draft - in progress
by me, Kerry Burgess, 06/14/2024 4:11 PM
This blog-post doesn't really serve much purpose
It's another "Passerby" that jumped ahead in the line and pre-empts another compelling blog-post I have worked on for several days now and that I intend to post here soon. I think it's very compelling.
The purpose of many of these posts - and that I am trying to make as the purpose of this blog overall - is my evaluation of my observations. I evalulate my original-work code-pattern and I examine the results and I describe details that seem difficult to explain.
I am always interested in when those observations concern subjects I have described in the past
My point.
Today - this calendar-day 06/14/2024 - in the very early morning hours today - the exhaust fan in the bathroom began making a really annoying squealing sound.
Clearly, it's the bearings of the motor starting to give out. This is an old apartment and stuff like that is bound to happen. I finally got the frustration - seemingly - resolved for the refrigerator (by lowering the thermostat to a very low level and it works great now)
But today - this calendar-day 06/14/2024 - the problem with the fan starts. And it's clearly going to need repair if it continues
That's not the point of this note.
The point of this note is my evaluation of the code-pattern in my original-work and it's another observation that reminds me of my theory about conspiracy. The weather cannot be part of a conspiracy, I wrote before, and I doubt that exhaust-fan is either.
Whether any of this actually means anything important, that remains to be seen, I suspect.
The only reason I make this note is because of that exhaust-fan today
https://www.instagram.com/bluetreeny/
https://bluetreeny.bigcartel.com/about
Blue Tree
ABOUT
Phoebe Cates Kline opened Blue Tree in the fall of 2005! Phoebe's dream was "to have it be like a general store but according to me." :) A surprise around every turn, the shop has built up a loyal following not only in the neighborhood of Carnegie Hill but all over the world. Known for its eclectic and inspired selection of women's clothing and jewelry, Blue Tree also carries unique and carefully chosen items in home, gift, fragrance, music, delicacies, etc. There are no rules. And we are always re-inventing, recreating in the hopes of delighting.
Battlestar Galactica - tv miniseries - 12/08/2003, 12/09/2003
(from internet transcript)
Starbuck: Where the hell did the Cylons come from?
Adama: All we know for sure is that they achieved complete surprise and we're taking heavy losses. We lost thirty Battlestars in the opening attack.
Starbuck: That's a quarter of the fleet.
Adama: I need pilots, and I need fighters.
Starbuck: Pilots you've got - there's twenty of us climbing the walls down in the ready room, but fighters...
Adama: I think I seem to remember an entire squadron of fighters down on the starboard hangar bay yesterday.
Starbuck: (thinks about that for a second and then salutes) Yes, sir.
(Starboard hangar bay - shot of the museum railings being knocked over)
Starbuck: You're sure they'll fly?
Chief: Well, the reactor's still hot. So all we have to do is pull the rad buffers from the engine, refuel it, load the ordinance and you're ready to go. The biggest problem's gonna be getting them over to the port launch bay.
Starbuck: Why can't we use the starboard launch?
Chief: It's a gift shop now.
From 6/6/1967 ( Lyndon Johnson, 36th President of USA: Statement by the President on the Need for Legislation To Prevent or Minimize Electric Power Blackouts ) To 6/14/2024 ( Today , Friday ) is 20828 days
20828 = 10414 + 10414
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 5/8/1994 ( premiere USA TV miniseries "Stephen King's The Stand"::miniseries premiere "The Plague" ) is 10414 days
From 12/9/2003 ( premiere USA TV miniseries finale episode "Battlestar Galactica" ) To 6/14/2024 ( ) is 7493 days
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 5/9/1986 ( premiere USA film "Short Circuit" & as Kerry Burgess my official US Navy documents includes: Fire Control Technician Class "A" - Great Lakes, Illinois - Date Enrolled {I was awarded rating as Fire Controlman Petty Officer Third Class (FC3) on 11/20/1985 on the USS Taylor FFG-50 leading to FC2 and the USS Wainwright CG-28 on 07/09/1987} ) is 7493 days
From 9/11/1937 ( Robert Crippen ) To 6/14/2024 ( ) is 31688 days
31688 = 15844 + 15844
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 3/20/2009 ( premiere USA film "Knowing" AND premiere USA TV series episode "Battlestar Galactica"::series finale "Daybreak" ) is 15844 days
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As one of only two ratings in the Advanced Electronics/Computer Field (AECF), you will operate, maintain and control everything from radars, fire control systems and computer systems to the Navy’s most advanced missile system, Aegis, which uses radar technology to detect, track and eliminate targets all in one. This job requires highly specialized training and intricate attention. From detection to defense, you are prepared to neutralize enemy targets as the need arises.
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Upon completion of initial training at Recruit Training Command Great Lakes, (known as Boot Camp), those pursuing a Fire Controlman role will report to Apprentice Technical Training and FC Strand in Great Lakes, IL, where they receive 31 weeks of formal Navy technical training. Here, they develop a working knowledge of basic electronics and electronic circuitry, safety, digital theory, microcomputers, fiber optics, test equipment, trouble-shooting techniques and procedures, 2-D and 3-D radar, missile and gun system ballistics and fire control basics.
After "A" school FCs continue on to advanced "C" school. School lengths and content vary, but many colleges and universities offer college credits for these Navy courses.
The Stand - complete edition, by Stephen King
(from internet transcript)
excerpts, Chapter 4
It was an hour past nightfall.
