The votes are in, and it's a sad day indeed for Pluto.
At a stroke, poor Pluto goes from being the smallest planet to not even being the biggest dwarf planet.
But on balance, this new classification is a good thing. And even though astronomers have said that this definition only applies to our own solar system, I think it might be useful for classifying extrasolar planets as well. That is, once our technology is good enough to resolve such distant objects with sufficient accuracy.
The new definition categorizes a planet not just by size and shape, although it has to be big enough to pull itself into a spherical shape. It also has to be big enough to clearly dominate its region of space. This, in the end, is what kicked Pluto out.
Pluto does not dominate its region of space. Pluto is locked in orbital resonance with Neptune, which is clearly the dominant partner in that area of the Solar System. Several other objects in the Kuiper Belt are also in a 3:2 resonance with Neptune. Be that as it may, it clearly establishes Pluto as ruled rather than as ruler.
So, now we know. The arguments are over. But, I've got a sneaking suspicion that even now, after the votes have been counted, that the status of Pluto will still be good for an instant riot at any astronomers' gathering. Pluto's supporters will have to lick their wounds for a while, but they'll be back, and spoiling for a fight. Just you wait and see.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Downsizing? Supersizing? Ah, the heck with it...
Apparently, the draft resolution I mentioned the other day has been received with all they joy and good cheer that Osama bin Laden might expect if he were to drop in on the White House for a social call.
You may remember that in my first post on the subject, I said:
Apparently, a Uruguayan astronomer by the name of Julio Angel Fernandez used logic like this to send the new proposal off with a shot of grape. Rather more than a shot of grape, actually; after a rebellion within the orbital mechanics community, the new proposal bore a striking resemblance to Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow after the Feds ran out of ammo.
Didn't I say that this question was good for an instant riot? Just add astronomers and stir...
The thing that kind of stinks about this is that we have a brand-new space probe sailing on its way to something that might not be a planet anymore by the time it gets there ... which is just as well. Somebody needed to get close-up observations of Pluto before its atmosphere froze, anyway.
It's still worth doing, even if Pluto gets demoted. Besides, the bloody thing's already on the way. It's not like we can haul it back in.
You may remember that in my first post on the subject, I said:
If it were up to me, I'd re-classify Pluto as a Kuiper Belt object. It has a lot more in common in terms of both composition and orbital elements with that group than it does with any planet. To be a planet, an object really has to have formed within the star's major accretion disk, and I'm not sure that applies to the KBOs.
Apparently, a Uruguayan astronomer by the name of Julio Angel Fernandez used logic like this to send the new proposal off with a shot of grape. Rather more than a shot of grape, actually; after a rebellion within the orbital mechanics community, the new proposal bore a striking resemblance to Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow after the Feds ran out of ammo.
Didn't I say that this question was good for an instant riot? Just add astronomers and stir...
The thing that kind of stinks about this is that we have a brand-new space probe sailing on its way to something that might not be a planet anymore by the time it gets there ... which is just as well. Somebody needed to get close-up observations of Pluto before its atmosphere froze, anyway.
It's still worth doing, even if Pluto gets demoted. Besides, the bloody thing's already on the way. It's not like we can haul it back in.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Downsizing? Supersizing?
Back in the day, if you wanted to start a fist-fight at an astronomers' convention, all you had to do was ask a random passer-by, "Is Pluto really a planet?" The ensuing scrum would have been good for hours of entertainment.
Which is why I found this news item so interesting.
For years, the controversy has largely been swept under the rug. Pluto was an odd duck, all right, but for years after its discovery, scientists thought it was more or less the same size as Earth. This was proven wrong later. The problem is, Pluto doesn't quite fit.
For one, it's orbit is very eccentric. For another, its orbit is steeply inclined relative to the orbits of the other eight planets. Also, it's composition is more like the moons of the outer gas giants, or the other Kuiper Belt objects, than the other outer planets.
There's been a low-level war seething just below the surface in the planetary science community. Most don't really care all that much, but there are a handful of hard-line partisans on either side of the question. But the thing that really tore it was last year's discovery of a large Kuiper Belt object, tentatively named Xena.
Xena, you see, is larger than Pluto.
Yeah, that tears it, all right. Because if Pluto is a for-real planet, Xena just about has to be, too. And if Xena isn't, then how do we justify Pluto?
Besides, just what is a planet, anyway?
As it turns out, that's probably the real question. Nobody really knows. But the pressure's on for them to figure it out.
We may end up with a compromise system, which has the virtue of being more accurate, at the expense of not being as simple. Planets would be classified by their type: rocky core, like Earth; gas giant, like Jupiter; and maybe a third category, ice balls like Pluto, Charon, or Xena.
If it were up to me, I'd re-classify Pluto as a Kuiper Belt object. It has a lot more in common in terms of both composition and orbital elements with that group than it does with any planet. To be a planet, an object really has to have formed within the star's major accretion disk, and I'm not sure that applies to the KBOs.
But then again, I'm not really a scientist. I'm just an educated amateur, who's enjoying the show.
UPDATE #1: A firm definition of "planet" appears to be in the works. To summarize, by the new definition, a "planet" is defined as any roughly spherical object orbiting the Sun with both a mean diameter greater than 500 miles, and a mass greater than 1/12000th that of Earth.
