Ottawa LRT: Everybody Off!

Good grief, enough, already!

Ottawa's Light Rail Transit has been a total disaster from the get-go. The list is monstrous:

- Train doors jam on a daily basis

- Switching hardware and computers fail regularly

- Stations are overcrowded

- Bad smells at some stations

- Slippery steps at others

- The system grinds to a halt at least once a day.

Sadly, this is going to end in tragedy.

What happens during an LRT shutdown?

When the LRT shuts down--an almost-daily occurrence in Ottawa right now, the trains arrive at their next stops and empty out. These spills crowds of hundreds of people, who then collide with crowds incoming. All rapidly flow outside, to the bus compound.

Now, OC Transpo have really mastered the 'R1' bus transition. That's when replacement buses cover the same basic route as the LRT. Within minutes, R1s are rolling.

But in the meantime, as more and more passengers arrive at the station, the bus compound fills to overflowing. People have no choice but to step out into the roadway in order to get somewhere.

The backlog quickly fills the station, as more and more incoming buses arrive and deposit passengers, in the minutes before the R1 buses are called upon.

Eventually, the whole thing becomes so crowded that you can't move. People spill onto random buses in an attempt to flee the crowds. Nearby bus stops become crowded with refugees.

The point that nobody seems to be making is that we're describing a death trap.

That's right. If I were a terrorist, or someone with something to prove, I'd strike Tunney's Pasture station during an LRT outage. People are absolutely trapped. And I'd bet you could get something going with a simple pocket lighter.

Before (hopefully) it comes to that, the City will have the presence of mind to stop the nonsense, now. The LRT is not working as advertised--not even close.  It's dangerous, and you are giving your riders no choice in the matter. Someone is going to be hurt--and the blame will lie solely at our City Mothers' feet.

Where is the RTG, Anyway?

Which brings us to another point. The Rideau Transit Group--the bunch of turkeys who designed and built the initial segment of the LRT--Phase One, as it's called--seem to be puckered up more tightly than a sphincter during a Mexican vacation. Various companies have come forward, claiming large amounts of monies owed. The City is getting nowhere in its complaints.

Need I remind you that these same turkeys, who have delivered a system that does not work; who seem to be out of money and out of answers, already have the nod for Phases Two and Three?

Clearly, something has to change--fast.

The City needs to shut down the LRT--right now. There should be no debate; it's a question of rider safety. As I understand it, RTG was to have delivered a system that worked. Therefore, shut it down, fix the problems with the hardware; have the manufacturer redesign the doors so that they are not so easily jammed; and fix the problems with the stations, most immediately the size of the bus compounds, so that there is no more dangerous overcrowding. Test it thoroughly next time--two weeks  of nonstop operation, with testers doing whatever they can to halt the ting. This must be done before any work can continue on Phases Two and Three. If that puts RTG behind schedule, well, that's their lookout.

But so far, that's not happening. The Mayor continues to attend photo-ops and promises 'relief buses'; only OC Transpo, in its hubris, had already sold off a huge fleet and as a result has to go begging. Well, too bad; buy 'em new, and charge 'em to the RTG.

This whole thing stinks to the core, and by the end of it you know that the Ottawa taxpayer will foot the bill.

It's well past time for for action. You're putting people into grave danger. Mister Mayor, I'm addressing you. Time to grow a pair, Yerhonner.

-Bill

DX'ing Revisited

Once again, I'm trying to get readers interested in DX'ing--trying to receive radio stations over long distances.

Equipment

At its base, DX'ing requires a radio of some sort. I tend to focus on AM radio, as do many others. In the United States, southern Canada, and across Europe, the nighttime dial comes alive with stations near and distant, and DX opportunities abound.

Your receiver should make it fairly easy to determine the frequency to which you are tuned. As such, digital receivers are best; but at night, it's usually possible to keep track from a reference station, as virtually every frequency has a station at night. Good-quality audio, and especially bass and treble  controls, as important.

The radio should be fairly directional, and have good adjacent-channel rejection. I.e.: tune away from a strong local station, and the noise associated with it should quickly disappear.

Other controls, such as sideband, BFO, or VFO tend to be of limited use in the AM band.

It helps to have a logbook or logsheets handy, so you can record your catches. You'll probably want to record the date and time; the frequency and callsign of the station; and any notes about its reception, the type of programming, network affiliation, etc.

When starting a DX session, either go to a strong local station first, to get your bearings, or just tune in to a frequency. If you hear a signal, try rotating your radio for strongest reception. Oftentimes you will hear more than one station, and often you can vary the rotation of the radio to favour one over the other.

Patience is a good watchword, here. Stations tend to fade in and out, and often exhibit fluttering of the signal.

Identifying a station can take some time. You'll find that, frustratingly, signals tend to fade out just when they're identifying. It happens enough that my partner has noticed it, also. Many stations air network programming and identify just once per hour--or even less.

The golden time for DX'ers is at the top of the hour, when stations tend to pause their programming, air some commercials and news bulletins, and often identify.

Every station is assigned a callsign, consisting of from three to five letters. What you'll hear depends upon your location:

Canada: CBxx, CFxx-CKxx
USA (West of the Mississippi): Kxxx
USA (East of the Mississippi): Wxxx
Mexico: XExxx
Cuba: CMxx

It helps to get into the habit of listening for four letters in a jumble of noise. Beware that what you hear may not be what has been uttered; check your station lists carefully.

