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Praise Where Praise Is Due

US Airways Flight 1549 in the Hudson River

Like everybody else in the country, I’ve been captivated by yesterday’s news story about an airliner ditching in the Hudson River after hitting a flock of birds during its ascent phase. The amazing part of the story is, of course, that all 155 people aboard the plane survived with only minor injuries.

Now, whenever these sorts of events happen, the survivors, witnesses, and press inevitably start throwing around the word “miracle.” I know there are a lot of people out there who believe in genuine, literal miracles, i.e., times when God personally intervenes in order to save lives. I don’t. I’m an agnostic — I don’t deny the possibility of a God, but I have a very hard time believing He plays much of an active role in what goes on down here on this little rock. However, I acknowledge that many of my fellow Americans disagree with me on this idea, and when you come right down to it, describing positive outcomes as “miracles” is one of those things that’s not worth getting worked up over, even if I personally find it tiresome.
Still… I’ve got my limits.

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Old Movie, Pretty People

I’m having one of those “too busy to go to the bathroom, let alone write anything that means anything” days, so why don’t we just take a moment to push back from our desks, breathe slowly, and gaze upon an image of two lovely people:

Tyrone Power and Maureen O'Hara in The Black Swan

If you haven’t figured it out from the available evidence, this is Tyrone Power and Maureen O’Hara, starring here in an old pirate movie called The Black Swan, which I have to admit I’ve never seen. I’ve only seen a couple of Tyrone Power movies, actually — off the top of my head, all I can think of are his take on Zorro and Brigham Young — so I don’t really have a strong mental picture that immediately leaps to mind when I hear his name. Am I crazy, or does he look rather like 1970s-vintage Sean Connery in this shot?

Credit where it’s due: I ganked the photo from Lileks, who, incidentally, has finally converted his Bleat into a genuine blog (i.e., he’s now publishing it with WordPress instead of the hand-built labor of love he’s been creating day by day for the last umpteen years; on the positive side, he’s finally got a reliable RSS feed so I can include him in my aggregator instead of having to remember to click over to his site). And why did I steal this particular image, a screengrab from something Lileks was watching on DVD the other night? No reason, really — I just like looking at attractive people in Technicolor. And there is that Sean Connery thing. That’s just… weird…

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More Wonderful Techno-Biz Writing

It was a busy day in the Proofreader’s Cave, deep in the bowels of one of the glorious metropolitan skyscrapers in fabulous downtown Salt Lake. And not merely busy, but spiritually trying as well. Because, for some reason or other — evil spirits? Sunspots? Global warming? — there was a steady stream of extraordinarily ghastly material passing before my aching eyes today. It’s usually not so steadily awful. Most of the time, it’s adequate-to-good with only occasional clunkers to liven up the mix. Today, though… wow. It was all bad today. However, there’s awful and then there’s awful, and the following sentence stood out even against that vast, wine-dark sea of fetid effluvium:

[Acronym A], an enhancement to [Acronym B], allows [Company Y] to manage the performance of critical enterprise applications end-to-end globally and optimize the performance dynamically across any network according to user criticality and bandwidth allocation.

Got that? Yeah, neither did I, not until I’d read it three times. Which is not exactly the hallmark of what I’d call good writing. It burns the creative soul to have to read this stuff, let me tell you…

Incidentally, as long as we’re chatting, here’s a Jargon Alert for you: “value stack,” as in “both competitors are moving up the value stack into IT services.” That’s one I’m going to be trying to work into daily usage for sure.

And finally, the amusing error of the day: I requested that the word “synchronization” be changed to “synchronize.” Well, someone misunderstood my scribblings, so when I got the document in question back for final inspection, I saw that the word had become — are you ready for this? — “synchronizate.” That’s almost as good as the time in 9th grade geology class when my buddy Keith couldn’t think of the verb form of the word “revolution” — that would be “revolve,” of course — and came up with “revolute” instead.

Yeah… good times down there in the old Proofreaders Cave, good times…

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We’ve Got Kingdoms to Save and Women to Love!

I can’t believe I’m about to admit this publicly, but one of my all-time favorite guilty-pleasure movies is The Sword and the Sorcerer, a quickie knock-off of Conan the Barbarian and one of a whole raft of fantasy flicks that emerged in the early ’80s. (If you want to get really technical, both Sword and Conan belong to a sub-category I like to call “barechested warrior” flicks. See also The Beastmaster and — if you can force yourself to sit through it — Yor: The Hunter from the Future.)

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Shadow: 1995-2008

I received an email this morning from a concerned loyal reader, asking if I was all right. It made me realize that I overplayed my hand a bit in that mysterious post yesterday, and possibly I’ve caused some people to worry unnecessarily. So even though this isn’t the long entry I wanted to present on this subject, I’ve decided to go ahead and release the news that’s weighed so heavily on my mind for the last week:

Shadow, the Bennion Family Border Collie, whom you may remember has been fighting cancer off and on for about two years, died on December 30.