The list of newly-promoted planets would include both Charon and Xena, as well as the largest asteroid, Ceres. That would bring the Solar System to a total of twelve planets. Note that Charon is included even though it and Pluto orbit one another as they both orbit the Sun. This is becuase the center of mass of the Pluto-Charon system is not within either of the two. But it would exclude the Moon, since the center of mass of the Earth-Moon system lies within the Earth.
Time to go re-publish a whole bunch of encyclopedias and textbooks, boys...
UPDATE #2: Go here to see the Wikipedia article on the re-definition. There's a whole bunch of candidates that I'd forgotten about. Cold, miserable places like Sedna, Quaoar, and several others. Including, I note with interest, Vesta and Pallas, some of the other large asteroids from the Belt.
Maybe there are other more important things going on in the world. But I don't much care. This is still very, very neat.
UPDATE #3: As reported in the Wikipedia link above, the proposed definition comes up for a vote on August 24, in Prague. Mark your calendars.
Which is why I found this news item so interesting.
For years, the controversy has largely been swept under the rug. Pluto was an odd duck, all right, but for years after its discovery, scientists thought it was more or less the same size as Earth. This was proven wrong later. The problem is, Pluto doesn't quite fit.
For one, it's orbit is very eccentric. For another, its orbit is steeply inclined relative to the orbits of the other eight planets. Also, it's composition is more like the moons of the outer gas giants, or the other Kuiper Belt objects, than the other outer planets.
There's been a low-level war seething just below the surface in the planetary science community. Most don't really care all that much, but there are a handful of hard-line partisans on either side of the question. But the thing that really tore it was last year's discovery of a large Kuiper Belt object, tentatively named Xena.
Xena, you see, is larger than Pluto.
Yeah, that tears it, all right. Because if Pluto is a for-real planet, Xena just about has to be, too. And if Xena isn't, then how do we justify Pluto?
Besides, just what is a planet, anyway?
As it turns out, that's probably the real question. Nobody really knows. But the pressure's on for them to figure it out.
We may end up with a compromise system, which has the virtue of being more accurate, at the expense of not being as simple. Planets would be classified by their type: rocky core, like Earth; gas giant, like Jupiter; and maybe a third category, ice balls like Pluto, Charon, or Xena.
If it were up to me, I'd re-classify Pluto as a Kuiper Belt object. It has a lot more in common in terms of both composition and orbital elements with that group than it does with any planet. To be a planet, an object really has to have formed within the star's major accretion disk, and I'm not sure that applies to the KBOs.
But then again, I'm not really a scientist. I'm just an educated amateur, who's enjoying the show.
UPDATE #1: A firm definition of "planet" appears to be in the works. To summarize, by the new definition, a "planet" is defined as any roughly spherical object orbiting the Sun with both a mean diameter greater than 500 miles, and a mass greater than 1/12000th that of Earth.
The list of newly-promoted planets would include both Charon and Xena, as well as the largest asteroid, Ceres. That would bring the Solar System to a total of twelve planets. Note that Charon is included even though it and Pluto orbit one another as they both orbit the Sun. This is becuase the center of mass of the Pluto-Charon system is not within either of the two. But it would exclude the Moon, since the center of mass of the Earth-Moon system lies within the Earth.
Time to go re-publish a whole bunch of encyclopedias and textbooks, boys...
UPDATE #2: Go here to see the Wikipedia article on the re-definition. There's a whole bunch of candidates that I'd forgotten about. Cold, miserable places like Sedna, Quaoar, and several others. Including, I note with interest, Vesta and Pallas, some of the other large asteroids from the Belt.
Maybe there are other more important things going on in the world. But I don't much care. This is still very, very neat.
UPDATE #3: As reported in the Wikipedia link above, the proposed definition comes up for a vote on August 24, in Prague. Mark your calendars.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Crow: It's What's For Dinner
Things aren't looking so good for our man Floyd.
The "B" sample test turned up positive, pretty much like everyone expected it would. But that's not the real problem. As we discussed last time, there are problems with the T/E ratio test. No, what's got Floyd's essentials well and truly trapped in the mangle is the isotope test.
My knowledge of biology is somewhat scanty, as discussed earlier, but this much I do know: there are subtle chemical differences between naturally-produced hormones and the synthetic varieties. I know this, because I take fistfuls of vitamin supplements, and like to know something about what I'm shoveling into my cake hole. For instance, there's a minor difference between synthetic Vitamin E, and the stuff your body produces naturally. But it's not a big difference, and it has the same chemical function that the natural stuff does.
Likewise, there are subtle chemical differences between synthetic testosterone, and the genuine, natural article. They're not produced by the exact same chemical process. This induces very minute differences in composition, differences that are detectable by gas chromatography.
Which means that, unless something truly extraordinary is revealed, it's likely that there really was some synthetic testosterone in Landis' body when he took those tests.
It's a monumentally stupid thing to have done, if he really did do it. I don't know of anyone who thinks that a testosterone boost could have done any good to improve single-day performance. And if he won big, of course he was going to be tested. Did he think they'd miss it? That by some miracle it wouldn't show up?
There's a long appeal process to churn through before this is well and truly done. But it's not looking good, not at all.
In any case, I like to think that I'm man enough to eat my crow when it's called for. The performance that I'd hailed as a triumph of iron will is probably due instead to better living through chemistry. I'm disappointed by that, I really am. And I'm still hoping against hope that, somehow, there's vindication at the end of the road. But I wouldn't bet more than pocket change on it.
