Prepositions have always been the hardest part of foreign languages for me. It was trouble in French, and it's trouble in German. The problem is, prepositions are "overloaded" in that they mean lots of different things, and the useages are not generally obvious. Thus, in English, one is in a building by the shore, on a ship at sea, et cetera. Then the prepositions get extended to non-location uses: on the radio, at play, with child, under great stress, on top of the world, in the lead. Foreign languages have the same sort of issues, except that I learned the English prepositions gradually over the course of many years, while I have just this week to decide if one is auf Arbeit, bei Arbeit, zu Arbeit, um Arbeit, an Arbeit, über Arbeit, or in Arbeit. An excellent German-English dictionary's list of "at {prep}" has all those and more. That's because "at" is overloaded in English with meanings, and the same is true for similar words in German.

For the record, one is bei der Arbeit if you are in the process of doing your job, auf der Arbeit if you are located at the place you work, and in der Arbeit if you are located at the place you work, and that place has restricted access. Those answers may change if you speak a dialect of German, of which there are several.

The existance of the blog post is an admission of my procrastination.

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I have a class on the Early American Republic. Last lecture we were doing the start of the War of 1812. The instructor likes to have a discussion at the end of his lecture, in the class's remaining time.

In the class there is one student from Canada and another from England, so their perspective on the war was eagerly sought. The English guy confessed that the war wasn't even mentioned in his earlier schooling, as it was really a tiny sideshow to the Napoleonic Wars. That was the feeling of the British at the time, too: the British Cabinet was astonished at the American declaration of war, over what they thought were minor legal quibbles.

The Canadian woman said it was covered extensivly in Canadian high schools, but the war was blamed on an American desire to conquer Canada, and the war was cast as "Brave Canadians fight to defend their homeland!" This is a little amusing to my ears, as while there were some people that wanted to aquire Canada, they formed a block of less than 10% of Congress, so it wasn't all that widespread a desire. The main reason for the war was British naval policies (impressment of American sailors, seizure of American shipping, attacking American warships, etc.) As for it being a moment of Canadian pride, almost all of the troops were British, as in 'from the British Isles'. Very few Canadians did any fighting at all.

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Turns out my phone has a special Emergency Mode. When you dial 911, it won't let you dial any other numbers until you enter the phone's password.

I was riding the campus shuttle bus home from class. We were about to take a left turn, just before entering my apartment complex. The car in front of us took that left, only to get clipped by a school bus that ran the red light! It's cold as hell outside, but I have first aid training, and I have been heavily conditioned to deal with emergencies personally. So I asked my bus driver to let me out right there, I dropped my satchel on the sidewalk, and took charge of the situation.

The bus had cleared the intersection and pulled over to the side of the road. The car was stalled in the middle of the intersection. The driver was unhurt, but kind of shocky, and not a native English speaker; under the stress she was not communicating well. I went to the bus to see if anyone needed medical aid. The driver politely told me that, as none of the students seemed in immidiate danger, civilians like me were absolutely not permitted onboard. I'm confident that such is SOP, so I didn't argue.

With no one needing emergency medical aid, I called 911. My phone predates E911 localization, so the first words out of the answer's mouth was "Town and location of your emergency?" I told him, and he immediatly said "School bus accident?" Looking back on it, not only were there plenty of people in cars with phones (while I was freezing outside), the bus had its own radio.

The struck car was still sitting in the intersection, and people were starting to try to edge their cars around it. That seemed unsafe. So I pushed her car out of the way, which sucked, as I think it was still in gear. About the time I got it out of traffic, the first campus police car arrived. I reported, left, and here I am at home, trying to warm up. My heart rate is a little elevated, too, so I've still got some adrenaline going.

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Warning: This is a poker story. If poker stories bore you, feel free to surf somewhere more interesting.

American universities loudly insist that they do not legally serve as loco parentis for their students. Still, the administration does try to keep us healthy. To give students something to do other than drink, there's a late-night poker tournament every Friday. There's no fee to enter, prizes for the top three finishers, and cumulative standings are kept with prizes for the top performers at the end of every semester.

Anyway, I sat down with my chips Friday, ready to go. I was seated third from the dealer, which is not that good a spot; first to act pre-flop, third to act the rest of the hand. "Shuffle up and deal!" went the call, and I got my hole cards. Ace & Queen of spades. That's a rather good start. Not perfect, but good. I called the blind (the minimum bet); most of the rest of the table called around. When it got to him, the little blind raised it up, which could be a sign of strength, but could also be him bluffing to steal the pot. I and a couple of others paid up.

Out comes the flop, the first three community cards. Ten of spades, Jack of spades, King of spades. There was a perceptible pause at the table. That was a dangerous hand, everyone knew that it was possible for some strong hands to be out there. Straights. Flushes. Nasty stuff.

