Author: Derek

Metal Tuesday – Judas Priest – You’ve Got Another Thing Coming

This week’s Metal Tuesday is Judas Priest’s classic “You’ve Got Another Thing Coming.”

Lyrics:

One life I’m gonna live it up
I’m takin’ flight said I’ll never get enough.
Stand tall I’m young and kinda proud
I’m on top as long as the music’s loud.
If you think I’ll sit around as the world goes by
You’re thinkin’ like a fool ’cause it’s a case of do or die.
Out there is a fortune waitin’ to be had
If you think I’ll let it go you’re mad
You’ve got another thing comin’.

That’s right here’s where the talkin’ ends
Well listen this night there’ll be some action spent.
Drive hard I’m callin’ all the shots
I got an ace card comin’ down on the rocks.

If you think I’ll sit around while you chip away my brain
Listen I ain’t foolin’ and you’d better think again.
Out there is a fortune waitin’ to be had
If you think I’ll let it go you’re mad
You’ve got another thing comin’.
In this world we’re livin’ in we have our share of sorrow
Answer now is don’t give in aim for a new tomorrow.

Oh so hot no time to take a rest yeah
Act tough ain’t room for second best.
Real strong got me some security
Hey I’m a big smash I’m goin’ for infinity yeah.

Monday Fiction – Avalon Book 1 Chapter 5

Anne

Samantha and Veronica leapt to their feet as Erik collapsed to the ground with a grunt of pain. Kurt kept Anne restrained in the chair, but loosened his grip. She looked up at the fair-haired German, who just gave her that charming smile. Damn, why were all the pretty ones trouble?

Samantha and Veronica helped Erik into another chair. Veronica was a study in professionalism, with some heavy-duty respect laid on. Samantha, on the other hand, wore an expression of genuine concern. There was something there. Samantha guessed an unrequited affection. She could always smell one of her own. Erik’s long coat was removed. Anne saw the unmistakable black-stained hole from a gunshot in the shirt, but there was no blood. Samantha tore off the shirt to reveal some kind of bulletproof vest. It was slimmer than the one she normally wore, and looked like it was more flexible.

“Samantha, relax,” Erik said, fending off the woman’s attempt to remove the vest. “It didn’t penetrate. The orc did a wonderful job of slowing the bullet down. Veronica?” The Indian woman stood back and looked at Erik’s chest like she could see through the vest.

“Cracked ribs, some organ trauma, and blood leakage,” Veronica said, “Not nearly as bad as it should have been. Hold on a second.” Veronica closed her eyes and murmured unfamiliar words. Anne’s eyes grew wide as Veronica’s hands glowed a warm red. The dark woman placed her hands on Erik’s chest and the man let out a pained yelp. Then, he fell back into the chair, looking exhausted. Veronica examined Erik critically.

“You should be fine tomorrow,” Veronica told Erik, “If you don’t do anything stupid and push yourself. Your body will need a chance to recover.” Erik waved her off and looked at Anne. He gave her a tired smile.

“I think it’s time we explained ourselves to Detective Hearst,” Erik said, “Kurt, you can let her go. She’s too curious to leave without her questions answered.” The German’s arms vanished. Anne shot up from her chair, drew her pistol, and walked back to hall. None of them looked particularly frightened about having a gun pointed at them.

“Who and what are you people?” Anne demanded.

“We are officers of the Avalonian Imperial Security Service,” Samantha answered, “Well, except for Kurt. He’s kind of our local guide. As to what we are, well that needs some background?”

“Avalon? Where the fairies come from?” Anne asked, skeptical.

“That’s where the name comes from, but we haven’t seen any of the Sidhe courts that the stories talk about,” Samantha answered. “Anne, could you please lower your pistol. We will answer your questions, but I’d rather not chance a mistake happening.” Samantha cocked her head as if listening to a radio, and then turned to Kurt.

“Kurt, stand over in the corner and put your weapons on the table. Anne has a healthy fear of what you can do.” What the hell? Those were the thoughts that had just run through Anne’s mind. Kurt walked over the table and deposited a pair of pistols before walking over to the corner like a child being disciplined.

