Carved from basswood, about three inches tall, pattern taken from Gary Batte’s book, Carving Crazy Critters.

Al went to my mom, who collects alligators.

In the course of years hoarding books of all description I have acquired quite a large number. It is perhaps unsurprising that I have not yet read through my entire library, as often a new volume will be added that I must needs read most hastily. The list of unread titles has grown to such proportions that were I to consume one per day–a most unlikely achivevment considering that the bibliography consists of tomes penned by such writers as Stephen King, Leon Uris, James A. Michner, and others for whom the word “edit” apparently has no meaning–I would be reading for more than a decade and would in the intervening years surely bypass the opportunity to consume manuscripts of much greater value than what I currently possess. However, with such a variety from which to choose I never am at a loss for something with which to entertain myself.

It came to pass that my high school English instructor–some 30 years after that worthy individual and I had last communicated in person–mentioned the book that forms the title of this entry, and I realized that in all my wide ranging reading I had failed to digest that particular novel. A most grievous omission, I’ve been told, as it seems that any well read American must be able to list this story among the best that he has read. So being, I took it upon myself to seek out and correct this deficit in my admittedly haphazard education.

Obtaining a suitable copy of Mr. Melville’s most famous work turned out to be a matter of just a few minutes, as the title existed in the aforementioned library that my wife and I maintain in our home, correctly placed on the shelf in alphabetical order by the author’s last name. When one has only a handful of books, one can haphazardly place them hither and yon, and recall with little effort the location of a particular volume. As one ages and the number of books grows, memory becomes a more unreliable device and thus requires that some artificial order be placed on the positioning of things lest they be lost but for a volume-by-volume search that would without question occupy more time than the actual reading.

In the nearly half-century I have been blessed with existence on this mortal plane, I have heard many things, mostly good, about Moby Dick. I do not recall, however, any mention of the book’s great weight. At five hundred forty three pages (in the faux-leather-bound edition that graces our collection), the volume is much larger than I had expected. Size, of course, is no indication of a story’s quality although it has often been noted that a longer story must needs be better than a short one, if only to hold the reader’s interest for such a duration. Boring is never forgivable, but at least one can endure an exceedingly dull story if it is short.

On an aside, I’ve often heard that Moby Dick starts with the words, “Call me Ishmael.” Perhaps the story itself starts with those words, but at least in my edition the book starts with a dozen or more pages of historical quotes–some quite obscure–about whales. In retrospect a quote or two or perhaps one full page at most would have been sufficient, I think, to give the impression that the author was intending. But filling fully two percent of the book with such drivel tries the reader’s patience at the very beginning. Had I not been convinced over years of positive reviews that I was in for a delightful read, I would have taken this early waste of time as a warning. But I soldiered on, putting aside my annoyance at the gratuitous quotes, and began the story proper.

Ishmael begins his tale quite engagingly, describing the conditions under which he found himself signing on to a whaling vessel in the great whaling capital of the world: Nantucket. With but few exceptions, the story of his trip to Nantucket, his meeting and new friendship with Queequeg, his initial interview with the owners of the good ship Pequod, and everything leading up to departure was interesting and entertaining. By the time the lines were cast off and the Pequod was leaving Nantucket harbor, I felt as one would be expected to feel at the start of a great voyage; looking forward to the promised adventure on the High Seas.

Sadly, as so often happens with grand adventures, the reality is much less than the anticipation. After preparing for much excitement, the ship is loaded, crew aboard, farewells shared, lines cast, and once the mast disappears over the horizon, it becomes apparent that the “grand adventure” amounts to day upon dreary day of nothing but the sea, the wind in the sails, and endless drudgery: working, eating, sleeping, and perhaps from time to time hanging on for dear life as Mother Nature does her best to capsize, crash, rip apart, or otherwise destroy the ship and thus leave you stranded in the boundless sea, clinging to the flotsam hoping against all odds that another ship will come by to extract you from the waves before your strength gives out and you slip into the deep, never to surface again.