Me, I was wearing my best poker face, because I had the best imaginable hand. Among poker players, having the best hand available from the cards showing is known as having "the nuts". But I had the ultimate nuts. A Royal Straight Flush is the highest possible hand in poker. Out of the 2,598,960 possible five-card poker hands, there are only 4 RSF's available, making the odds of getting one 649,740 : 1. And there it was.

My mind was spinning feverishly, trying to decide what to bet that would lure people into calling. The obvious choice was to go all-in, as the only thing that could beat my hand was physical violence; but I was afraid that if I did, everyone would just fold, giving me but pitiful winning for such a majestic hand. What to do, what to do…

My ponderings were cut short, when the first to act (the little blind) bet himself all-in, which is a challenge that he believed his hand to be unbeatable. This was still the very first hand of the tournament, remember, so everyone had the exact same stakes. This was excellent news; I'd call him, and have double the chips of anyone else.

My triumphant sensation grew, as the next to act (the big blind) called the all-in bet. That is, he believed had a great hand. Next it was me, and I called the all-in with great pleasure.

The three people in the weakest positions having all gone all-in, everyone else at the table folded with extreme rapidity. When no remaining bets can be made, as everyone has either folded or gone all-in, the tradition is to turn over cards early so everyone can get some excitement watching the remaining communal cards get dealt. The first guy turned over his cards with pride- he had paired Kings, which with the communal cards made Three-of-a-Kind Kings, a powerful hand. The next guy turned over: he had two low spades, giving him a King-high flush, a very powerful hand. The were nods of appriciation from the rest of the players. Without saying anything, 'cause I love a little drama in my life, I flipped over my cards and leaned back.

There was a pause as the other players looked at what I had then looked at the community cards. They looked back and forth a few times. Then the cheering started. I got high-fives, pats on the back, there was yelling as the news spread to all the other tables. The dealer shrugged and passed the deck, as there was no point in dealing the last two cards. I collected my winnings, putting me at more than three times the stack of anyone else at my table, and it was on.

For all that, I must confess I didn't win the tournament. I got to the final table, then went out on a "bad beat", when I had the odds in my favor but the cards fell unkindly. Still, ten place out of 80-some players will help my end-of-semester standings quite a bit.

The other downside was that once I was finally out, when my friends and I went to the local ice arena, they were out of size-12 skates. My luck was exhausted.

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This one goes out to my brother-in-law:

The discussion seems accurate, from what I recall of Econ 101 & 102.

Hat tip to Megan McArdle's blog.

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I mentioned that I'm in one class all about the Thirty Years War, and another class about Early Modern Europe, so the former is a subset of the latter.

In the former class today, I mentioned something I'd learned in the latter class. The professor looked displeased and changed the topic. Afterwards, one of the other students took me aside to give me some useful intellegence.

The professors of the classes had been married. They are now not married. The process of becoming un-married was apparently rather rough on all the students in the department, what with the two professors having screaming arguments in the departmental offices and all. So the word on the street is that students should do everything possible to avoid mentioning one to the other. Now I know.

Amusingly, the person that told me about all this got a letter of recommendation from each of them. When asking for a LoR, the professor typically asks "Who else is writing one for you?" My friend was apparently quite evasive in answer to that question.

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"According to the NCIS, each prisoner had fashioned a noose from torn sheets and T-shirts and tied it to the top of his cell’s eight-foot-high steel-mesh wall. Each prisoner was able somehow to bind his own hands, and, in at least one case, his own feet, then stuff more rags deep down into his own throat. We are then asked to believe that each prisoner, even as he was choking on those rags, climbed up on his washbasin, slipped his head through the noose, tightened it, and leapt from the washbasin to hang until he asphyxiated. The NCIS report also proposes that the three prisoners, who were held in non-adjoining cells, carried out each of these actions almost simultaneously."

In 2006, I was a Marine. I vaguely remember news reports of a triple-suicide of prisoners at Camp Guantanamo. It was discussed by the guys, like any kind of military news; the consensus was that one of two things happened.

First, the guards might have been grossly incompetent. Three suicides in one night in a prison where the cell "walls" are chain-link fence, suggests that the guards were playing spades rather than going on patrol. They were Navy people, so we were willing to hypothesize total lack of discipline.

The other possibility was that the three prisoners were murdered, probably while being tortured. We gravely shook our heads at that. The Marines are proud of how we have treated prisoners; the various scandals have almost all involved Army personnel, who Marines are always willing to suspect of incompetence and indiscipline. We are shamed that there was one prisoner mistreatment scandal, that came out before Abu Gharib was publicized, when an Iraqi in Marine custody died. In that case not only did a couple of guards go to jail, so did the Officer-In-Charge. Quick quiz, how many Army officers have received so much as a written reprimand for abuse? Let alone jail time?