Pass the Tabasco, would you, pal?
The "B" sample test turned up positive, pretty much like everyone expected it would. But that's not the real problem. As we discussed last time, there are problems with the T/E ratio test. No, what's got Floyd's essentials well and truly trapped in the mangle is the isotope test.
My knowledge of biology is somewhat scanty, as discussed earlier, but this much I do know: there are subtle chemical differences between naturally-produced hormones and the synthetic varieties. I know this, because I take fistfuls of vitamin supplements, and like to know something about what I'm shoveling into my cake hole. For instance, there's a minor difference between synthetic Vitamin E, and the stuff your body produces naturally. But it's not a big difference, and it has the same chemical function that the natural stuff does.
Likewise, there are subtle chemical differences between synthetic testosterone, and the genuine, natural article. They're not produced by the exact same chemical process. This induces very minute differences in composition, differences that are detectable by gas chromatography.
Which means that, unless something truly extraordinary is revealed, it's likely that there really was some synthetic testosterone in Landis' body when he took those tests.
It's a monumentally stupid thing to have done, if he really did do it. I don't know of anyone who thinks that a testosterone boost could have done any good to improve single-day performance. And if he won big, of course he was going to be tested. Did he think they'd miss it? That by some miracle it wouldn't show up?
There's a long appeal process to churn through before this is well and truly done. But it's not looking good, not at all.
In any case, I like to think that I'm man enough to eat my crow when it's called for. The performance that I'd hailed as a triumph of iron will is probably due instead to better living through chemistry. I'm disappointed by that, I really am. And I'm still hoping against hope that, somehow, there's vindication at the end of the road. But I wouldn't bet more than pocket change on it.
Pass the Tabasco, would you, pal?
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Fear and Loathing in Paris
And here I was, more or less ready to shut up about cycling for about a year, when ...
I really don't know what to make of this, yet. Right now there's not a whole lot of real data. And what there is doesn't really add up. Except, of course, that the French have their panties in a knot over those despised Americans winning 11 of the last 21 Tours.
The French total over this span may be counted on one hand, after having first inserted that hand in a running wood chipper. Hint: "one" is way too high.
The issue, of course, if Floyd Landis' urine test following his spectacular comeback on Stage 17 of the Tour de France. The "A" sample showed what they claim to be an abnormally high ratio of testosterone to epitestosterone in his urine, an indication of the use of performance-enhancing drugs. Well...
It's times like these that I really regret not having paid more attention to biology. I skipped it in high school, in favor of an extra year of chemistry. I will quite happily mix dangerous chemicals, breathe harmful fumes, pick glass shards out of my chest and renew my long and intimate relationship with Bactine; but knives and dead frogs are right out. Which is a pity, because I'm having to climb an awfully steep learning curve, here. Because I only have the vaguest notion of what testosterone actually does, and had never even heard of epitestosterone before. So: to Wikipedia! (And other places.)
As it turns out, both testosterone and epitestosterone are synthesized in the body from androstenedione. "Aha," I say to myself, "I've heard of that bugger before. Wasn't that the goop Mark McGwire used to take?" Over the long term, androstenedione use builds bigger muscles, and promotes recovery after exertion. No one's quite figured out what epitestosterone does, yet. It doesn't seem to have any effect one way or the other. But in most people, it's produced in about the same quantity as testosterone, from the same chemical, by more or less the same process. Think of it as a chemical version of donut holes. Normally, you end up with about as many donuts as holes, right?
So: an elevated T/E ratio is taken as an indicator that someone's been fiddling with their body chemistry illicitly. There are a couple of problems here, though.
One: It's a ratio. It's not a measure of the absolute quantities present. The obvious interpretation of an elevated T/E ratio is that someone has boosted the amount of testosterone present in the system. But it can also mean that some process has abnormally depleted the amount of epitestosterone. I don't know that anyone has really looked in detail at the physiology of someone who had such a spectacular "crash" the previous day, and recovered naturally overnight. We don't know yet if we're talking about a normal, natural process, or evidence of cheating.
Two: Testosterone abuse is very much a long-term sort of thing. There's bugger-all that it can do for you overnight. Sure, it can build muscle and all that, but that takes weeks. Not hours.
So, I'm waiting for more results. Not only for the test on the "B" sample, but for a more thorough chromatography test, which will tell us definitively if the hormones in the sample are of natural origin, or are synthetic. If it's all natural, and provably so, the only shame to be had here is for the French, who just need to sack up and be more manly. Not that it's in their national character, but they can at least be seen to have made the attempt.
I may end up eating my words, but so far, I trust what Landis is saying. He seems confident that the evidence will clear him. I think we ought to give him that much of a benefit of the doubt.
I really don't know what to make of this, yet. Right now there's not a whole lot of real data. And what there is doesn't really add up. Except, of course, that the French have their panties in a knot over those despised Americans winning 11 of the last 21 Tours.
The French total over this span may be counted on one hand, after having first inserted that hand in a running wood chipper. Hint: "one" is way too high.
The issue, of course, if Floyd Landis' urine test following his spectacular comeback on Stage 17 of the Tour de France. The "A" sample showed what they claim to be an abnormally high ratio of testosterone to epitestosterone in his urine, an indication of the use of performance-enhancing drugs. Well...