After the first one hundred pages, the good ship Pequod sets sail and Ishmael becomes tiresome, regaling us with page upon ponderous page of information about whales, whaling, and all manner of things tangentially related, occasionally returning to the ship and crew as if reminding himself that there is a story in here somewhere, and along the way relating one or two mildly entertaining bits that ultimately leave the reader unsatisfied. The experience is reminiscent of being stranded at the old sailors’ home, listening to its most seasoned occupant who has perhaps three teeth left and half that many brain cells still functioning as he alternately sips his ale (“Avast! In my day we had proper grog, not this watered down swill that passes for ale among you landlubbers”) rambling tirelessly on about his career on the sea.

One could forgive the asides and the occasional insertion of a fact or three about the business of whaling but for a few egregious errors that the author, a supposedly well regarded writer in his time, should have known better than to commit so voluminously. Whereas it’s important that the reader understand at least some small amount of nautical and whaling jargon, such information should overall be brief, and be presented to the reader in an engaging style. The author’s presentation here is atrocious; as though he took essays written for popular periodicals of the time and slapped them into the text, arranging and lightly editing them so that they seem to fit into the story, but to anybody giving it more than a cursory glance–say, the attention required to actually read the book–the story looks like a cartoon ransom note. Furthermore, and more to the author’s discredit, those informative asides are too often filled with speculation, half truths, and downright fabrications all of which are presented as fact.

Throughout, Melville illustrates his facility with language by never letting a simple word do the work of a convoluted sentence. Nor does he skimp on the long, rambling, and ultimately incoherent paragraphs, as if the value of the writing is increased by having to read over the passage four or five times just to pick out a simple concept that could have been related in one or two short, simple, and interesting sentences. One can hardly escape the thought that the Levianthanic prose is a great joke played on the reader by the author. A grand joke it is, too, as countless learned scholars and critics continue to lavish unctuous praise on the book a century and a half after it was penned, despite the offenses so obviously committed by the author.

Finally, after wading through hundreds of pages of irrelevant asides with a few colorful anecdotes (related again with cetacean ponderosity) thrown in, and an occasional reference to Captain Ahab and perhaps a half-dozen queries of, “Have you seen the white whale?” we reach the end of the journey: the spotting and chase of the book’s eponymous antagonist–or, depending on your point of view, protagonist. This climax, too, is muted by the less than exciting writing, and the reader is left at the end wondering why he wasted countless precious hours (and, before the advent of electricity, one must conclude, precious candle wick or lamp oil) struggling with the tome and hoping against all reasonable expectation that there was some redeeming value to be found in the book.

I find it curious and more than a bit humorous that in a book about whaling–an occupation in which the primary goal is to keep the blubber and throw out the meat–the author (it’s unlikely that any reputable editor would have allowed this manuscript to leave his desk unscathed) decided to keep the meat and the blubber as well. It is little surprise, considering that the book is easily more than three-fifths blubber outright, and the meat is so marbled with fat that even a light trimming would reduce it by half, and a further treatment by a skilled editor would complete the job of turning this overweight, ponderous and ultimately dull sperm whale of a novel into a sleek and playful dolphin of a story that one could read and enjoy in less than two hours.

As a cure for insomnia–a condition that seemingly afflicts ever more people as time goes on–I would heartily recommend Melville’s Moby Dick. Other potential uses would be casual placement in a conspicuous location in order to impress visitors with the quality of your reading material. The tome would also serve well as a paperweight or, in a pinch, fireplace kindling. I would not, however, recommend it for the stated purpose–reading–unless you are compelled to do so by some outside force (say, a school assignment). Perhaps those who study mass delusions, too, would like to read the book in an attempt to understand how, after one hundred and sixty years, people still cling to the ridiculous notion that the book’s unsubtle and superficial symbolism, use of language, and incoherent exploration of themes (some controversial) qualify it as a treasure of world literature.