Anyway, we were deeply suspicious of the deaths, but we were busy, and the news moved on. This evening, I came across a long but very illuminating article from Harper's Magazine. They point out the inconsistencies in the official report, and have a by-name, on-the-record interview with the sergeant of the guard for that sector's perimeter. This is non-trivial information, as he was given a direct order to never discuss this stuff. From the article, he doesn't seem to be a disgruntled troublemaker making up lies, and there are enough holes in the official story to drive a truck through. I'm not a forensic scientist, but I get to wondering about how did three guys tie themselves hand and foot, shove rags into their own throats, tie masks on, and then hang themselves? And while the theory that hard-core jyhadists might commit suicide in such a way as to make their captors look bad is, at least, not totally implausable, the Harper's article has several sources that directly suggest that no prisoners were found dead in their cells; rather, they died somewhere outside the regular prison, and were hustled to the medical center in a off-the-books, never-logged vehicle. That's the damning bit.

As always, it's not the crime, it's the cover-up. Specifically, the article's main source went to the Justice Department after the Bush presidency ended. Instead of making a clean breast of it and taking the easy opportunity of blaming their predecessors, the Obama people re-buried the investigation. That is why I titled this post "Shame, Shame". Shame once for what was done in our names. Shame a second time for neglecting the chance to, if not atone, at least punish the guilty.

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If anyone actually cares what I am studying:

I'm taking "Early Modern Europe" covering 1600-1789. We're looking at the development of the modern state. It should be interesting. The class is located in a strange room, in the law school's building. It's got three tiers in a semicircle, with two doors. I suspect that the room was designed for debating and public speaking.

Next up is "The Early American Republic" covering 1789-1848. (Notice how that date lines up with the prior course?) That one has a bit of a throw-back in that we're going on a field trip. Just like high school! The reason is that the instructor is a War of 1812 specialist, and there are bunches of relevant sites nearby. That professor is also teaching one of the "Discovery Seminars" this semester. Those are one-credit hour pass/fail courses, meeting once a week for one hour with no homework. The idea is to expose underclassmen to other fields; so each department has a Discovery Seminar, with competition to make it seem cool to lure students to the department. Anyway, this guy's class is called "Pirates!" He admitted being annoyed that there are no actual freshmen or sophomores in his class. Apparently that subject was exciting enough that all seats were taken by upperclassmen. Perhaps UB should only allow underclassmen to join the Discovery Seminars? Not my problem, I suppose.

For my seminar, I signed up for "The Great War in Europe" whose dates should need no explanation. But when I got there, the professor apologized and said that there had been a copy-and-paste error in the course catalog, and this course was actually "The Thirty-Years War" and if we didn't like that we could get the hell out. Me, I am more interested now than I was when I thought it was about WWI. The Thirty Years War is unusual in that it actually did last for the specified number of years, as opposed to the Hundred Years War, the Seven Year War, the Eleven Years War, and probably a few others I've forgotten about. For those who don't recall offhand, it ran from 1618-1648, and of course partially overlaps with the Early Modern Europe class I'm taking. They even have one book in common, which will save me money and reading time.

Lastly, I'm taking German 102, not because I love studying languages, but because I have to. Sadly, my schedule this semester precluded taking Chorus. I feel a but guilty about that, because I talked a girl I know into joining it, despite her nervousness about never having been an organized singer. Ah well, I hope my friends have a good time singing without me.

I also am at only 14 credit hours. I don't want to take another history class: I'll be reading 400-500 pages per week as is, and then of course writing papers and doing an hour or so of language drills a week. This is why I don't go to parties. I'd like one more credit hour, though, as you need to have 15 credit hours to get on the dean's list. And gym classes don't count, otherwise I'd be in Intermediate Backpacking already. Or maybe Ballroom Dancing. Either way. At any rate, I am on the lookout for an easy-looking class to top off my schedule.

For Christmas, I got myself a subscription to Amazon Prime, making a single payment in exchange for getting everything I order from Amazon.com delivered second-day air. I'm getting all my textbooks from them, at substantial savings over the university bookstore. I feel a vague twinge of guilt in that two of my friends are full-time employees of university bookstores, but I assuage my guilt by realizing that I saved about $100, even including the cost of Amazon Prime. Prime also lets me do more shopping online; two-day shipping replaces a trip to the store in a way that seven-day shipping does not. I got a new potato masher, a new watch, and a replacement baking rack that way.

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Classes resume tomorrow. I'm already starting on my homework.

Annoyingly, when printing my schedule out this evening, I discovered that I'd scheduled two classes back-to-back (i.e. ten minute break) that are located distantly enough to warrent a twenty-minute travel time. I am thus fiddling my schedule the night before class starts. This is not as prepared as I'd like to be. I had to drop a Greek History class in favor of Early American History; both are interesting subjects, but I know more about the Americans than I do the Greeks. I was also forced to drop Chorus as it conflicts with the new class. That annoys me, as I enjoy having a musical outlet. Woe is me. I could rejoin my church choir, except that their rehersal time conflicts with class as well. I guess I'll just sing in the shower.

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My flatmate has just returned from his vacation home. This is unfortunate, as with him gone I'd managed to keep the apartment clean. Not neat, but clean. It was nice having a kitchen that didn't attract vermin…

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