It's times like these that I really regret not having paid more attention to biology. I skipped it in high school, in favor of an extra year of chemistry. I will quite happily mix dangerous chemicals, breathe harmful fumes, pick glass shards out of my chest and renew my long and intimate relationship with Bactine; but knives and dead frogs are right out. Which is a pity, because I'm having to climb an awfully steep learning curve, here. Because I only have the vaguest notion of what testosterone actually does, and had never even heard of epitestosterone before. So: to Wikipedia! (And other places.)
As it turns out, both testosterone and epitestosterone are synthesized in the body from androstenedione. "Aha," I say to myself, "I've heard of that bugger before. Wasn't that the goop Mark McGwire used to take?" Over the long term, androstenedione use builds bigger muscles, and promotes recovery after exertion. No one's quite figured out what epitestosterone does, yet. It doesn't seem to have any effect one way or the other. But in most people, it's produced in about the same quantity as testosterone, from the same chemical, by more or less the same process. Think of it as a chemical version of donut holes. Normally, you end up with about as many donuts as holes, right?
So: an elevated T/E ratio is taken as an indicator that someone's been fiddling with their body chemistry illicitly. There are a couple of problems here, though.
One: It's a ratio. It's not a measure of the absolute quantities present. The obvious interpretation of an elevated T/E ratio is that someone has boosted the amount of testosterone present in the system. But it can also mean that some process has abnormally depleted the amount of epitestosterone. I don't know that anyone has really looked in detail at the physiology of someone who had such a spectacular "crash" the previous day, and recovered naturally overnight. We don't know yet if we're talking about a normal, natural process, or evidence of cheating.
Two: Testosterone abuse is very much a long-term sort of thing. There's bugger-all that it can do for you overnight. Sure, it can build muscle and all that, but that takes weeks. Not hours.
So, I'm waiting for more results. Not only for the test on the "B" sample, but for a more thorough chromatography test, which will tell us definitively if the hormones in the sample are of natural origin, or are synthetic. If it's all natural, and provably so, the only shame to be had here is for the French, who just need to sack up and be more manly. Not that it's in their national character, but they can at least be seen to have made the attempt.
I may end up eating my words, but so far, I trust what Landis is saying. He seems confident that the evidence will clear him. I think we ought to give him that much of a benefit of the doubt.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
I'm Shocked! Stupefied! Stunned!
This just in:
Lance Bass comes out.
More stunning revelations:
Pope Benedict XVI: "Confidentially ... I'm Catholic."
Troy Aikman: "Yeah, I threw a couple of footballs around."
Liz Taylor: "Just between you and me, this isn't my first marriage."
You may remember that Bass tried to raise $20 million for a trip to the International Space Station. Funding fell through when investors realized that they were, in fact, paying for a round trip.
Mind you, I care not a fig for his lifestyle choices. Boy Bands, though, are an abomination. I despise the insipid, overprocessed lyrical war crimes they perpetrate upon the public, masquerading as music. They are nothing but a marketing contrivance that converts good, worthwhile plastic and aluminum into soon-to-be-landfill CDs. For such grievous offenses against humanity, vicious taunting is the least that he deserves.
Not that I really wish him any ill. It's fine if he ends up living happily ever after, so long as I don't have to listen to him sing about it.
Lance Bass comes out.
More stunning revelations:
Pope Benedict XVI: "Confidentially ... I'm Catholic."
Troy Aikman: "Yeah, I threw a couple of footballs around."
Liz Taylor: "Just between you and me, this isn't my first marriage."
You may remember that Bass tried to raise $20 million for a trip to the International Space Station. Funding fell through when investors realized that they were, in fact, paying for a round trip.
Mind you, I care not a fig for his lifestyle choices. Boy Bands, though, are an abomination. I despise the insipid, overprocessed lyrical war crimes they perpetrate upon the public, masquerading as music. They are nothing but a marketing contrivance that converts good, worthwhile plastic and aluminum into soon-to-be-landfill CDs. For such grievous offenses against humanity, vicious taunting is the least that he deserves.
Not that I really wish him any ill. It's fine if he ends up living happily ever after, so long as I don't have to listen to him sing about it.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
What A Long, Strange Trip It's Been
Well.
Last year, we saw the last ride of the man who is arguably this generation's most dominant professional cyclist, Lance Armstrong. And I said about a year ago that I'd be looking forward to this year's Tour, because for the first time in many years, it'd be a wide-open race. I had no idea how right I'd be.
First off, we had no notion of what the outcome of the Operation Puerto investigation would be. I'm assuming, of course, that the investigation was underway a year ago. Things like that don't spring up overnight. But I think everyone was surprised at how widespread it was, and how many major cyclists were caught up in it. This included everyone's favorites for the top two podium spots: Ivan Basso and Jan Ullrich. Me, I was kind of hoping it'd be Basso's year. He seemed a likeable chap. Still does, really. I hope the allegations are false, in his case. But that might not be the way to bet.
Still -- nine of the top contenders knocked out, before the first crank of the pedals. And one victim of collateral damage, since Alexandre Vinokourov's team was disqualified for not having enough riders qualified to start.
