Do Airmen still use "Blousing Straps"?

A military blousing strap is a small elastic band, often fitted with hooks or clips, worn around the lower leg just above the boot. Its purpose is to hold the bottom of the trouser leg in place so the fabric can be tucked or folded neatly over the top of the boot. This creates the distinctive “bloused” appearance seen with many military utility and field uniforms. Blousing straps are typically hidden beneath the trouser cuff, although improvised methods such as rubber bands or built-in drawstrings have also been used.

Blousing serves both a uniform and practical function. Visually, it keeps the trousers looking neat, standardized, and professional. In the field, it can also help keep loose fabric from snagging on equipment or brush and can reduce the chance of debris, dirt, or insects entering through the trouser leg. The exact method and whether blousing is required depends on the service, uniform type, and current regulations, but the basic purpose has remained the same for decades: keeping the trouser cuff secure above the boot in a clean, controlled manner.

What the heck is a Hollerith Punch Card?

Before hard drives, flash drives, floppy disks, or even magnetic tape became common, computers often used something that looked like this: a punched card.

This is usually called a Hollerith punch card, named after Herman Hollerith, who developed punched-card tabulating equipment in the late 1800s. His system was famously used for the 1890 U.S. Census, helping process census data much faster than manual counting methods.

IBM later became closely associated with punched-card technology, and the standard IBM-style card became one of the most recognizable data storage formats in computing history.

At first glance, this just looks like a stiff piece of paper. But to an early data-processing machine, this was a record. Each column represented one character or value, and the holes represented data.

The classic IBM card had 80 columns and 12 possible punch positions in each column. Those rows were labeled 12, 11, 0, and then 1 through 9. Different combinations of holes represented numbers, letters, and special characters

One side effect of punching holes in cards was something called chad.

Chad is the little piece of paper that gets punched out when a hole is made in the card. If you have ever used a three-hole punch or a paper ticket punch, you have seen the same basic thing. The hole stays in the card, and the tiny paper dot that falls out is the chad.

On a card punch machine, all of that chad would collect in a tray or box inside the machine. It was basically paper confetti made from data processing.

That brings me to a story from my Air Force days.”

Back in the late 1980s, when I was in the U.S. Air Force working in a Communications Center, we used to have a little fun with the new people.

We would tell them they had to empty the chad box from the card punch machine, then separate the classified chad from the unclassified chad.

Of course, that was completely ridiculous. It was just tiny bits of paper.

But we would make it sound official. Depending on the day of the week, or whatever random rule we made up, we would tell them that odd-numbered punch holes were classified, or even-numbered punch holes were classified.

Then we would hand them a magnifying glass and a pair of tweezers and let them start sorting.

Eventually, the boss would find out, come over, and yell at us for wasting time.

It was hilarious every single time.

But as silly as that story is, it also points to something important about punched-card systems: the data was physical. The holes were real, the card stock mattered, and even the little paper pieces punched out of the card had to go somewhere.

That is very different from the way we think about data today. Today, data feels invisible because it lives in files, databases, memory, or the cloud. With punched cards, the data was right there in your hand.

If the card was bent, torn, mispunched, or jammed in the reader, the machine might not process it correctly. When that happened, we usually had to re-punch the card, because the machine needed a clean, readable physical record to work from.

That physical relationship between the card, the holes, and the machine is part of what made punched cards so important in early computing and data processing.

What made punched cards so useful was that they allowed information to be stored, sorted, counted, and processed mechanically or electromechanically.

Businesses, governments, universities, and early computer centers used them for payroll, inventory, accounting, census work, scientific computing, and software input.

If you have ever heard the phrase ‘do not fold, spindle, or mutilate,’ this is the kind of technology that phrase came from. If the card was bent, damaged, or punched incorrectly, the machine could misread it or reject it.

So, in modern terms, a Hollerith card was an early form of data storage. It was paper, but it was also code. Each hole mattered. Each column had meaning. And for decades, this was one of the main ways people talked to computers.

So the next time you see one of these old punch cards, remember: this little piece of paper was once a database record, a program line, a payroll entry, a census response, or even part of a computer job.