There are other ways in which you can identify a station. Local advertisements often mention business names that can be Googled; or localities. Phone numbers are a great one.

The type of programming can be a help, too. Most radio resources carry notes about the type of programming. Sports, for example; or News/Talk. If you're hearing a sports event, network talk or religious programming, or music, chances are that you won't get an identification apart from at the top of the hour. Put a pin in that one, and come back to it.

The language can be an important indicator. If it's french, for example, then the station is probably in Quebec. Other languages can often help to narrow it down, with the assistance of your references.

As for resources, they are numerous. I know that the National Radio Club, in the United States, publishes an annual guide to stations in North America. I find myself, these days, turning more and more to MWList, a fantastic worldwide resource. It can be found at https://www.mwlist.org/ul_login.php.

From time to time, you'll want to mine the graveyard frequencies (1230, 1240, 1340, 1400, 1450 and 1490 in North America). They usually are just a jumble of hundreds of stations, churning furiously; but every now and then, one station will pop through just long enough to identify. Often you'll catch new stations in bunches.

If you do get into DX'ing, tracking your finds can become important. I have used a spreadsheet for the past twenty years. I'm now hard at work developing a program to automate it all; it's coming along and should be available for release near the end of this year.

The nice thing about DX'ing is that whether you've got five minutes, or two hours, you can just do it.

Happy DX'ing!

-Bill

Bill's Rules for Adjusting to the Time Change:

Here it is. It takes me about one day to adapt to a time change. I've had plenty of practice: 110 times in my life. That should be enough for anybody.

Rule 1: Practice

Humans are creatures of habit, very easily trained. We want to go to sleep at the same hour every night; wake up at the same time in the morning. Well, I do it a bit differently.

Quite often, I'll head to bed a half-hour to an hour later than usual. But--and here is the catch--I'm up around the same time every morning (from 4:15 to 5:00). That leaves me a little tired. One of the first things I do upon getting up is to look at a clock. Whatever time the clock says it is, that's the time I accept. I do other things, too--vary my eating times, etc. It keeps the schedule fluid and makes you more adaptable to change. I'm up at about the same time on weekends, too; I love it.

It helps if you have a late-night hobby that can distract you. Me, I do DX'ing--listening for AM radio stations at great distances, at night. It's a low-energy hobby, but quite engaging; and, at least in this household, it's become a spectator sport; Tonia loves listening in as I ply the dial. She's begun making log entries for me (that's exciting). The benefit is that my logs are now human-readable. She's beginning to understand the vagaries of signal propagation and probably sharpening her hearing. It's a win-win.

Rule 2: Preparation

Whenever a time change is upon us, I stay up later. That means I'll be still a bit tired when I wake up. That makes it easier to make the change. Again, just accepting what the clock says is a big deal. Here, it's six o'clock in the morning. Yesterday, it would have been seven o'clock. Doesn't matter--the clock says it's six, and that's what I'm going by.

In my experience, there are two daily events that you should try to avoid in the first couple of days following a time change: sunrise and sunset. They are the major arbiters of your perception of time and can reset your circadian clock (your body's internal clock). Try to avoid looking outside from six to eight in the morning, and from four to six in the evening. Big help; take it from me.

Rule 3: Acceptance

I remember, back in my childhood, constantly translating the time during the day. I'd say, okay, it's ten o'clock now; but yesterday this would have been eleven o'clock. No wonder I'm hungry.

Now I say, hey, look, it's getting dark early, and I'm not hungry yet. Oh well.

Again, the most important thing you can do is to learn just to accept what the clock says. Do that, and you've half the battle won!

-Bill

Coming Unsprung

It's time for the twice-annual whine: "I can't handle this spring-forward/fall-back thing. Why can't they leave the clock alone?"

First of all, I can sympathize that time changes are difficult to master. I remember, as a child, how it took days before my internal systems would adjust. Nowadays? Well, after about thirty-five years of accepting the time on the clock, I'm pretty much immune. I get up when I get up, and whatever is the time on the clock, okay by me. Note: it's always early (before six).

What people don't seem to understand, or perhaps appreciate, are the benefits of daylight savings time. Ask yourself: would you rather have a summer where the rising sun was in your eyes at four in the morning; where the sun set, and the evening was over, at eight o'clock?

Daylight savings time was designed to take advantage of the shift in sunrise over the summer months; and in the summer, people rising at six in the morning often lamented the fact that the sun had been up a couple hours before them; why not shift an hour, and enjoy an extra hour of sun in the evening?

Then there are the economic arguments; by shifting people's hours to something a bit more in line with the sun, less lighting is used in a day; that all adds up.

I suppose, these days, people just don't really notice what's going on outside, anyway; dark or light, rain or shine or snow; it just doesn't matter to them. Getting dark? Just flick on the lights and get back to binge-watching Lucifer; and maybe throw on a sweater for the walk out to the garage.

Well, you may not like making the adjustment, but I'll bet you anything that you'll be less happy that it'll cost you, and considerably.

It'll cost you for an extra hour of lighting, every single evening from March to November; for extending your activities deeper into the 'evening.' Your schedule, if you're an outdoorist, will also grow more cramped, as you frantically try to pack an evening's worth of activities into the couple hours between dinner and sunset.

Time to stop and really think about what you're ready to give up, people!

