disgusted.

Over the past few days, the Internet has educated me that the Aurora massacre was really perpetrated by:

  • President Obama, to be able to push tighter gun control
  • The CIA, to eliminate the service members who were killed (the other audience members being “collateral alibi damage”)
  • The Jews, because, hey, Zionist World Conspiracy
  • The Tea Party, because those people are just so damn angry and violent
  • The Occupy movement, because those people are just so damn angry and violent
  • The BATFE, to draw attention away from the “Fast & Furious” investigations.

It seems that the natural tendency in the face of such appalling, senseless carnage is to assign responsibility to the people and political viewpoints one doesn’t like, and then to project one’s own attitudes onto them, all before the first bit of evidence comes in.

This is one of those weeks when I spend a great deal of time wondering how our species has ever made it down from the trees and off the African savanna. I can’t decide whether a species that has learned to harness the atom and fly to the moon, but whose members kill each other over trivial shit is too smart or too stupid for its own good. Somewhere in the galaxy there’s some civilization that uses humanity as a cautionary educational tale: “What happens when apes get smart enough to invent projectile weapons.”

And with that, I think I’ll turn this Intertubes thing off for a bit and go make something.

smile! you’re on candid camera!

We bought a weatherproof wildlife camera to record visitors to the chicken coop, just to see what’s out there trying to score a free chicken dinner. I set it up on Sunday and set it so the camera goes off whenever the sensor detects motion. I checked the flash card every day, and usually it only shows us as we let the chickens out in the morning and feed them.

Today I checked it to find our first nocturnal would-be chicken thief:

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Mr. Raccoon!

He stuck around for a while and checked the perimeter of the run until about twenty minutes later, when he scampered off without loot:

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I can look at the sequence of pictures and see where he tried to dig into the run, but failed because of the two feet of hardware cloth skirted and staked down in front of the run. There’s no damage on the coop or the run anywhere. It appears half-inch hardware cloth is too much to tackle for your garden variety midnight bandit.

Interesting little toy, that wildlife camera. It’s nice to know just what exactly lurks around that chicken coop in the middle of the night.

pointless savagery.

When you’re young and in your physical prime, and the guy you punch is not, hands can become a lethal weapon, and you can find yourself facing first-degree murder charges.

Now imagine what would have happened if the old man had carried a handgun and shot his attacker in self-defense. How would the media have presented the incident? Would we have another case of clear-cut, racially-motivated murder?

you didn’t build that.

So the President gave a speech in which he used a modified form of Elizabeth Warren’s claims that “nobody builds a business alone”:

“If you were successful, somebody along the line gave you some help. There was a great teacher somewhere in your life. Somebody helped to create this unbelievable American system that we have that allowed you to thrive. Somebody invested in roads and bridges. If you’ve got a business, you didn’t build that. Somebody else made that happen,” he said.

That one ticked me off when it made the rounds with my liberal friends on Facebook, but I held my tongue then. This time I feel compelled to add my two inflation-adjusted coppers.

Nobody who has any understanding about economics, taxation, and all the bureaucratic red tape choking business startups would ever make such a brain-dead claim. It sounds good on the surface to people with a particular mindset—that greedy plutocrats are helping themselves to public resources to build their own profit factories on the backs of everyone else—but it’s a load of bullshit, and it has nothing to do with the way things actually work in real life.

Let’s say Bob wants to build and open a restaurant, Bob’s Fried Opossum House. He has to first buy a plot of land. That means Bob is paying the real estate broker and the tax man. Then he needs all the necessary permissions and impact studies and health and safety and zoning inspections that come with building anything commercial anywhere, which means more fees and taxes to his local and state governments.