Yes, I can hear your thoughts. Samantha’s voice erupted in Anne’s head, Or at least, your surface thoughts. Please put your gun down. Please, sit.

“What the hell are you?” Anne asked Samantha, as she lowered her Glock.

“Humans, but with a bit of power that this world hasn’t seen in millennia,” Samantha answered, “In our case, Erik and I are psychics, but with different gifts. Veronica is a sorceress.”

“That’s impossible. Those things aren’t real,” Anne said, reflexively. Although, she had to admit to herself that she was no longer sure after what she had just seen.

“They aren’t real on this side of the gate,” Samantha said, “They are very real in Avalon. As are those monsters that you and Erik fought earlier tonight.” Anne took a deep breath. This was beyond bizarre. Damn it, why was she trusting these people? Why did it feel so natural to trust them?

“What is the gate?” Anne asked.

“It’s how we come to your world from ours,” Erik answered, “Do you remember that hole in the air the orcs and Arem appeared out of back at the warehouse?” Anne nodded. “That’s a gate. Ours is at a fixed and stable point so that we can have regular trade and diplomatic relations with the nations of this world. Well, some of them, at least.”

“Your world? Like another planet?” Anne asked. “Are you aliens?”

“We don’t think we inhabit the same universe as this world,” Veronica answered, “The laws of physics are mostly the same, but there are some noticeable differences. Such as a much stronger presence of wild magic.”

“Why don’t we start at the beginning?” Erik suggested.

“Here is what we know,” Samantha started, “On our world, there were four main sentient races. The elves, dwarves, those we call fae, and a race only known as Cairen. The elves and dwarves inhabit another continent across an ocean similar to your Atlantic. Maybe three thousand years ago, a war happened between the fae and Cairen. No one knows if the fae created the Dark Towers and their monsters before the war started or during the war. What we do know is that the fae had nearly conquered the Cairen before that race vanished and erected some kind of mystical barrier around their remaining lands. No one could enter the last of the Cairen lands. At least, not until the first humans starting to show up about five hundred years ago.”

“What do you mean, starting to show up?” Anne asked.

“As in disappearing from this world and appearing in the Cairen lands,” Samantha answered, “Uncontrolled gates appeared on this world and swallowed or sucked humans between the two worlds. Strangely, only certain groups of humans were taken. Particularly, those of Germanic or Nordic ancestry. And no, we don’t know why. We also don’t know why it started with English people.”

“What about her?” Anne asked nodding at Veronica.

“Wherever the British went, they spread their blood. Somewhere back in my line, my family got a splash of British blood,” Veronica answered neutrally. From the look on the woman’s face, it wasn’t something she liked to discuss.

“I’m sorry,” Anne said. Veronica waved it away and gave the detective a warm smile. “So, the people just started appearing. How did you survive against those monsters?”

“They weren’t there when the humans started showing up. Nothing sentient could come through the barrier,” Erik answered, “Most of the humans, when they arrived, started making their way to Avalon City.”

“Why? Were they drawn there?” Anne asked.

“Sort of. It was the biggest thing any of them could see,” Erik said, “Have you been to New York City?” Anne nodded. “Take Manhattan. Then take another island and place it on top about a kilometer up. With giant supports more massive than any skyscraper. Then ring the lower level with a wall of metal some three hundred feet high. And inside, are magical devices that provide light, water, heat, even food. Bizarre food, but still food.”

“So the humans banded together in Avalon City and formed the Avalonian Kingdom. They even sent out patrols to bring any stray humans into the city. By 1632, there was nearly 100,000 people in the kingdom. That was when the first cases of psychics and magic-wielders started showing up among the native-born humans.”

“Which was a good thing, because the barrier came down in 1635 and our war with the Dark Towers started,” Erik said ominously.

That was when front door of the house slammed open and armed men charged in.

Friday Quote – 11/1/13

It is difficult to believe that a man is telling the truth when you know that you would lie if you were in his place.

H.L. Mencken, satirist

Honestly, I think this is the biggest issue arguing with progressives and statists. They project what they would do, or are afraid they would do, with increased liberty, and assume we will do them and must be prevented from doing so through the force of government.