Light Rail in Ottawa: an Unmitigated Fail

Yes, you heard me.

Ottawa's light rail finally began rolling mid-September, after two years of delays for which the manufacturer was penalized... a whole million dollars (that's practically scot-free for a $3-billion project.)

One of the many stipulations that the City of Ottawa insisted upon (and upon which it later caved, as municipal elections loomed) was that the operator had to demonstrate twelve days' consecutive flawless operation of the line, before handing the keys over to the City. Of course, we now know that this didn't happen.

The construction project was accompanied by unprecedented congestion, as vastly more vehicles fought over significantly less road space. No problem, promised John Manconi, OC Transpo head; rail will solve everything.

It came out, long before the line opened, that the contractor had failed many of the technical requirements; yet was still allowed to proceed. How very Ottawan a way of doing business!

In its first three weeks of operation, the new light-rail line has been plagued with outages; computer glitches, power failures, trains grinding to a halt because the doors jammed, because people were holding them open to exit the train, because they were not staying open for a reasonable amount of time. Now the proposed solution is to 'isolate' the door and carry on. I know that if I'm ever on a train, and that happens, that I need to get close to a working door--and quickly.

So, about that congestion? Well, in hindsight, it's little surprise, but people immediately noticed the reduced traffic downtown and resumed driving to work. It's already just as congested as before the train. The remaining surface buses downtown face exactly the same kinds of delays as before. So much for that promise.

And what about at other points along the line? Especially in the west end, where the line has been jammed right up against the Ottawa River? Well, that's causing its own kind of congestion, especially around Tunney's Pasture, the current end of the line. When the system ain't working, the nearby streets are flooded with people; and with buses suddenly expected to carry on along their old routes. Lately, that's on a daily basis. Man, I'd love to have the budget to set up a chip truck nearby.

Other problems bubbling up: insufficient service from the existing trains. Long waits for buses at the ends of the line. Construction carrying on well after the line is 'done.' Overcrowding in bus compounds (especially at Tunney's, where hundreds of people can be trapped inside the station building when there's a problem). Despite the City's endless bragging that the new line is 'fast,' the average commute time has been lengthened by 15-20 minutes (more if you live way out). Down in Barrhaven, where the buses are always late and often cancelled; and where it took the better part of an hour to get downtown before the train, they're about to have a revolution!

I find it endlessly frustrating that the people who control the purse-strings of the transit system; and, indeed, the people who manage it, haven't ridden a bus since their teens (except when it has been politically expedient for them to do so--on a hand-picked, private bus). Well, after years of endless excuses, endless promises, and endless bold statements that this and that are being done to address problems--only to have the same problems crop up again, day after day--I can only say this:

John Manconi must go. He is completely out of touch with his customers. He is arrogant and condescending. And, mostly, he makes endless empty promises (to be fair, he did give up for a while and basically say "Suck it up" to his customers--people with no other options for transport). He has got to go; and his replacement _must_ use public transit to get to and from work. She must have a feel for the health of the system she is controlling; for the 'user experience'. Manconi wouldn't step near a bus other than to kick it. Have we learned nothing from decades of out-of-touch managers?

Jim Watson must go. He pinned his entire career on light rail. Hey, it was a gamble--and he lost. I will forever remember the Watson years for their Toronto-style vehicular congestion, and Watson beaming through one staged light-rail event after another. Well, Jim, after two years of empty promises, it's time to pay the piper. If light rail doesn't cost you your job, then I give up on this city.

There's one other part that must go--that must never be considered for another light-rail contract. That would be the Rideau Transit Group, a consortium thrown together for the express purpose of fleecing Ottawa for every last penny building the Ottawa line. Well, I don't think I really need to say anything; but for you out-of-town readers, a trip down memory lane yields the multiple sinkholes that delayed construction for months; the multiple times they promised that everything would be done in a month or two; The near-useless equipment (ie: trains with EZ-Jam doors), untested and built in a warm European climate; the claim that they were 'finished' back in (May? June? Months before it was actually finished--which it still isn't--not really). And, of course, the fact that they couldn't run empty trains on an operational schedule for twelve days, as originally required).  RTG, you're like a worn-out record (vinyl platters; predated tape recording). I (and, I suspect, most other educated Ottawans) don't believe a thing you say anymore. Piss off.

Back some years ago, OC had purchased buses built in California. They were nice; but in the winter they were awful. Salt got in between the windows and into the interior of the bus. They were not made to withstand Canadian winters. I don't think any of those buses is on the road today--maybe ten, twelve years later (buses often last 20).

My final word: winter is coming; and here we go again. If you think the LRT system has had woes so far, then you ain't seen nothin' yet!

-Bill

Fer Crissakes, It's a Bird!

There a short video clip making the rounds on the Internet today. The big controversy: is the person stroking a bird, or a bunny? Consensus seems to be that it's a bunny.

Idiots. It's a bird. Here's why.

Take a close look at the 'ears' of the bunny. Now, I don't know where the rest of the Internet gets its information, but bunny ears are arranged to either side of the top of the head, facing forward. On the 'bunny' in the video, they are arranged front-to-back, and facing each other. Like a bird's beak.

Second, take a look at the end of the 'bunny's' face. Where's the nose? The mouth? I don't even see a snout.

Third, those are clearly feathers. Feathers have a consistent distribution pattern, and a particular way of moving when disturbed. It's completely consistent with what's in the video.