So it was a weird year, right from the start. Maybe that contributed to the crashes in the first week, which is always dangerous. But no clear leader emerged. This race tied the all-time record for the number of lead changes. Truly, it could have been any of a half-dozen or more men. But in the end, the real surprise was that it ended up being a man who is going in for hip replacement surgery later this fall: Floyd Landis.
Not that you could tell from his riding that he's got hip trouble. He had a really bad day last week that seemed to put him out of contention, but that had nothing to do with his hip. But everyone had written him off. You just don't make up a ten-minute deficit in the mountains. It simply is not done.
Someone must have forgotten to tell Landis. Because that's exactly what he did, the very next day.
Virtually everyone who witnessed that ride called it the most amazing thing they'd ever seen. I would tend to agree. It was an amazing display of diamond-hard will, an uncompromising unwillingness to accept failure. No one could touch him. He broke away from the peloton, even broke away from the riders who tried to follow, and rode the Alps alone. They tried to reel him in. Tried, and failed.
Yesterday's time trial sealed the deal. He didn't win the time trial, but he didn't have to. He just had to hang a few minutes on the two guys still ahead of him as of yesterday morning. Which he did, handily.
So now, the crown that Lance Armstrong left at the finish line a year ago has been picked up by another American, in a ride that people will be talking about for years to come. It was fun to watch, and it'll be fun to watch again next year, as Floyd Landis tries to become the first man to return to professional cycling after undergoing hip replacement surgery. Bionics comes to professional cycling!
Man, you just gotta love it. You absolutely can't make this up.
Mark your calendars: Next year, it starts in London. July 7, 2007. Who's gonna take it all the way home? Will Floyd Landis become another testament to the miracle of modern medicine?
There's only one way to find out ...
Last year, we saw the last ride of the man who is arguably this generation's most dominant professional cyclist, Lance Armstrong. And I said about a year ago that I'd be looking forward to this year's Tour, because for the first time in many years, it'd be a wide-open race. I had no idea how right I'd be.
First off, we had no notion of what the outcome of the Operation Puerto investigation would be. I'm assuming, of course, that the investigation was underway a year ago. Things like that don't spring up overnight. But I think everyone was surprised at how widespread it was, and how many major cyclists were caught up in it. This included everyone's favorites for the top two podium spots: Ivan Basso and Jan Ullrich. Me, I was kind of hoping it'd be Basso's year. He seemed a likeable chap. Still does, really. I hope the allegations are false, in his case. But that might not be the way to bet.
Still -- nine of the top contenders knocked out, before the first crank of the pedals. And one victim of collateral damage, since Alexandre Vinokourov's team was disqualified for not having enough riders qualified to start.
So it was a weird year, right from the start. Maybe that contributed to the crashes in the first week, which is always dangerous. But no clear leader emerged. This race tied the all-time record for the number of lead changes. Truly, it could have been any of a half-dozen or more men. But in the end, the real surprise was that it ended up being a man who is going in for hip replacement surgery later this fall: Floyd Landis.
Not that you could tell from his riding that he's got hip trouble. He had a really bad day last week that seemed to put him out of contention, but that had nothing to do with his hip. But everyone had written him off. You just don't make up a ten-minute deficit in the mountains. It simply is not done.
Someone must have forgotten to tell Landis. Because that's exactly what he did, the very next day.
Virtually everyone who witnessed that ride called it the most amazing thing they'd ever seen. I would tend to agree. It was an amazing display of diamond-hard will, an uncompromising unwillingness to accept failure. No one could touch him. He broke away from the peloton, even broke away from the riders who tried to follow, and rode the Alps alone. They tried to reel him in. Tried, and failed.
Yesterday's time trial sealed the deal. He didn't win the time trial, but he didn't have to. He just had to hang a few minutes on the two guys still ahead of him as of yesterday morning. Which he did, handily.
So now, the crown that Lance Armstrong left at the finish line a year ago has been picked up by another American, in a ride that people will be talking about for years to come. It was fun to watch, and it'll be fun to watch again next year, as Floyd Landis tries to become the first man to return to professional cycling after undergoing hip replacement surgery. Bionics comes to professional cycling!
Man, you just gotta love it. You absolutely can't make this up.
Mark your calendars: Next year, it starts in London. July 7, 2007. Who's gonna take it all the way home? Will Floyd Landis become another testament to the miracle of modern medicine?
There's only one way to find out ...
Monday, July 17, 2006
Thought for the day...
Hezbollah's epitaph, if one is ever written, ought to be Fatum Iustum Stultorum: "Righteous is the destiny of fools." They've named the game, open war, and it's a game that Arabs have sucked at since, well, just about forever. The last Middle Eastern commander who gave a Western army the right-about was Saladin. And he was a Kurd, not an Arab.
You can argue advantages in technology, if you like. You can even argue training, which I think comes closer to the mark. But I think the real reason Israel is liable to hand Hezbollah a splendid drubbing from one end of the Bekaa Valley to the other is this: Israel has proper sergeants, while Hezbollah does not.
With that, here's a bit of food for thought, from one of my favorite poets:
The 'Eathen, by Rudyard Kipling
THE 'eathen in 'is blindness bows down to wood an' stone;
'E don't obey no orders unless they is ‘is own;
'E keeps 'is side-arms awful: 'e leaves 'em all about,
An' then comes up the Regiment an' pokes the 'eathen out.