H/t reader David

It’s Nice to Know I’m Only Symbolically Racist

A new study was released on PLoS One that links those of us who support gun rights to racism.

After accounting for numerous other factors such as income, education and political ideology, the researchers found that for each one point increase (on a scale from one to five) in symbolic racism there was a 50 percent increase in the odds of having a gun in the home and a 28 percent increase in support for policies allowing people to carry concealed guns.
Each one point increase in symbolic racism (a modern measure of anti-black racism) was also associated with a 27 percent increase in the odds of opposing bans on hand guns in the home. After accounting for those who already had a gun in the home, the odds were reduced to a non-significant 17 percent increase. However, the authors note that this reduction is unsurprising as opposition to bans on guns equates to self interest on behalf of those who already own a gun and do not wish to give it up. And racism was already strongly associated with having a gun in the home.

Oookay…. So what exactly is this “symbolic racism” that I am being accused of harboring?

Symbolic racism supplanted old-fashioned or overt/blatant racism which was associated with open support for race inequality and segregation under ‘Jim Crow Laws’, but it still captures the anti-black sentiment and traditional values that underpinned blatant racism. Symbolic racism has also been found to be related to stronger opposition to policies that may benefit blacks (e.g. welfare), and greater support for policies that seem to disadvantage blacks (e.g. longer prison sentences).

(Emphasis mine)

So, let me get this straight. If I don’t support policies that the authors of this study (and their ilk) deem as pro-black, then I’m somehow transmogrified into a “symbolic racist.” And gee, it’s amazing how many of those policies are held by fiscal and social conservatives, who coincidentally, tend to own guns at a higher rate. I wonder if the authors of this study considered opposition to gun control as part of their “symbolic racism.”

Metal Tuesday – Iron Maiden – Wasted Years

This week’s Metal Tuesday is Iron Maiden’s “Wasted Years.”

The beginning riff is probably one of the best in power metal.

Lyrics:

From the coast of gold, across the seven seas,
I’m travelling on, far and wide,
But now it seems, I’m just a stranger to myself,
And all the things I sometimes do, it isn’t me but someone else.

I close my eyes, and think of home,
Another city goes by, in the night,
Ain’t it funny how it is, you never miss it til it’s gone away,
And my heart is lying there and will be til my dying day.

Chorus:
So understand
Don’t waste your time always searching for those wasted years,
Face up… make your stand,
And realise you’re living in the golden years.

Too much time on my hands, I got you on my mind,
Can’t ease this pain, so easily,
When you can’t find the words to say, it’s hard to make it through another day,
And it makes me wanna cry, and throw my hands up to the sky.

Chorus:
So understand
Don’t waste your time always searching for those wasted years,
Face up… make your stand,
And realise you’re living in the golden years.

Monday Fiction – Avalon – Book 1 Chapter 4

Anne

Kurt pulled into a driveway that wrapped around an old row house in Milltown. The old manufacturing district was trying very hard to reinvent itself and regain its former glory as the commercial heart of the city. Most of it was like this row house – worn and ragged. Anne felt remembered pangs flow through her heart. Her grandparents had lived in a house just like this on the other side of Milltown. Grandpa had worked in the old textile plant until it finally killed him twenty years ago. After that, Grandma just sort of, went away until she died a few years later. Anne’s momentary nostalgia died as Kurt expertly relieved Anne of her sidearm.

“What the hell?” Anne demanded.

Detektivin, right now, you are our guest,” Kurt said, “I don’t want our guest shooting my employers. At least until after I get my pay.” Anne planted her feet and stared at the smiling German.

“What is going on? Who are you? Who are your employers?” Anne asked.

“Well, at least you haven’t become indignant that we’ve taken you,” said melodious voice behind her. It had the same strange accent that Erik used. Anne turned to find two women standing at the rear door of the row house. One was a tall, lithe brunette with calm and warm blue eyes. The other woman looked Hispanic, with dusky skin and jet black hair. That one’s dark eyes flashed with amusement.