He had completed his second round of chemotherapy about seven weeks earlier and my parents and I believed him to be at last cancer-free. He was, however, afflicted with some side effects from the chemo as well as the usual complaints of old age — he had arthritis in his hips, among other problems — and in the final week of his life he was struggling against what the vet initially believed to be a bronchial infection. The antibiotic treatment for that illness seemed to be having little effect, though, so he was scheduled for an ultrasound last Tuesday to explore other possibilities — the worst scenario being a third attack from the damn cancer. But he didn’t make it to that appointment. Instead, he passed away in the night before, in my mother’s closet, where he’d always gone to hide when summer thunderstorms darkened the sky.

I know that not everyone likes animals or keeps pets, and that some who do view them as little more than furniture. All I can say to those people is that that’s not how my family does things. The Bennion animals have always been a very real part of this family, and Shadow was even more so than any other pet we’ve ever had. We all lived together under the same roof in his early years; later, he divided his time between my parents’ house and my own. (If you don’t know, I share property with my folks in an arrangement I like to call “the Bennion Compound.”) He was a constant presence around here, and for my dad especially, a constant companion. Dad took that dog with him everywhere, and Shadow’s death has hit him very, very hard. I’m grieving for my father as much as for Shadow.

I’m still going to write that tribute I mentioned yesterday, the one that’s been so difficult for me to start. I want to tell a few stories, and hopefully give you some idea of what a remarkable and wonderful being Shadow really was, and why it’s so difficult to say goodbye to him. For tonight, though, I thought it best to clear the air. To anyone who may have gotten the wrong idea yesterday, I’m sorry to have worried you. What can I say? I do have a flair for the melodramatic at times.

Here’s one final thing, a memorial card that my lovely Anne made up for my parents to send to their friends:

shadow_memorial.jpg

As always, click to embiggen. If you’re interested.

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Ghost Rider, Huh?

For those looking for your first fix until regular blogging resumes, here’s a quiz courtesy of Konstantin:

Ghost Rider? I’ll confess to not having much familiarity with this character, aside from the Nicholas Cage movie and glimpses of the classic comic-book covers in my Cool Older Cousin’s room when I was a kid. (The COC had lots of stuff that I found both enticing and a little bit scary, which of course is why I thought he was so cool in the first place. My dim memories of his interests are like a catalog of early to mid-70s teenage macho: Ghost Rider and Doctor Strange comics, Bruce Lee posters, kung fu throwing stars and dumb-bells, heavy metal album covers, beaded curtains and blacklights… it was all so arcane and eerie and wonderful.)

Anyway, I’ve always thought that Ghost Rider was at least visually awesome, so I can live with this. What’re your results?

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Status Report

One of my three loyal readers sent me an instant message this afternoon which said, essentially, “update your damn blog already.” So I guess I ought to pop in and explain that, no, I have not been run over by a monorail, kidnapped by Somali pirates, or deported to the Phantom Zone to spend eternity sandwiched between Ursa and Non. Not that being sandwiched with Ursa would necessarily be a bad thing. I used to have this Superman II program book with lots of glossy pictures, you see, and I thought she was much more interesting than scrawny old Lois Lane, what with those slits on the arms and legs of her outfit.

But I digress, and I haven’t even gotten started yet.

The thing is, something happened over my holiday break that I want to write about, and it’s turning out to be a difficult entry for reasons that will become clear when I finally post the thing. I don’t mean to be cryptic — many of you out there already know what I’m talking about — it’s just… I want to do justice to this topic, and it’s taking time to get it right. Or to get it at all. I don’t have writer’s block exactly, but it’s… well, again, it’s just not an easy thing to write.

I’ll try to throw out some bones to satisfy those who need a Bennion fix, but just be aware that I’m rather preoccupied by this one item right now.

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Bar Noir

Here’s a random bit of flotsam I’ve been intending to post for a while, a really cool photo of the great silent-film comedian Buster Keaton taken late in his life:

I found it over at Booksteve’s Library, where it’s theorized that this image has something to do with a number of beer commercials Keaton made for television in the 1950s. (Ironic, considering Keaton was an alcoholic.)

As I said, I’ve been meaning to post it anyway because I like Keaton and I like the moody, noir-ish atmosphere captured in the pic. But it’s got some special significance to me tonight, as I sit alone with my thoughts in a dark and quiet house. I’m feeling pretty moody myself, for reasons I’ll explain later. In the meantime, just enjoy this uncommon look at a genuine Hollywood legend…

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