All along o' dirtiness, all along o' mess
All along o' doin' things rather-more-or-less
All along of abby-nay, kul an' hazar-ho,
Mind you keep your rifle an' yourself jus' so!
The young recruit is 'aughty - 'e draf's from Gawd knows where;
They bid 'im show 'is stockin's an' lay 'is mattress square;
‘E calls it bloomin' nonsense - 'e doesn't know no more -
An' then up comes 'is Company an kicks 'im round the floor !
The young recruit is 'ammered - 'e takes it very hard;
'E 'angs 'is 'ead an' mutters - 'e sulks about the yard;
'E talks o' "cruel tyrants" which 'e'll swing for by-an-by,
An 'the others 'ears an' mocks 'im, an' the boy goes orf to cry.
The young recruit is silly - 'e thinks o' suicide.
‘Es lost 'is gutter-devil; 'e 'asn't got 'is pride;
But day by day they kicks 'im, which 'elps 'im on a bit,
Till 'e finds 'isself one mornin' with a full an' proper kit.
Gettin' clear o’ dirtiness, gettin' done with mess,
Gettin' shut o' doin' things rather-more-or-less;
Not so fond of abby-nay, kul, nor hazar-ho
Learns to keep 'is rifle 'an 'isself jus' so !
The young recruit is 'appy - 'e throws a chest to suit;
You see 'im grow mustaches; you 'ear 'im slap 'is boot.
'E learns to drop the "bloodies" from every word ‘e slings
An' 'e shows an 'ealthy brisket when 'e strips for bars an' rings.
The cruel-tyrant-sergeants they watch 'im 'arf a year;
They watch 'im with 'is comrades, they watch 'im with 'is beer;
They watch 'im with the women at the regimental dance,
And the cruel-tyrant-sergeants send 'is name along for Lance.
An' now 'e's 'arf o' nothin', an' all a private yet,
‘Is room they up an' rags 'im to see what they will get.
They rags 'im low an' cunnin', each dirty trick they can,
But 'e learns to sweat 'is temper an' 'e learns to sweat 'is man.
An', last, a Colour-Sergeant, as such to be obeyed,
'E schools 'is men at cricket, 'e tells 'em on parade;
They sees 'im quick an' 'andy, uncommon set an' smart,
An' so 'e talks to orficers which 'ave the Core at 'eart.
'E learns to do 'is watchin' without it showin' plain;
'E learns to save a dummy, an' shove 'im straight again;
'E learns to check a ranker that's buyin' leave to shirk;
An' 'e learns to make men like 'im so they'll learn to like their work.
An' when it comes to marchin' he'll see their socks are right,
An' when it comes to action 'e shows 'em how to sight.
'E knows their ways of thinkin' and just what's in their mind.
'E knows when they are takin' on an' when they've fell be'ind.
'E knows each talkin' corp'ral that leads a squad astray;
'E feels 'is innards 'eavin', 'is bowels givin' way;
'E sees the blue-white faces all tryin' 'ard to grin,
An' 'e stands an' waits an' suffers till it's time to cap 'em in.
An' now the hugly bullets come peckin' through the dust,
An' no one wants to face 'em, but every beggar must;
So, like a man in irons, which isn't glad to go,
They moves 'em off by companies uncommon stiff an' slow.
Of all 'is five years' schoolin' they don't remember much
Excep' the not retreatin', the step an' keepin' touch.
It looks like teachin' wasted when they duck an' spread an' 'op -
But if 'e 'adn't learned 'em they'd be all about the shop.
An' now it's 'Oo goes backward? " an' now it's " 'Oo comes on?
An’ now it's Get the doolies," an' now the Captain's gone;
An' now it's bloody murder, but all the while they 'ear
'Is voice, the same as barrick-drill, a-shepherdin' the rear.
E's just as sick as they are, 'is 'eart is like to split,
But 'e works 'em, works 'em, works 'em till he feels 'em take the bit;
The rest is 'oldin' steady till the watchful bugles play,
An' 'e lifts 'em, lifts 'em, lifts 'em through the charge that wins the day!
The 'eathen in 'is blindness bows down to wood an' stone;
'E don't obey no orders unless they is 'is own.
The 'eathen in 'is blindness must end where 'e began,
But the backbone of the Army is the Non-commissioned Man !
Keep away from dirtiness - keep away from mess,
Don't get into doin' things rather-more-or-less
Let's ha' done with abby-nay, kul, and hazar-ho;
Mind you keep your rifle an' yourself jus' so !
Note: abby nay Not Now, kul Tomorrow, hazar-ho Wait a bit.
(The emphasis in the second-to-last verse is the Editor's, not the author's.)
You can argue advantages in technology, if you like. You can even argue training, which I think comes closer to the mark. But I think the real reason Israel is liable to hand Hezbollah a splendid drubbing from one end of the Bekaa Valley to the other is this: Israel has proper sergeants, while Hezbollah does not.
With that, here's a bit of food for thought, from one of my favorite poets:
The 'Eathen, by Rudyard Kipling
THE 'eathen in 'is blindness bows down to wood an' stone;
'E don't obey no orders unless they is ‘is own;
'E keeps 'is side-arms awful: 'e leaves 'em all about,
An' then comes up the Regiment an' pokes the 'eathen out.