“After those monsters at the warehouse, I figured if you wanted me dead, you’d just left me to them,” Anne said, “And Erik and this one were just too smooth not to be something more than common criminals. There’s something strange going on in my city, and I am going to get answers.”

“Where’s Erik?” the brunette asked Kurt. Her tone was calm and collected, but Anne could see the tiniest flicker of terror flash in the woman’s eyes. There was an emotional connection there. Good. Anne could use that if needed.

“He stayed behind to deal with someone named Arem,” Kurt answered. The brunette tensed as her blue eyes widened in shock.

“That’s impossible. Arem died nearly a decade ago. There’s no way he could be here,” she said. Anne had heard that tone before. The woman was trying to convince herself that the boogeyman hadn’t come back to hurt her.

“Tall male, about six-three? Thin with dark hair? Eerily handsome? Appears out of thin air with orcs in tow?” Anne asked. The woman nodded slowly. “That’s the guy that Erik called Arem. Right before he shoved me out to meet Kurt. Now, who the hell is this Arem and who the hell are all of you?”

“This is best told inside,” the brunette answered. “We will answer your questions, Det. Hearst. Please, we need to get inside where it’s safe.”

“Those things I saw at the warehouse could tear through the side of that house,” Anne said, not surprised these people knew who she was, “You expect me to be safer in there than out here?”

“Walls are not this house’s only protections,” the dark woman said, “Besides, if Erik stayed to stop this Arem, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about it.” The brunette shot the dark woman a reproachful look, which the shorter woman blithely ignored. The two women turned and walked in the house. Kurt motioned for Anne to follow them. She didn’t move.

“Give me back my gun,” Anne said. “I’m not going to shoot those two, but I’m not going into an unknown house unarmed.” Kurt gave another of his radiant smiles. Damn it. Maybe if she’d met him some other time and some other place. With a flourish, Kurt produced her Glock. Anne snatched the handgun from his proffered hands. A quick check showed it was still loaded with a round in the chamber. Satisfied, Anne walked into the house. Kurt followed whistling some tune that tugged at Anne’s memory. She’d heard it long ago, but couldn’t remember where.

Just beyond the door was a well-appointed, if dated, kitchen. God, it reminded Anne of her grandmother’s kitchen. She followed the two women through a narrow hall into a side room. It was decorated like a family room with comfortable, aged furniture and pictures of smiling people on the walls. Kurt motioned for Anne to sit in a cushioned chair as the two women sat on a couch across from her. A steel carafe sat on the coffee table between them with four china cups. The dark woman started pouring a rich coffee by the aroma.

“My name is Samantha Hart,” the brunette said, “My companion is Veronica Patel. We, along with Erik and Kurt, have come to this city looking for you.” As Samantha talked, Anne felt cold pricks in her mind. Well, that was the best description of the sensations. Her face hardened as she stared into Samantha’s face. Anne was sure that the woman was the cause behind the pricks.

“What are you doing?” Anne asked dangerously. The brunette gave her a warm smile.

“You can feel that?” Samantha asked. Anne nodded. “That is very interesting. Most people can’t feel when I do that. As to what I’m doing, I’m reading your thoughts.”

“What?” Anne blurted in shock. She didn’t know how, but she knew Samantha was telling the truth. She’d always been able to tell when someone was lying to her. “That’s impossible. There’s no such thing as telepathy.”

“No one born on this side of the gate can do it, that’s true,” Samantha said, “Which makes you all the more interesting. You have a touch of the power. I can feel it in your mind, but I can’t find where. I’m very sorry. This is going to hurt. Kurt?” Anne had the barest moment of realization she was in trouble before the German had her restrained.

“Relax fraulein, and it will hurt less,” Kurt whispered with a tone of personal experience. Intense pain flashed through Anne’s head. The cold pricks were now one large stab. She tried to fight, but Samantha was unbelievably strong. Memories flashed through Anne’s head. The day she became a detective. Comforting a victim after Anne had shot the man raping the poor girl. Joining the police force. Graduating the police academy. Moments of passion with her old high school boyfriend. Her mother and father watching her dancing as the lead ballerina in a recital. God, she was ten. Even older memories flashed by. Then it felt like she hit a wall and the pain stopped. As the memories cleared away, Anne could see the room. Samantha was on the floor, holding her head in pain.