The gnome has spoken. QED.

-Bill

Take the Damned Bus!


A few months ago, here in God's Chosen Land (Ottawa), there was a transit challenge to local politicians. The challenge was: get around only on OC Transpo, for a week.

The outcome: about three participated. All failed. Hizonner the Mayor harrumped and stated that his business was much too important for the bus. All commented on it being "impossible."

No surprise, really--with the LRT running now two years late, and the city shut up like a puckered sphincter.

Well, well.

See the mixed message: you ride the bus and the train, as we're always urging you;  but we're much too important for that nonsense.

This has been a problem for years. It is faced by hundreds of thousands of commuters every day--people who aren't important or successful enough to be chauffered to the next meet-and-greet. I think I have a simple solution:

Require every City employee to take public transit to/from her place of work, with the sole exception being those whose shift work begins or ends well outside OC Transpo's service hours.

I think this is a most-reasonable proposition. After all, the City provides a transportation infrastructure that is 'second to none'. They're constantly bragging about the awards they won thirty years ago.

Well, what better way to demonstrate leadership and confidence than to use that infrastructure?

There should be no parking lots in or near City work centres.

Everybody, from the Mayor on down, should be required to do all their running around via public transit. If that means they have to schedule drastically fewer public appointments and photo ops--then so be it! If that means they have to spend more time doing their jobs, and less time fawning over developers who want to dictate terms--so what?

Or is public transit forever destined to remain for the unwashed masses only; a hell to escape only by earning enough to afford a vehicle? That's certainly the message from our City Mothers.

In that case, let's start calling it for what it is: the Loser Cruiser. Let's be honest and call it "LC Transpo." Beause it's not for City employees; it's for you losers.

And, in full disclosure: I have been a regular regular Loser for thirty-five years.

'Nuff.

Get Off the Sidewalk!

NOTE: IT IS ILLEGAL TO CYCLE ON THE SIDEWALK IN OTTAWA.

Now that we've established that basic fact:

Yesterday morning, Tonia and I were out for a walk across the Champlain Bridge, which spans the Ottawa River. It's a long bridge, complete with bike lanes. There is but one sidewalk.

So you can imagine our reaction to two cyclists coming toward us on the sidewalk.

Tonia stepped out and started pointing to the bike lane, a metre away. They kept coming. We blocked the sidewalk. They kept coming. Matters came to a full stop. The two idiot cyclists couldn't figure out why we wouldn't get out of their way.

"It's illegal to cycle on the sidewalk," I start. Immediately the woman pipes up. I get a look at her. Definitely a member of the Lance Armstrong cycling club, outfitted with the latest cycling gear, made up, looking like she knew how to handle a bike.

"It's terribly dangerous," she says. To add emphasis, about a dozen riders whizzed by in the bike lane--in perfect safety.

Oh, for christ's sake, here we go again. I don't like the looks of cycling in the street; I haven't taken two minutes to think for myself--I'm just going to ride on the sidewalk because it looks safer--and to hell with legality!

We let them go. They continued on the sidewalk, oblivious to the fact that they were doing anything wrong. They've probably been telling all their friends about the hostile couple who had a problem with them this morning. They'll laugh politely, shake their heads and made a small comment about "all kinds."

Well, so am I. I can't believe the level of ignorance associated with bicycles in this city. I can't believe the lengths they'll go to rationalize what they do. And I'm not going to take it anymore!

I've been putting up with this nonsense for 30 years. I've been hit by bicycles in every conceivable situation: in a crosswalk. From behind on a sidewalk (twice). Coming the wrong way out of a one-way street. I'm tired of it. Bikes are traffic. They are vehicles and have no business in the same lane as pedestrians.

Well, let me tell you something: you can deny it all you want; you can picture yourself as a conveniently-wheeled pedestrian if you want; but you won't be doing it around me.

Because, when you ride on the sidewalk, it creates a safety issue for me. I've decided that that's not acceptable anymore. I've decided that I've got to be more proactive about my own safety.

From now on, if I catch you riding my way on the sidewalk, I'm not moving. You want around, you get on the street where you belong. You try to squeeze past me, and I'm going to be vocal. And if you stop to take exception to my comments, there's gonna be trouble.

And when the police arrive (and they will), we'll have a little conversation about legalities, safety issues, idiocy, and so on. Guaranteed I won't be the one getting a traffic ticket.

And if you happen to hit me, I'm going down like a ton of bricks--right after I drop you, which takes about one second flat with a bicycle. The police will be called; ambulances, too. There'll be a whole bloody scene, and you're not getting away easily!

Because, in this day and age, for anybody to claim they don't know that sidewalk-riding is illegal is disingenuous at best, and bloody ignorant at worst. No, as of now, I have just one thing to say about sidewalk cyclists:

Get 'em!

-Bill

Thoughts


I've been given to a fair bit of introspection lately; thinking about where I've been and where I'm going in my life. It's led to a few realizations.

For most of my life, I've vehemently denied being a nerd. Nowadays, I know better.

I walked very early. I can just picture little me, watching all the grown-ups walking around, trying like mad to figure it out and be able to walk just like they did. I won't say it didn't cost me; but that's just the way I am.

From my earliest memories of childhood, I always had a set of building blocks. I quickly learned the importance of interlocking the bricks; and how to do doors, windows, roofs. By age seven, I had constructed an (admittedly square, and brick-red) Apollo spaceship, complete with removable lander.