All along o' dirtiness, all along o' mess
All along o' doin' things rather-more-or-less
All along of abby-nay, kul an' hazar-ho,
Mind you keep your rifle an' yourself jus' so!
The young recruit is 'aughty - 'e draf's from Gawd knows where;
They bid 'im show 'is stockin's an' lay 'is mattress square;
‘E calls it bloomin' nonsense - 'e doesn't know no more -
An' then up comes 'is Company an kicks 'im round the floor !
The young recruit is 'ammered - 'e takes it very hard;
'E 'angs 'is 'ead an' mutters - 'e sulks about the yard;
'E talks o' "cruel tyrants" which 'e'll swing for by-an-by,
An 'the others 'ears an' mocks 'im, an' the boy goes orf to cry.
The young recruit is silly - 'e thinks o' suicide.
‘Es lost 'is gutter-devil; 'e 'asn't got 'is pride;
But day by day they kicks 'im, which 'elps 'im on a bit,
Till 'e finds 'isself one mornin' with a full an' proper kit.
Gettin' clear o’ dirtiness, gettin' done with mess,
Gettin' shut o' doin' things rather-more-or-less;
Not so fond of abby-nay, kul, nor hazar-ho
Learns to keep 'is rifle 'an 'isself jus' so !
The young recruit is 'appy - 'e throws a chest to suit;
You see 'im grow mustaches; you 'ear 'im slap 'is boot.
'E learns to drop the "bloodies" from every word ‘e slings
An' 'e shows an 'ealthy brisket when 'e strips for bars an' rings.
The cruel-tyrant-sergeants they watch 'im 'arf a year;
They watch 'im with 'is comrades, they watch 'im with 'is beer;
They watch 'im with the women at the regimental dance,
And the cruel-tyrant-sergeants send 'is name along for Lance.
An' now 'e's 'arf o' nothin', an' all a private yet,
‘Is room they up an' rags 'im to see what they will get.
They rags 'im low an' cunnin', each dirty trick they can,
But 'e learns to sweat 'is temper an' 'e learns to sweat 'is man.
An', last, a Colour-Sergeant, as such to be obeyed,
'E schools 'is men at cricket, 'e tells 'em on parade;
They sees 'im quick an' 'andy, uncommon set an' smart,
An' so 'e talks to orficers which 'ave the Core at 'eart.
'E learns to do 'is watchin' without it showin' plain;
'E learns to save a dummy, an' shove 'im straight again;
'E learns to check a ranker that's buyin' leave to shirk;
An' 'e learns to make men like 'im so they'll learn to like their work.
An' when it comes to marchin' he'll see their socks are right,
An' when it comes to action 'e shows 'em how to sight.
'E knows their ways of thinkin' and just what's in their mind.
'E knows when they are takin' on an' when they've fell be'ind.
'E knows each talkin' corp'ral that leads a squad astray;
'E feels 'is innards 'eavin', 'is bowels givin' way;
'E sees the blue-white faces all tryin' 'ard to grin,
An' 'e stands an' waits an' suffers till it's time to cap 'em in.
An' now the hugly bullets come peckin' through the dust,
An' no one wants to face 'em, but every beggar must;
So, like a man in irons, which isn't glad to go,
They moves 'em off by companies uncommon stiff an' slow.
Of all 'is five years' schoolin' they don't remember much
Excep' the not retreatin', the step an' keepin' touch.
It looks like teachin' wasted when they duck an' spread an' 'op -
But if 'e 'adn't learned 'em they'd be all about the shop.
An' now it's 'Oo goes backward? " an' now it's " 'Oo comes on?
An’ now it's Get the doolies," an' now the Captain's gone;
An' now it's bloody murder, but all the while they 'ear
'Is voice, the same as barrick-drill, a-shepherdin' the rear.
E's just as sick as they are, 'is 'eart is like to split,
But 'e works 'em, works 'em, works 'em till he feels 'em take the bit;
The rest is 'oldin' steady till the watchful bugles play,
An' 'e lifts 'em, lifts 'em, lifts 'em through the charge that wins the day!
The 'eathen in 'is blindness bows down to wood an' stone;
'E don't obey no orders unless they is 'is own.
The 'eathen in 'is blindness must end where 'e began,
But the backbone of the Army is the Non-commissioned Man !
Keep away from dirtiness - keep away from mess,
Don't get into doin' things rather-more-or-less
Let's ha' done with abby-nay, kul, and hazar-ho;
Mind you keep your rifle an' yourself jus' so !
Note: abby nay Not Now, kul Tomorrow, hazar-ho Wait a bit.
(The emphasis in the second-to-last verse is the Editor's, not the author's.)
Friday, June 30, 2006
Don't Make Me Open This!
Have you ever wondered what the North Korean Air Force's worst nightmare looked like?
Well, wonder no more!
(Warning: link leads to a rather large picture. Large, but well worth it.)
This one frame contains more heavy iron than most countries have in their entire Navy, and more tactical fighters than most countries have in their entire Air Force. Most of it can be relocated just about anywhere on pretty short notice. And for those who sit on a peninsula surrounded on three sides by ocean ... well, sucks to be you.
If Mr. Kim gets feisty, he'd better make his first shot a damn good one. He won't get a second.
Well, wonder no more!
(Warning: link leads to a rather large picture. Large, but well worth it.)