“What did you just do to me?” Anne screamed at the woman. Maybe she could still reach her pistol.

“I tried to find out why the Dark Towers were after you,” Samantha answered, staggering to her feet, “To see if you were already in league with them, even without you knowing it. Possibly even why you have a touch of the power in you. To see whether or not we could recruit you, have to protect you, or have to kill you.” Anne’s body went cold at the matter-of-fact tone Samantha used.

“And?” Anne asked. Before Samantha could answer, the door behind her slammed open. Anne could smell blood and gunpowder waft in. Samantha’s eyes lit with relief and worry.

“I would kind of like to know why Arem wanted her as well,” Erik said, walking into the room before collapsing.

Friday Quote – 10/25/13

A right, such as a right to free speech, imposes no obligation on another, except that of non-interference. The so-called right to health care, food or housing, whether a person can afford it or not, is something entirely different; it does impose an obligation on another. If one person has a right to something he didn’t produce, simultaneously and of necessity it means that some other person does not have right to something he did produce. That’s because, since there’s no Santa Claus or Tooth Fairy, in order for government to give one American a dollar, it must, through intimidation, threats and coercion, confiscate that dollar from some other American.

Dr. Walter E. Williams, economist and commentator

This is a concept that those who say healthcare, education, and even clean water are basic human rights should stop and ponder. Even the right to keep and bear arms does not require that someone provide me with arms, just that I am allowed to keep those arms that I purchase or produce.

I Admit It, I LOL’d

Had a door-to-door atheist come to the house the other day. Asked if I had lost Jesus yet.

— Robb Allen (@ItsRobbAllen) October 22, 2013

That reminds me, I should wear my FSM shirt again for the next Open Carry Fishing Event.

Problems in the Current State of Science

Science, when conducted rigorously, is the best means for humans to explore and explain our reality. The key word being rigorously. Without that, our understanding of reality is skewed because it’s based on false facts. So, when I see something like this, I get concerned. The Economist published a lengthy article detailing critical problems in the current state of science. I would heartily recommend that you RTWT.

Various factors contribute to the problem. Statistical mistakes are widespread. The peer reviewers who evaluate papers before journals commit to publishing them are much worse at spotting mistakes than they or others appreciate. Professional pressure, competition and ambition push scientists to publish more quickly than would be wise. A career structure which lays great stress on publishing copious papers exacerbates all these problems. “There is no cost to getting things wrong,” says Brian Nosek, a psychologist at the University of Virginia who has taken an interest in his discipline’s persistent errors. “The cost is not getting them published.”

Two of the biggest issues that faces science is the current process of peer review as well as the undesirability of doing replication experiments. Currently, peer review is rife with errors that provide gaps for bad papers to be published.

…in a classic 1998 study Fiona Godlee, editor of the prestigious British Medical Journal, sent an article containing eight deliberate mistakes in study design, analysis and interpretation to more than 200 of the BMJ’s regular reviewers. Not one picked out all the mistakes. On average, they reported fewer than two; some did not spot any.

Replication, which is supposed to be the main corrective or confirmatory agent in the scientific method is disdained.

Journals, thirsty for novelty, show little interest in it; though minimum-threshold journals could change this, they have yet to do so in a big way. Most academic researchers would rather spend time on work that is more likely to enhance their careers. This is especially true of junior researchers, who are aware that overzealous replication can be seen as an implicit challenge to authority. Often, only people with an axe to grind pursue replications with vigour—a state of affairs which makes people wary of having their work replicated.

To me, this is definitely where voluntary associations could come into play. I would love to see something like United Laboratories be established for the express purpose of replicating and validating experiments. Or multiple organizations that can give experiments a “stamp of approval.” I don’t know if this is possible in the current environment, but I would rather a non-profit of some type take this on rather than wait for one of the myriad of government agencies that would be chomping at the bit for a chance to regulate science.