I first learned self-reliance in the early 1970s. Dad was a sailor, and frequently away for long periods. Our bike tires would regularly get flats; and Mom, bless her, was a brilliant homemaker and mother, but just wasn't mechanically inclined, and was of no help. So I learned how to fix flats. How to remount chains, adjust spokes, seat, handlebars. I was bloody proud that, at age seven, I didn't have to ask for an adult's help with my bicycle.

In my youth, I constantly obsessed over how alone I felt. Mostly rejected by my peers, I turned inward, found non-social ways to entertain myself (I realize that that sounds like a euphemism; not much I can do about that). I took long hikes in the woods and up nearby mountains. I spent endless time with dice, learning all about probabilities and trends. I was talented at track, and usually won my division. I competed in the Vancouver Islands, despite my short stature. I was into electronics by the age of thirteen, and soon had turned a walkie-talkie into a multiple-channel base station, complete with outboard microphone and half-wave antenna.

I spent endless time up late with an AM radio; built antennas; experimented with CB radio.I knew all the ins-and-outs of a complicated shortwave receiver by the age of 14 (and still have the receiver). I got into computers and within the first week was writing my first program, in Apple BASIC (shudder). And I spent countless hours behind the eyepiece of a very nice telescope. In high school, I was the only student accepted into the Accelerated Math program, and finished grade twelve math in grade 11. At age 15, I participated in the University of Waterloo mathematics competition. I put together my first Heathkit at about the same time; a pocket radio that lasted until just a few years ago.

In my late childhood, I got into running. Long-distance running, of course. There was a running club. Everybody trained at their own pace; and so I'd spend an hour or two (or three) out there alone, plodding alongside endless kilometres of highway tunnelled through the forest. It gave me time to think; about time and space; about particles and fields; about how bloody hungry and thirsty and tired I was (we never carried provisions, back in the day). That led to my running the Honolulu Marathon in 1979. Later, I added bicycling to the mix. I've always walked a lot. A lot. My average over the years has probably been five kilometres per day. That's over about the last forty years.

I studied French (merci, madame Brown), and won an award; and German (danke schoen, Frau Knight). To this day, I continue to advance my fluency in both. I love shocking German tourists by giving them directions in their own language. That trick doesn't work in french; I get polite indulgence for about then seconds, following which they switch to English. Ah, well; it's all in what you expect to hear, I figure.

I fell in love with astronomy in the early 1970s, ichthyology (the study of fishes) in 1974. 

I enrolled in the University of Victoria in the early eighties, met a girl, flunked out. Came east with my family. I swore that I wouldn't let my university failure affect my job prospects. I got into a training course, took an admin job with an addiction-treatment facility. That gave me access to a computer, and I resumed learning intensively about them during every spare minute. After a couple of years there, I got into the magazine-publishing business, as a proofreader/columnist/Production Coordinator. Soon I was managing a BBS for the operation, and programming a customer-tracking system.

Unfortunately, the magazine only lasted a few months; then I was picked up by a struggling computer company, as a data-entry operator, and later as a programmer. I prototyped three point-of-sale systems, and helped install a few. 

Then things took a left turn. I chickened out and returned to the addiction-treatment facility--where I remained for another 22 years. Woman, it was a pressure-cooker; the boss was mercurial; the Program Director maintained discipline like a warrior; and we had to run three weekly bingos, just to keep it all funded. Over the years, the organization and its needs grew. A computer turned into multiple computers; then a network; then dial-up Internet, with a virtual machine to share the connection. It kept growing. A server appeared in 2007, and I quickly mastered that and banished the high-priced consultant who'd done the installation.

Over the years, the organization changed its name, changed its management, and moved out to Merrickville. A union was pushed down our throats (paradoxically) by management. At that point, I had 'come with the place' and was long past taken for granted. I don't think they ever understood how much I saved them in professional fees. I computerized forms generation and record-keeping, programmed them an application to keep track of clients; and then rekeyed endless pages of program documentation. Push came to shove eventually, and I left; and after a year applying for any job I could find--and being rejected for 99% of them--and basically going from a high to feeling worthless, I went to work for a local high-tech services company, as a junior developer. I was working in a new language--Java--and learning furiously. After several projects, I was laid off for lack of work.

A couple of years later, I was called back, for various reasons, and spent two years as a part-time developer/documentation manger/software tester. Then I was promoted to full developer, with a new two-man project. That's where I am today.

On the non-professional side, in the late 1990s I began to work as a bookkeeper for private clients. In 2002, I was introduced to the Ottawa Fringe Festival, and did a few years' work for them as a technician.

In the mid-nineties I began to acquire web-design skills, to the point where today I am a private website designer. I also provide installation and technical services to private clients.

In 2005, I was introduced to Remote Planet, a sketch-comedy radio show on a local community station. At first, I was just a (talented, naturally) voice actor; but within my first season I was writing scripts. In my third season, the producer left for other undertakings. I took over the show, and spent the next 11 seasons writing scripts, organizing recording sessions to get them produced, editing down the raw audio, adding sound effects, and generating the final tracks; and each week I would select an appropriate set of skits and interludes, within the half-hour time allocation for the show; add in the opening and closing themes, and put them together into tracks; and transfer the tracks to the host via DropBox. I had it all down to a science; even had the website generation semi-automated. Occasionally, I had to host the show myself; in fact, spent about two years doing it solo, or with Tonia. 