Once Bob has the red tape straightened out, he pays an architect to come up with a building design. Then he has to get that approved, which means more taxes and fees. Then Bob hires a construction company to put the thing together for him, a paving company to make a parking lot, an HVAC contractor to put in heat and air, another contractor to take care of the plumbing and sewage…you get the idea. Before the first bit of concrete is even poured, Bob has written out a lot of checks to a lot of people, and they all got to eat and pay their own taxes and mortgages from Bob’s business endeavor, all without assuming the risk that he has on his shoulders now.

Once the business is standing, Bob has to hire people to work for him. That means more paychecks, and more taxes: Bob’s share of his employees’ Social Security, Medicare, and so on. (Also their share plus their state and Federal income taxes, because they’re paying those out of the wages they got from Bob.)

By the time Bob’s Fried Opossum House finally opens its doors, a whole lot of people have gotten paid by Bob, and he has written a lot of tax and fee checks to government at all levels. Oh, and don’t forget that as a business owner, Bob gets to pre-pay his taxes on his expected income every quarter—something that should be a familiar to writers, a lot of whom file their freelance and fiction writing income taxes in the same fashion. And all the while, Bob has been working 100-hour weeks for a year and a half to get his Fried Opossum House off the ground.

Nobody builds a business alone, that’s true. But Bob didn’t make all those people work for free, and he didn’t make use of public resources without writing hefty tax checks for the privilege. Bob paid everyone, including his local, state, and federal government, before he even got to make his first dollar of profits. And Bob carries all the risk here. If his business tanks, his contractors aren’t going to return the money he gave them for their work, his employees aren’t going to give back their wages, and the government isn’t going to return the taxes and fees he paid. So why is it OK that when he’s successful enough to make a profit, some populist asshole politicians can stand up and say that “he hasn’t paid his fair share to society yet”?

There’s another thing that bothers me about the notion that just because Bob had his stuff delivered over a public road, and because Bob has hired publically-educated people for his business, that that somehow means that Bob owes society now. Like I said, Bob paid for the privilege—and suggesting that it’s not really his achievement because he used a resource which he’s been forced to subsidize all your life with taxes is tantamount to claiming that all business endeavors are therefore really a public accomplishment.

I think the only people who can say nonsense like that are those who have never started or run a business on their own, people who have eaten at the public trough all their lives and never had to deal with all the financial risk and the soul-crushing bureaucratic bullshit that comes with working for yourself.

funday morning.

Back from Readercon. I got to meet friends again I hadn’t seen since last year, meet new unsavory writer and editor types, attend awesome readings and panels, drink fine liquor and interesting new beers, and eat grown-up restaurant fare with other grown-ups while talking shop and making bad jokes for three days. Thanks to my lovely wife for minding the shop in my absence and letting me run off for a few days to hang out with like-minded miscreants.

Now I have to dive back into work—got some stories to write, some more to finish, and a bunch to submit for possible Fame & Glory™.

betcha he was wearing flip-flops and oakleys, too.

Dumbass of the Month award goes to this guy, who taped himself going 180+ MPH on a busy Canadian highway on a motorcycle.

Runner up is the dumbworm who made this comment on the CNN intertubes site:

“Aaah…how, exactly, was a guy on a motorcycle going to kill anyone? Most likely case: he crashes into a car, and he dies.”

Physics knowledge FAIL. A 400-pound bike with a 200-pound rider going 180MPH is a metric fuckton of kinetic energy. Anyone unlucky enough to be rear-ended by that moron at those speeds would have had a very bad day indeed. Imagine an anvil getting shot out of a cannon and plowing through an occupied minivan from back to front.

newsletter from castle frostbite, july 2012.

Oh, hey there, Internets!

Team Munchkin Wrangler had a busy week and a relaxing weekend. The kids enjoyed their science summer camp, and I enjoyed my five morning Dadcations. Lyra was in preschool day camp, which let out at noon, and Quinn’s camp let out at 3. I dropped them off in the mornings, went into Hanover or West Leb to find a spot to write for a few hours, and then came back to pick up Lyra at noon to take her home. With the return trip in the afternoon to fetch Quinn, I did a ton of driving back and forth. A tank of gas usually lasts for two weeks with my regular driving patterns, but last week I blew through a full tank by Thursday.But hey—the kids had fun, I got some time off, and that dinosaur juice was combusted for a noble purpose.