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I thought this particular idiocy had been eliminated years ago.  If you don’t want people to link to you, why the heck are you on the Web at all?  I think somebody needs to rein in the lawyers again.

Another 5-4 decision, and one that I think should have been a 9-0 decision involved the University of California’s Hastings College of Law–a public institution–and a student group called the Christian Legal Society (CLS).  The first part of the Court’s decision explains the issue quite well:

Hastings College of the Law (Hastings), a school within the University of California public-school system, extends official recognition to student groups through its “Registered Student Organization” (RSO) program. Several benefits attend this school-approved status, including the use of school funds, facilities, and channels of communication, as well as Hastings’ name and logo. In exchange for recognition, RSOs must abide by certain conditions. Critical here, all RSOs must comply with the school’s Nondiscrimination Policy, which tracks state law barring discrimination on a number of bases, including religion and sexual orientation. Hastings interprets this policy, as it relates to the RSO program, to mandate acceptance of all comers: RSOs must allow any student to participate, become a member, or seek leadership positions, regardless of her status or beliefs.

CLS requires that all members and employees, as a condition of their employment or membership, acknowledge in writing a Statement of Faith that, in part, forbids “participation in or acceptance of a sexually immoral lifestyle,” which is defined as sex outside of a heterosexual marriage.  Such a condition is obviously at odds with the non discrimination policy of Hastings College.

CLS tries to argue that Hastings’ restrictions on RSOs violate the CLS members’ rights under the first and fourteenth amendments to the Constitution.  That’s silly.  Hastings has not attempted to change the CLS policies.  It has simply withheld recognition of a group that does not abide by the school’s nondiscrimination policy.

I’m flabbergasted that four Supreme Court justices came down on the other side of this issue.  I haven’t yet read their dissenting opinions–something I really have to do.  This decision seems so obvious that I can’t imagine what rational reason a judge could have for ruling that Hastings should recognize the group.  But we’ll see.

The “y”, “e”, “4″, and “u” are simple.  But is that “w” or “W”?  “z” or “Z”?

I wasn’t going to send a comment.  And, seeing as how I can’t reliably determine what to type here, I wouldn’t even attempt it.  Knowing my luck, I’d get into an infinite loop of failures and ambiguous prompts.

I’m a bit surprised at the public reaction to this incident.  A large number of people have expressed their shock and outrage at the parents for allowing their 16-year-old daughter to embark on such a voyage.  “Sixteen is too young,” they say, “teenagers don’t have the same ability as adults to evaluate risk and do the right thing.”  Then they go on to regurgitate the oft-reported statistics about teenagers and automobile accidents.

It is true, by the way, that teenagers are involved in a disproportionate number of auto accidents when compared to the rest of the population.  And it’s pretty well known why:  teenage drivers tend to understimate hazardous driving situations and are less able than older drivers to recognize potentially dangerous situations.

It’s not age, but experience that matters.  When I was a teenager, I had a friend whose dad was a race car driver.  Ron, too, raced cars on the track.  He was an incredibly safe driver on the road.  He knew better than most drivers–regardless of age–how to evaluate a situation and react accordingly.  I also know drivers in their 40s and 50s who I will not ride with again, ever, because they have shown a shocking inability to anticipate other drivers’ actions and see a dangerous situation developing.

Abby Sunderland has been sailing with her family all her life.  She’s reported to be an excellent sailor and over the years has proven her ability to handle a boat in all manner of situations.  She’s likely a much better and more experienced sailor than most sailors twice her age.  Her parents, by all reports, are responsible people who encourage their children to follow their dreams, but also make sure that the children are well prepared before attempting anything too wild.

I, for one, fully support parents who encourage their children to create and achieve far-reaching goals.  In doing so, the children are learning perhaps the most important lesson that all too many parents fail to teach:  the ability to take a dream from inception to completion.  They learn to develop a plan, gain the knowledge and skill to accomplish their goal, and then do it.  People talk about building self confidence in children, but too many parents balk when it comes to actually giving the kids the opportunity to rely on themselves.