In 13 years, I wrote well over 300 skits, produced and edited them all, and produced approximately 575 shows, without fail (save for twice). I learned how to do all of that on-the-fly, with no margin for error. It is my proudest accomplishment; one of the reasons that I have archived the show's website at the Centretown Observatory site.

I'm very proud of my voice-acting abilities. I can do a passing impression of hundreds of personalities and cartoon characters. I used to like to stun them, live, with my rock-jockey voice, or just some invented thing I'd pull out of my... hat. I can interrupt myself in another voice. Try it sometime.

I cannot sing. My vocal range is about three notes. I'm also ugly as sin; so a career in television was never to be.

About eight years ago, I began to automate my collection of weather data. Eventually, it ballooned to an empire of programs and web pages. I've got data-capture programs, data-extraction programs; a program to merge in backup data; another to capture the sky condition; and a server program to track it all. The whole operation spans three computers, and at this point I have almost eight years of near-continuous data, with a resolution of five minutes.

Several years ago, my left knee started to go bad. It has confounded people ever since that I haven't had it looked at. That's because they haven't looked at it from my point of view; my legs have carried me multiple tens of thousands of kilometres in my life; they have a right to be a little cranky by now. Point is I limp; it hasn't otherwise slowed me down much. I've earned it, so leave me alone!

What was my point? Only that my very nerdy life path to date has forced me to become extremely self-reliant. It's forced me to continue learning new skills throughout my life, and to retain what I've learned. These days, I seldom have to look up a constant, or a conversion formula. I still remember my algebra, trigonometry, and quadratics from high school--and still use them. I know computers inside-out, to the point where I have even designed and programmed virtual computers. I have a good general understanding of physics, and a near-university-level understanding of astronomy. I am an excellent writer, and expect to be published again within the next couple of years. And anything I don't know, I can look up and of which have a good general understanding within a couple of minutes. You put a tool into my hand, and point to an artifact, and I'll know what to do with it. Give me a challenge, and I'll solve it. Just like my incredible, multi-talented father: can do.

To sum it up: I like where I'm at. And I realize that I damned happier with whom I am, than I'd be had I taken the easy route. A nerd--and proud of it!

'Nuff.

-Bill

Beyond Hype

Look, right now, the world is screaming at us to try "Beyond Meat," or similar products; plant-based meat substitutes (PBMS).

I want to be clear: I'm ignoring the hype.

There are two conditions together under which I'll try plant-based meat substitutes:

1) Independent research indicating that PBMS are actually better for you than meat;

AND;

2) A price drop so that PBMS are cheaper than the meat they 'replace.'

That's it.

At the moment, everybody's jumping on the PBMS bandwagon because of some perception that it is 'better' for you. But, wait a minute--aren't PBMS highly processed, to begin with? That makes me leery, right there. Nothing simpler than meat.

And PBMS manufacturers are taking full advantage of the ignorance vacuum in this fledgling industry. We've all seen the fake-burgers commercial, where the old-fashioned meat world is dull and drab (even the burgers), while the PBMS side is colourful. The conclusion is obvious: PBMS must be better for you! And so we start stogging it in, without being aware of what it is that we are actually putting inside our bodies.

I think the historical record is full of enough mistakes (a few: DDT, leaded gasoline, and thalidomide) that it behooves us to do some research on this new food type before wantonly sucking it down.

No, until my Personal Advantage formula, above, is met, I won't be trying PBMS.

I encourage you to think for yourself, as well!

-Bill

Not a Raptors Fan


It's not often that I mention sports. Although I was one heck of an athlete in my youth, these days arthritis prevents me from exercising vigorously. I've never been much of a sports fan, save for hockey--and I'm a dyed-in-the-wool Canadiens fan.

Now, unless you've been underground these past two months, it seems that Canada's sole entry in the NBA--the Toronto Raptors--are currently fighting for an NBA championship. While I think the odds are stacked against them, I think it would be a fitting in-your-face for the 'foreign' team to steal basketball's ultimate prize.

That said, I am not, and will never be, a Raptors fan. At approximately knee-high to a grasshopper, basketball is not a sport I can relate to. Took it in high school; was already short; sucked. End of story. The look and feel of the game, the rhythms of play, the particular rituals---they just don't appeal to me.

Hockey, improbably, is my favourite sport. I'm sure part of that is sustained by patriotism; but I just enjoy watching hockey. For the NHL alone, I can name all of the teams, and the divisions in which they play.

I've tried watching other sports, with limited results. Canadian Football was fun--in the 1970s and 1980s, when players tended to stick around, and there was a stronger sense of community. Today, they're just all NFL third-stringers--no thanks. Baseball is like a life-sized board game. Who wants to watch D&D? Not me!

Although I was heavily into golfing about 40 years ago, I can't stand watching it; it's like an hours-long opinion column, with occasional shots from the green. Maybe if they had a hockey game going on in an inset screen. Lacrosse is cool, but there's nowhere near enough of it. I was wicked in track, in high school, and still enjoy watching it.

But of all the sports, it is to basketball that I can least relate.

It was recently suggested to me that I'm being unpatriotic by not cheering for the Raptors. My answer to that was seven letters long, ending in "-you!" After decades of tying patriotism to hockey, one year our basketball team makes a breakthrough, and everything changes? How hypocritical!