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We’re back to the regular routine this week, except for Friday when I get to go to Boston for the weekend and attend Readercon. A bunch of my writer friends will be there, so there will be plenty of geekery, shop talk, and consumption of adult beverages.

Cluckheim Keep still stands unmolested, and the chickens are reasonably happy with the new arrangement. With the way our handyman overbuilt the run, I don’t see any fox or raccoon getting into it. The only worry I have is black bear—friends of ours thirty miles away have had a persistent member of the species break into their shed and then their barn repeatedly to get to their chickens and feed. The run is ridiculously sturdy, but bears are ridiculously strong, and a determined black bear would be a challenge to keep out. The run is close enough to the house that I’m counting on hearing any demolition attempts and being able to come downstairs to, uh, strongly discourage Mr. Bear. We had one on the property two years ago, but he hasn’t returned since then. We don’t have bird feeders out, but you never know.

The fiction-writing business is coming along as always. A while ago, I had the brilliantly stupid idea to write two novels in tandem, and then I started playing with some ideas for a third one. The Military SF novel stands at 90% complete, the Urban Fantasy detective novel is 50% done, and the YA novel is at 30% or so. It’s nice to be able to switch gears and work on something else for a bit when you get stuck with one novel, but it sucks when you’re stuck on all of them. But things are progressing at a good clip now. (I’ve set up shop in the attic temporarily, where it’s kind of hot but very quiet, which may have something to do with the increased output lately.) I will have three finished novels to shop around later this year, in three different genres. Or I could just combine them all and mix chapters, see what kind of response I get from agents…

science camp week.

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The new chicken run, completed and populated.

This week is a complete change in pace for us. The kids are attending a science day camp every day until Friday, which means we leave the house early. I get to drop them off and then take a few hours out in Hanover or West Lebanon to sit and scribble for a bit, which means I’m getting five Dadcation days this week. Lyra’s camp is only half-day, so I have to pick her up at lunch, and then we go home and let the dogs out and check on the chickens before going back out and fetching Quinn in the afternoon.

The kids are enjoying their camp. I’m enjoying the time off in the mornings. Lyra is kindergarten age now, and if I had them in public school, I could have a quiet morning every day. But then putting them in school would be more for my convenience than their benefit. I will, however, enroll Quinn in some extracurricular stuff this year. We’re already paying the property taxes that bankroll our local school; might as well start taking advantage of the facilities a bit.

desperate times, desperate measures.

The fox is still out there. The chickens have been cooped up in their house for three days now, and they are getting a little fidgety. This weekend, the temps will hit the 90s again, and then Cluckheim Keep will be too warm during the day. So we had to commission a quick emergency project—a fox-proof 120 square-foot outdoor addition to Cluckheim Keep. Thankfully, our handyman is really good with a table saw.

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(That bottom right shot shows the residents supervising the labor force.)

It’s incomplete, but it will be finished at some point tomorrow. The mesh that encloses the run is 19-gauge galvanized hardware cloth, skirted two feet out from the run and staked down to prevent digging. The corner posts are 4x4s, and the roof is thick plywood that will get a tarpaper cover. It weighs about twice as much as the shed. I don’t see anything short of a bear getting in there, and that bear would have to put some serious shoulder into it to break it. One thing is for certain—the foxes won’t be able to pull off any snatch & run attacks anymore.

The chickens are happier free-ranging, obviously, but they’re not happy at all when they get chewed on by a fox, so this will have to be a compromise. With the extra bill for materials and labor, however, those eggs are going to cost us about ten bucks a piece. On the plus side–if we ever decide to give up on the chicken thing, that run will make  a great little garden house.