I suspect that in the year or more since she started preparing for her trip, and especially in the six months she spent alone at sea in a 40-foot boat, Abby learned more about herself and how to achieve goals than most people learn in a lifetime.  That she survived the storm that destroyed her boat–a storm that would likely have killed an inexperienced sailor–shows me that she was able to identify and react properly to the dangerous situation.  A big wave broke the mast, true, but experienced sailors will tell you that such a thing can happen to anybody.  30-foot seas are a challenge for anybody in a small craft.

Kids don’t learn anything worthwhile if you coddle them.  They learn by pushing their limits:  often trying things that others view as dangerous.  My friends who have achieved the most in life are those who did “dangerous” things as teenagers:  bull riding, skydiving, auto racing, motorcycle racing, playing with old radios (think about the dangers of high voltage power transformers), etc.  In almost all cases the parents were involved in making sure that the kids were prepared for whatever they were doing:  guiding, not preventing.

Conversely, my friends who were coddled as teenagers and forbidden from doing “dangerous” things (other than driving–for reasons I can’t understand, parents let their kids drive even when the kids show a shocking lack of ability to manage risk) either had a very difficult time learning to take risk as they got older, or are now coddling themselves and their own kids and not accomplishing anything.

Why risk it?  Because there is no advancement without risk.  The key is managing the risk:  building the knowledge and skill to identify and react to hazardous situations, but making plans to avoid those situations as much as possible.  In the specific case of Abby Sunderland, she had the skill and knowledge, and as much as possible she avoided the risks.  But, as she said, “you don’t sail through the Indian Ocean without getting in at least one storm.”  It’s part of the journey.  It’s just unfortunate that this particular storm wrecked her boat.

Congratulations, Abby, on your attempt.  You didn’t make it around the world, but you accomplished a great deal in trying.

To Mr. and Mrs. Sunderland, thank you for allowing your daughter (and your son, last year) to show us what young people can accomplish given the opportunity, guidance, and encouragement.  I hope that other parents will learn from your example.

In one such discussion recently, somebody mentioned putting black pepper on a cut to stop the bleeding.  I had never heard of that one, but there’s eHow article: How to Treat Cuts with Black Pepper.  eHow is hardly a reliable source for medical information, and I don’t place much faith in the countless alternative medicine sites that have similar content about the use of black pepper on cuts.  Still, I wonder.

It turns out that black pepper is only one of many such home remedies.  I’ve also seen recommendations of flour, cayenne pepper powder, ground coffee, and corn starch.  This leads me to believe that it’s not the particular substance but rather that the substance is powdered.  The powder clots the blood on the surface, which would be enough to stop the bleeding on a minor cut.

Some sites also claim medicinal benefits to some of these remedies–especially the black pepper and cayenne pepper.  I have not been able to find any reliable information about that.

Anybody else hear of these remedies?  Do they work simply by clotting the blood at the surface, or are there some astringent or antihemorrhaghic properties to these recommended substances?

Pubsubhubbub was originally designed to support the Atom Syndication Format.  But there’s no widely accepted standard for publishing media information with Atom.  It looks like most sites that publish media use RSS 2.0 and the Media RSS extensions.

I touched on the development of syndication formats in a 2004 blog entry.  Atom “won” by becoming a standard, but RSS (mostly RSS 2.0) is so prevalent that it’s unlikely to be pushed out any time soon.

The developers of Pubsubhubbub included support for RSS in July of last year, and the latest specification (0.3) includes support.  This is both good and bad:  good because now all those sites that use RSS 2.0 can participate in Pubsubhubbub, and bad because those of us building readers still have to deal with two competing formats.