This one frame contains more heavy iron than most countries have in their entire Navy, and more tactical fighters than most countries have in their entire Air Force. Most of it can be relocated just about anywhere on pretty short notice. And for those who sit on a peninsula surrounded on three sides by ocean ... well, sucks to be you.
If Mr. Kim gets feisty, he'd better make his first shot a damn good one. He won't get a second.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Candygram!
"Zed's dead, baby. Zed's dead." -- Butch Coolidge, 1994
"Soon. It'll be soon. Al-Qaeda's credibility runs out like the sands in an hourglass. Their political capital's spent, their monetary captial, likewise. Their top leaders are on the run, and have to be lucky every day for the rest of their lives. We only have to be lucky once." -- Me, 2005
As it turns out, that's more or less correct: Al-Zarqawi was lucky every day, except for that last bit at the end, when the USAF left a brace of 500-pound greeting cards on his doorstep.
I'll skip the gloating, for the most part. There's a sense in which this changes nothing of substance. While he was a prime instigator, and while there's no obvious successor, the pot of crud that he stirred up is still swirling. Be that as it may, though, there's also a sense in which everything has changed.
Point the first: He was dimed out by someone within his own organization.
This opens up one of two possibilities. One, that someone under him had the thought that he was doing the cause more harm than good, and would be more useful than a dead martyr than as a live (and somewhat less than competent) leader. Or two, that someone under him coveted the top job and decided to let Uncle Sam's Speedy Delivery do the heavy lifting. In either case, serious schisms are evident within the enemy ranks. This is something that alert intel or spec-ops guys could exploit.
Point the second: The first ground troops on the scene were Iraqi.
This is important for a couple of reasons. First, they had enough on the ball to be the first to the party. Second, the overall commanders had enough confidence in them that they wouldn't muff the job. Both speak to the increasing maturity and effectiveness of native Iraqi forces. They've come a long way in the last couple of years.
Point the third: The strike yielded absolute fistfuls of intelligence data.
Whatever Z-Man had with him, we've got. Whatever he was using for contact info, we've got. Did he keep a Rolodex, Dayrunner, little black book? Guys in green suits are reading those even as we speak. Did he keep any kind of financial records with him? They're being analyzed, and the data is being fitted into existing patterns. Were I the new Number One in AQI, I'd be feeling a bit insecure right about now.
Point the fourth (and last): Now, it's all up to the Iraqis.
Now that the new government has been seated, sworn in, and gotten down to business, the ball's in their court. We can't win this. Which isn't the same as saying it can't be won, mind you; but, as of this point, we must transition to a supporting role. The end of this story can't be written in English by an American hand, it must be written in Arabic by an Iraqi. It is still too early to tell if the ending will be happy or tragic. There's still a host of opportunities for failure. But most of the decisions are out of our hands, now. The only decision left us is how much and how far we are willing to support the new government.
But, for better or worse, there's one insurgent who won't see the final outcome. Good riddance!
"Soon. It'll be soon. Al-Qaeda's credibility runs out like the sands in an hourglass. Their political capital's spent, their monetary captial, likewise. Their top leaders are on the run, and have to be lucky every day for the rest of their lives. We only have to be lucky once." -- Me, 2005
As it turns out, that's more or less correct: Al-Zarqawi was lucky every day, except for that last bit at the end, when the USAF left a brace of 500-pound greeting cards on his doorstep.
I'll skip the gloating, for the most part. There's a sense in which this changes nothing of substance. While he was a prime instigator, and while there's no obvious successor, the pot of crud that he stirred up is still swirling. Be that as it may, though, there's also a sense in which everything has changed.
Point the first: He was dimed out by someone within his own organization.
This opens up one of two possibilities. One, that someone under him had the thought that he was doing the cause more harm than good, and would be more useful than a dead martyr than as a live (and somewhat less than competent) leader. Or two, that someone under him coveted the top job and decided to let Uncle Sam's Speedy Delivery do the heavy lifting. In either case, serious schisms are evident within the enemy ranks. This is something that alert intel or spec-ops guys could exploit.
Point the second: The first ground troops on the scene were Iraqi.
This is important for a couple of reasons. First, they had enough on the ball to be the first to the party. Second, the overall commanders had enough confidence in them that they wouldn't muff the job. Both speak to the increasing maturity and effectiveness of native Iraqi forces. They've come a long way in the last couple of years.
Point the third: The strike yielded absolute fistfuls of intelligence data.
Whatever Z-Man had with him, we've got. Whatever he was using for contact info, we've got. Did he keep a Rolodex, Dayrunner, little black book? Guys in green suits are reading those even as we speak. Did he keep any kind of financial records with him? They're being analyzed, and the data is being fitted into existing patterns. Were I the new Number One in AQI, I'd be feeling a bit insecure right about now.
Point the fourth (and last): Now, it's all up to the Iraqis.
Now that the new government has been seated, sworn in, and gotten down to business, the ball's in their court. We can't win this. Which isn't the same as saying it can't be won, mind you; but, as of this point, we must transition to a supporting role. The end of this story can't be written in English by an American hand, it must be written in Arabic by an Iraqi. It is still too early to tell if the ending will be happy or tragic. There's still a host of opportunities for failure. But most of the decisions are out of our hands, now. The only decision left us is how much and how far we are willing to support the new government.
But, for better or worse, there's one insurgent who won't see the final outcome. Good riddance!
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