Hey, if they win it, good on them. But you will excuse me from the celebrations in the street; because nothing spells poser more strongly than some johnny-come-lately fan, dancing in the streets for a team they didn't give a rat's ass about, two months ago.

It must be noted, too, that all of you bandwagon fans must be pretty annoying to long-term raptors fanatics, who know that in four months' time you'll be screaming yourself hoarse for the Leafs, the Raptors forgotten and relegated to some future garage-sale items in your closet. Where were you, they will--rightly--point out, when times were tough, when the team was building? And where have you gone, now that the excitement is over?

I know when my team is doing well in the playoffs, there's always some yahoo who will suggest that they are "Canada's Team." Which really grates on the anti-french knuckle-draggers out there. And grates on the nerves of the true fans, who were doing just fine without your help, thank you very much.

So, I'm going to continue not to be a Raptors fan, and you are going to respect that. You, go cheer for whomever you want; just don't try to force it on me.

What I Learned Today

I'm just back from an install job. I ran into some unusual stuff and want to leave some record, in case someone else runs into the same.

So, this morning my job was to install a replacement computer, copy all the files over, and then install a couple of CAD/CAM programs--MasterCam 8 and MasterCam X3.

Now, this was a machine shop, with some older equipment; he was using serial port networking, for compatibility. We were installing a Windows XP machine (for backward compatibility). The only thing that was relatively new was the replacement computer.

Not that I don't understand. I'm a great one for holding onto something that still works, until it doesn't. These guys were early adopters of computerized milling; they have big bucks tied up in their investment; and so they need special, obsolete equipment to support it.

So, I turn on the machine, do a little setup, copy over the files. Good so far. Next, I installed Aladdin drivers (MasterCam uses a hardware hasp for registration), and then MasterCam 8. Ran it to confirm that all was good.

Now I installed MasterCam X3. Ran it to confirm that all was good.

Just for fun, I tried running MasterCam 8 again.

Wouldn't run. Couldn't find an ocx file.

I did a repair install. Ran it. Tried to open a file. Crash.

For the next couple of hours, I tried various permutations of the install order, while searching online, for answers, til I was blue in the face. Crash. Crash. Crash. You get the idea.

I took five, had a think out in the brilliant sunshine. Immediately after installing X3, 8 couldn't find an ocx file. Now, I knew that an ocx is so named because it is an "OLE Control Extension." I also knew that it had to be registered. What if, somehow, during the install process it had been unregistered?

On the machine, in Windows Command Prompt, I ran:
  regsvr32 mcbitmap.ocx -u
then
  regsvr32 mcbitmap.ocx

(The first iteration unregisters object, just in case. The second reinstalls it.)

And it still didn't work.

Ah, said I. Windows XP is old stuff, and quite frequently needs rebooting after system changes.

I rebooted, and we were off to the races.

Oh, and the serial port networking? It just worked.

*Phew!*

-Bill

"Is That a Star, or a Planet?"

Occasionally, you'll notice a passerby spotting a particularly bright star and asking, "Is that a star, or a planet?"

Here's how to tell the difference--and why there's a difference.

In real short form, the difference is that stars twinkle, while planets shine steadily.

Now, why is that?

The answer lies in the apparent diameter of a planetary disc, versus the apparent diameter of a 'turbulence cell' in the upper atmosphere.

Let's go back to the beginning. In any amateur telescope, a star is an infinitesimal point of light. You can magnify it to the limits imposed by the physical parameters of your telescope; but unless you're using a huge, research-grade instrument, you'll never get a measurable disc from a star. What you see in your telescope is a 'diffraction disk,' whose size is a direct measure of the perfection of your instrument; the smaller, the better.

A planet, however, being much smaller than any star, but also much, much, much nearer, displays a measurable disc. Some--Jupiter, Venus, Saturn, for example--show a measurable disc in binoculars. Some people with very sharp eyesight can actually see for themselves. The point is that a planetary disc is much larger than a star's.

Now we must shift our attention to the upper atmosphere, where cells of air are shifting up and down and otherwise roiling with motion. On most nights, the cells tend to be of on the order of a metre or two in diameter. From the ground, that makes their apparent diameter larger than a star's, but much smaller than a planet's.

So, a star--that point source of light--is affected by every turbulence cell between you and it, and it will twinkle in all but the most exceptionally stable sky. In a telescope, you'll find that it will even change apparent position minutely, from instant to instant, the result of refraction effects.

With a planet, it's very much different. The entire planetary disc is covered by dozens, even hundreds, of individual turbulence cells; their combined effect is negligible.

That's not to say that a particularly unstable sky won't still ruin planetary images. In 'bad seeing,' the planetary disc will appear 'smeared,' with lower definition, at times misshapen and shimmering, because of all those turbulence cells roiling away.

So now you know; and now you know why. Another Useless Fact for your exploitation. You're welcome again. ;-)

-Bill

HEY, CHINA!

Well, well, things are coming to a head. Canada and China are engaged in a diplomatic squabble, and China's true colours are showing. China has been dismissive of Canada, suggesting that such a pipsqueak little country should just keep its mouth shut.

I think it's just about time somebody grabbed a switch and took China out behind the shed. I can think of about 35,000,000 people who are perfect for the job.

(That's the approximate population of Canada.)