Also on the bad side, and especially pertinent to me, is the lack of any kind of media extensions for Atom.  There’s been some chatter in the past about using the Media RSS extensions inside of Atom, but it appears that nothing ever came of that.  Atom has an “enclosure” element that adds some media capability, but it’s pretty minimal.  The Atom Publishing Protocol specification allows for media, but not to any great extent.   There’s also a proposed standard for Atom Media Extensions, although I find no mention of it on the IETF’s site.

So I’m left with this choice:  publish RSS 2.0 with Media RSS extensions (both non-standard), or publish a severely crippled Atom standard standard document.  Since it’s likely that RSS 2.0 will continue to thrive and it looks like there are no standard media extensions to Atom, it looks like I’m stuck with RSS.  Unfortunate, but that’s the way it goes.

We love standards.  That’s why we have so many of them.

The dog started out as a branch on an elm tree in the yard.  It was part of the big limb that the wind took down last spring.  Finish is nothing fancy:  just the Howard Feed ‘N Wax that I use on most of my found wood carvings.

Since at least 1994, the Tropical Meteorology Project at Colorado State University has issued predictions on the upcoming Atlantic hurricane season.  They issue three predictions each year:

1. In December, they publish their predictions for the upcoming season.
2. In April, they publish an updated prediction for the season that will start on June 1.
3. In August, they publish yet another update.

You might wonder why they publish an update in the middle of the season.  The answer can be found in their FAQ:

Although the Atlantic basin hurricane season starts on June 1, more than 90 percent of all tropical cyclone activity and 95 percent of major hurricane activity occurs after August 1 in an average season. In general, our seasonal forecasts issued on August 1 show the greatest skill.

The TMP also publishes an annual report that summarizes the most recent hurricane season and compares their predictions with the actual activity.  Their forecasts page has links to the most recent forecasts, and a way to select previous forecasts.

Whereas the forecasts make for interesting reading, I was especially impressed with the summaries.  The authors are very up front about how they derive the numbers for their forecasts, and the summaries accurately present their successes and their failures.  Everything is out in the open.  They don’t appear to be pushing a particular agenda, but rather reporting the results of their observations and using the observed data to try to understand and predict future behavior.  This is what I was taught science is about.

One thing I’ve wondered for the past several years is what caused the recent increase in tropical cyclone activity.  That there has been an increase is no secret, as I pointed out last year in Tracking Hurricanes.  A common cry is, “Global warming is causing more hurricanes.”  TMP’s 2009 Summary addresses that, starting on page 39.  The entire section is well worth reading.  A few quotes are particularly relevant:

Despite the global warming of the sea surface that has taken place between the mid 1970s to late 1990s and the general warming of the last century, the global numbers of hurricanes and their intensity have not shown increases in recent years except for the Atlantic since 1995 (Klotzbach 2006).

Although global surface temperatures have increased over the last century and over the last 30 years, there is no reliable data available to indicate increased hurricane frequency or intensity in any of the globe’s other tropical cyclone basins.

In other words, if an increase in sea surface temperature caused an increase in hurricane activity, one would expect the increased activity everywhere, not just in the Atlantic.

So, what’s the cause?

This large increase in Atlantic major hurricanes is primarily a result of the multi-decadal increase in the Atlantic Ocean thermohaline circulation (THC) that is not directly related to global sea surface temperatures or CO2 increases. Changes in ocean salinity are believed to be the driving mechanism.

Interesting.  Changes in the salt content of the water, which is a localized phenomenon.

The report then gives a detailed counter to the global warming argument, showing that in two recent 25-year periods (1945-1969, during a weak cooling trend; and 1970-1994, a general warming trend), the warmer period had only 48% as many hurricanes as the cooler period.  Looked at in isolation, you would conclude that cooler temperatures caused more hurricanes.  That’s obviously not the case, though, when you look at all the data.  So you have to conclude that the increase in hurricane activity is due to something else.

If you haven’t yet caught on, I’m impressed with the way the TMP presents their research.  I encourage you to give it a look.