Starkey sat alone at a long table, sifting through sheets of yellow flimsy. Their contents dismayed him. He had been serving his country for thirty-six years, beginning as a scared West Point plebe. He had won medals. He had spoken with Presidents, had offered them advice, and on occasion his advice had been taken. He had been through dark moments before, plenty of them, but this…
He was scared, so deeply scared he hardly dared admit it to himself. It was the kind of fear that could drive you mad.
On impulse he got up and went to the wall where the five blank TV monitors looked into the room. As he got up, his knee bumped the table, causing one of the sheets of flimsy to fall off the edge. It seesawed lazily down through the mechanically purified air and landed on the tile, half in the table’s shadow and half out. Someone standing over it and looking down would have seen this:
OT CONFIRMED
SEEMS REASONABLY
STRAIN CODED 848-AB
CAMPION, (W.) SALLY
ANTIGEN SHIFT AND MUTATION.
HIGH RISK/EXCESS MORTALITY
AND COMMUNICABILITY ESTIMATED
REPEAT 99.4%. ATLANTA PLAGUE CENTER
UNDERSTANDS. TOP SECRET BLUE FOLDER.
ENDS
P-T-222312A
Starkey pushed a button under the middle screen and the picture flashed on with the unnerving suddenness of solid state components. It showed the western California desert, looking east. It was desolate, and the desolation was rendered eerie by the reddish-purple tinge of infrared photography.
It’s out there, straight ahead, Starkey thought. Project Blue.
The fright tried to wash over him again. He reached into his pocket and brought out a blue pill. What his daughter would call a “downer.” Names didn’t matter; results did. He dry-swallowed it, his hard, unseamed face wrinkling for a moment as it went down.
Project Blue.
He looked at the other blank monitors, and then punched up pictures on all of them. 4 and 5 showed labs. 4 was physics, 5 was viral biology. The vi-bi lab was full of animal cages, mostly for guinea pigs, rhesus monkeys, and a few dogs. None of them appeared to be sleeping. In the physics lab a small centrifuge was still turning around and around. Starkey had complained about that. He had complained bitterly. There was something spooky about that centrifuge whirling gaily around and around and around while Dr. Ezwick lay dead on the floor nearby, sprawled out like a scarecrow that had tipped over in a high wind.
They had explained to him that the centrifuge was on the same circuit as the lights, and if they turned off the centrifuge, the lights would go, too. And the cameras down there were not equipped for infrared. Starkey understood. Some more brass might come down from Washington and want to look at the dead Nobel Prize winner who was lying four hundred feet under the desert less than a mile away. If we turn off the centrifuge, we turn off the professor. Elementary. What his daughter would have called a “Catch-22.”
He took another “downer” and looked into monitor 2. This was the one he liked least of all. He didn’t like the man with his face in the soup.
The Stand - complete edition, by Stephen King
(from internet transcript)
excerpts, Chapter 17
Starkey was standing in front of monitor 2, keeping a close eye on Tech 2nd Class Frank D. Bruce. When we last saw Bruce, he was facedown in a bowl of Chunky Sirloin Soup. No change except for the positive ID. Situation normal, all fucked up.
Thoughtfully, hands locked behind his back like a general reviewing troops, like General Black Jack Pershing, his boyhood idol, Starkey moved down to monitor 4, where the situation had changed for the better. Dr. Emmanual Ezwick still lay dead on the floor, but the centrifuge had stopped. At 1940 hours last night, the centrifuge had begun to emit fine tendrils of smoke. At 1995 hours the sound pickups in Ezwick’s lab had transmitted a whunga-whunga-whunga sort of sound that deepened into a fuller, richer, and more satisfying ronk! ronk! ronk! At 2107 hours the centrifuge had ronked its last ronk and had slowly come to rest. Was it Newton who had said that somewhere, beyond the farthest star, there may be a body perfectly at rest? Newton had been right about everything but the distance, Starkey thought. You didn’t have to go far at all. Project Blue was perfectly at rest. Starkey was very glad. The centrifuge had been the last illusion of life, and the problem he’d had Steffens run through the main computer bank (Steffens had looked at him as though he were crazy, and yes, Starkey thought he might be) was: How long could that centrifuge be expected to run? The answer, which had come back in 6.6 seconds, was: ± 3 YEARS PROBABLE MALFUNCTION NEXT TWO WEEKS .009% AREAS OF PROBABLE MALFUNCTION BEARINGS 38% MAIN MOTOR 16% ALL OTHER 54%. That was a smart computer. Starkey had gotten Steffens to query it again after the actual burnout of Ezwick’s centrifuge. The computer communed with the Engineering Systems data bank and confirmed that the centrifuge had indeed burned out its bearings.
Remember that, Starkey thought as his caller began to beep urgently behind him. The sound of burning bearings in the final stages of collapse is ronk-ronk-ronk.
He went to the caller and pushed the button that snapped off the beeper. “Yes, Len.”
“Billy, I’ve got an urgent from one of our teams in a town called Sipe Springs, Texas. Almost four hundred miles from Arnette. They say they have to talk to you; it’s a command decision.”
“What is it, Len?” he asked calmly. He had taken over sixteen “downers” in the last ten hours, and was, generally speaking, feeling fine. Not a sign of a ronk.
“Press.”
"Oh Jesus," Starkey said mildly. "Patch them through."
- by me, Kerry Wayne Burgess, posted by me: 4:54 PM Pacific-time USA Friday 06/14/2024
