in ought-six, the reconstituted Alarm played three shows at the Knitting Factory (both locations, LA and NYC) in three weeks, and my good friend J-Co and I went to all three shows, while a revolving cast of friends took the other tickets we purchased. Damn, they put on some fantastic live shows.

Here's another weather related song, with an intro which perfectly showcases the late, great Stuart Adamson's use of the E-bow to achieve the characteristic sound of the band:





Here's a final song, a not-so-long distance dedication to Irene, with whom I am going to spend the night. I'm hoping I don't get fucked by her!





I'd be remiss if I didn't give a shoutout to _____, the Director of Operations for my employer. She's been calling every few hours to make sure that the skeleton crew that's working tonight are doing well. I can't say enough about her, she's great.

Brooklyn! Beer! Botany!

Last night, I headed down to the lovely Bell House in Brooklyn for the monthly Secret Science Club lecture. This month's lecture was by Dr Rob Martienssen, a plant geneticist at Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory. The main topic of the talk concerned asexual reproduction in plants, and the implications it has for agriculture and the production of biofuels.

The word clone derives from the ancient Greek word for a trunk, branch, or stem- the process of vegetative propagation has long been known. Plant clones can reach gigantic proportions and extreme ages, the most massive known organism on Earth is a male quaking aspen clone known as Pando.

Although asexual reproduction typically results in genetically identical offspring, epigenetic factors can cause changes in phenotypes. A good example of epigenetic change in clonal plants is the mutation of Pinot Gris, Pinot Blanc, and Pinot Meunier grapes from Pinot Noir stock. Much of the epigenetic changes are due to the action of "jumping genes", properly known as transposons, which are segments of DNA which alter the genome of an organism.

Clonal reproduction allows hybrid plants to thrive, such hybrids often exhibit extraordinary health, or hybrid vigor- hybrid individuals with low fertility can reproduce clonally (a good example of this is Pando, the quaking aspen clone, which is believed to have not reproduced sexually for the past 10,000 years). While most clones reproduce through vegetative propagation, certain plants, notably dandelions, can produce seeds asexually.

In order to protect the integrity of the genome from the deleterious effect of transposons, small RNA molecules "silence" the jumping genes (they "clean up" the "junk" DNA). Besides gametes, pollen contains a non-reproductive "vegetative nucleus". Cells in the vegetative nucleus of plant produce the small RNA molecules which clean up the genome of a developing embryo.

Dr Martienssen ended his talk with a discussion of the potential for biofuel production using duckweed as a fuel stock. Duckweed reproduces rapidly, and can thrive in adverse conditions (low light, polluted water, varying degrees of salinity). During the Eocene epic (which was marked by extraordinarily warm temperatures- the "thermal maximum") the Arctic Ocean was largely isolated from other bodies of water, and the increase in salinity, caused dense, salty water to sink, resulting in a layer of fresh water at the surface which allowed the aquatic plant Azolla to thrive. The rapidly reproducing Azolla is thought to have removed much of the carbon dioxide from the atmosphere and the dead plants were not subject to decay in the anoxic waters near the sea bed, and were buried by sediment, sequestering the carbon.

With its prolific reproduction rate, duckweed can be incorporated into wastewater treatment systems as well as biofuel production. The use of duckweed for biofuel production is preferable to the use of traditional food crops such as corn (cars shouldn't compete with humans for fuel).

Of course, I was just about having a nerdgasm at this point, because I've long been an advocate of energy production using waste streams (Poop Power!). In the Q&A, some other audience member stepped on my dick (there's a fine line between nerdgasm and nerdrage) by asking about the use of algae rather than duckweed in fuel production. Dr Martienssen agreed that algae would be good fuel stock, but many varieties of algae require high light levels. At this time, duckweed, with its tolerance of low light levels, pollution, and varying degrees of salinity, is a better short-term candidate. The algae question being asked, I inquired about the plant immune system and its role in the grafting process. While the plant immune system is not his bailiwick, he indicated that small RNA plays a role in the ability of such grafts to thrive.

Other topics touched up in the talk were the role of Arabidopsis as the go-to lab plant in genome studies (much like Drosophila is the go-to lab animal). Dr Martienssen also touted the Weed to Wonder website as a great resource for maize genetics.

All told, this month's lecture was top-notch. Of course, I'm a big botany nerd and a big alternative energy nerd, so it was a one-two punch of pure bliss for me... accompanied by copious amounts of beer, no less.