And I know how to do it.

China, for all its hideous, almost-uncountable human-rights abuses, its crushing yoke of communism, is rewarded for bad behaviour by way doing huge amounts of business with Canada. As a result, an inordinate amount of the things we purchase in the course of a year has been made in China. What's more, most of the raw materials in the products originated --wait for it--in Canada!

What if we all, collectively said, "Enough is enough" and simply stopped buying chinese crap. No more tissue-thin tee-shirts, or pants with tiny pockets, that don't zip up correctly; no more iPhones (look it up!); no more little piles of junk from the dollar store; no more piles of shoes for midgets.

I think it's time for Canada to look to stop doing business with China. China has proven itself unable to participate on the world stage as an adult; therefore, it needs to be spanked.

Henceforth, I'm going to be checking the labels on everything I buy. If it's made in China--if there's any possibility it was made in China--it's going back onto the shelf. I will buy no Chinese-made electronics, clothing, foodstuffs. I won't see their travelling exhibits or cultural shows. In short: I am going to minimize the amount of business done with China on my behalf.

My new mantra: no more chinese crap!

If enough Canadians stuck by this policy, there would be rapid changes. Dollarama, for example, would have to scramble to replace almost every product on its shelves. Wal-Mart would founder. Our retail landscape would be in for some reconfiguration; but that's not a bad thing.

There are other consequences. China's purchasing of raw materials would somewhat slow down; wouldn't it be wonderful if Canadians suppliers to China began to say, "Sorry, can't help you." We could bring China to its knees in about six months.

China can be dismissive of Canada, but at its own peril. If you look at the percentage of global trade Canada does with China, it's easy to see that the removal of that trade would cause a recession in China. It's easy to see that our trade cannot simply be replaced on the chinese side of the equation; far easier on the Canadian side.

As for Canada? I don't think it would be that bad. It would be a boon for Canadian manufacturers (if there's a demand for something, someone will make it--and incidentally need raw materials)--and the loss of jobs in retail chains that failed to adapt would be made up for by increases in employment among chains that did.

China is a huge consumer of Canadian raw materials, and a huge supplier of cheap crap, highly dependent upon overseas trade. Let's start using that leverage.

-Bill

TELESCOPES

An Introduction

If you're involved in amateur astronomy for any amount of time, you'll start getting interested in a telescope.

These days, there are a number of different types, along with different mounts. We'll explore each of these.

Refractors

Refractors are the oldest type of telescope. They feature a primary, or objective, lens up front, and an eyepiece at the viewing end. You can kit it out with numerous accessories (image erectors, right-angle viewers, finderscopes), but the main design of big lens, little lens, and a shape similar to a baseball bat, usually are the giveaways.

Reflectors

Reflecting telescopes have been around for hundreds of years, in various sub-types. Generally, a reflector can be recognized through its usually more-squat shape, and often the placement of the eyepieces.

Newtonian Reflectors

This sort of telescope, invented by Sir Isaac Newton, features a primary mirror at the end of a long tube. The mirror reflects light back up towards a small secondary mirror, canted at a 45-degree angle, and out the side of the telescope. You can usually spot a Newtonian telescope by the placement of the eyepiece; if they're near the front, it's probably a Newtonian.

Cassegrain Reflectors

This sort of telescope, often referred to as a Catadioptric Telescope, features a mirror mounted flush; the light is bounced off the parabolic primary mirror, up to the secondary mirror, and back down and out through a hole in the primary mirror.

Schmidt-Cassegrain Reflectors

These are similar to cassegrains, except that a correcting 'lens' up front combats spherical aberration. The primary mirror may also be spherical.

Maksutov Reflectors

These are similar to Schmidt-Cassegrains, but the nature of the correcting lens is a little different. Adherents swear by it.


MOUNTS

The telescope mount is just as important as the type of telescope. Again, there are several mount types:

Alt-Azimuth
This is a simple up/down, left/right kind of mount. It's usually the cheapest, and with the advent of computer-controlled mounts, they are much more useful.

Equatorial
This is a more-complicated version, best described as an Alt-Az mount which itself is mounted on a wedge that corresponds to the local latitude. This has the effect of 'tilting' the mount to match the sky; circles in the azimuth will correspond to latitude circles in the sky. This type of mount is unwieldy on larger telescopes.

Dobsonian
This is an exceedingly simple type of mount, usually applied to reflectors more than refractors. Basically, it two arms which come up from a circular, rotating base; each 'arm' cradles a short arm extending from the telescope. This allows the telescope to be moved in altitude and azimuth, manually. Some have turned their 'Dobs' into de-facto equatorial mounts by putting them on a wedge (and taking great care to balance the instrument).

Most people cut their teeth on something like a 60-mm refractor, often on an alt-az mount. I have one of those. I also have one on an equatorial mount; and a four-inch reflector on what I can only describe as a 'bowl-mount'.

If I can offer one piece of advice: don't buy your first telescope at a camera shop or department store. Those tend to be underpowered, overpriced, and on cheap, rickety alt-az mounts. Take some time to peruse Internet ads for telescopes and mounts; it'll give you a feel for the prices of various types of instruments, plus a decent mount. Watch out for "200-power" and "400x" telescopes; generally, magnification that high is useless for astronomical viewing; and if that's what they're emphasizing, you don't want their product.

Have fun! Till next time,

-Bill