And somewhere, probably in a long-forgotten Communications Center, some poor new guy may still be looking for the classified chad.

References

IBM. (n.d.). The IBM punched card. https://www.ibm.com/history/punched-card

National Bureau of Standards. (1980). Hollerith punched card code: FIPS PUB 14-1. U.S. Department of Commerce. https://nvlpubs.nist.gov/nistpubs/Legacy/FIPS/fipspub14-1-May1980.pdf

The 9-Track Reel-to-reel computer tape

Believe it or not, this little yellow plastic ring used to control whether a multi-million-dollar computer system could overwrite data.

This is called a tape write-enable ring, also known as a write ring. It was used on old reel-to-reel magnetic computer tapes, especially 9-track tapes used on large mainframe computer systems from the 1960s through the early 1990s.

If you’ve never seen one before, the ring snapped into the back of a magnetic tape reel. If the ring was installed, the tape drive knew it was okay to write data onto the tape. If you removed the ring, the tape became read-only. It was the old-school version of the little write-protect tab on a floppy disk or cassette tape.

Now today, we think of storage as SSDs, cloud systems, flash drives, and massive data centers. But for decades, magnetic tape was king. Entire governments, banks, airlines, and military systems depended on tapes like these for backups, software distribution, archives, and daily operations.

And these weren’t small systems either. Some of these tape reels could hold enormous amounts of data for their time. Operators would physically mount reels onto spinning tape drives that looked like something straight out of a science fiction movie.

Back in the late 1980s, I actually worked around systems like this while serving in the United States Air Force. From 1988 to 1990, I worked with a Unisys 1100/50 mainframe system.

The Unisys 1100 series was a big iron mainframe system descended from the old Sperry and UNIVAC lines. These machines were serious enterprise computers. They handled large-scale processing, communications, records management, and other mission-critical workloads.

And yes, magnetic tape was still very much a thing back then. You’d walk into the computer room and hear the constant sound of air handlers, spinning tape drives, printers hammering away, and operators mounting reels all day long. It was a completely different world from modern computing.

And honestly, there was something very physical and tangible about it. Data had weight. Backups were something you could literally carry around in your hands.

That tiny yellow ring was a very important part of that process.

Without the ring installed, the tape drive would refuse to write to the tape. That prevented accidental overwrites of important data, backups, or software distributions. And because these systems were often handling classified, operational, or business-critical information, protecting tapes from accidental erasure was a really big deal.

What’s funny is that most people today would probably have no idea what this thing even is. It looks like a toy part or maybe something from a sewing kit. But in its day, this little plastic ring was part of the daily workflow of enterprise computing.

It’s one of those small artifacts that reminds you how much technology has changed in just a few decades.

Today, entire data centers fit into cloud infrastructure you never even see. But back then, computing was loud, physical, mechanical, and very visible. And honestly… kind of cooler.

So that’s the story of the magnetic tape write-enable ring—a tiny little object from the age of mainframes and reel-to-reel data storage.

If you worked with systems like these back in the day, or remember mounting tapes, then you are old. And that's ok!

Check out this Video Tour of a Mainframe Computer Room circa 1990:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hdNxaRa4roo

References

“Based in part on the creator’s firsthand experience working with Unisys 1100/50 mainframe systems while serving in the USAF between 1988 and 1990.”

Computer History Museum. (n.d.). Magnetic tape and data storage history. Computer History Museum. https://www.computerhistory.org

IBM Corporation. (n.d.). IBM 729 magnetic tape unit. IBM Archives. https://www.ibm.com/ibm/history/exhibits/storage/storage_729.html

Museum of Obsolete Media. (n.d.). 9-track tape. Museum of Obsolete Media. https://obsoletemedia.org/9-track-tape/

Unisys Corporation. (n.d.). UNIVAC and Unisys historical systems overview. Unisys History Newsletter Archive. https://www.unisys.com/about-us/company-information/history/

Cadence Design Systems. (2020). Magnetic tape drives. Cadence Breakfast Bytes Blog. https://community.cadence.com/cadence_blogs_8/b/breakfast-bytes/posts/magnetic-tape-drives-1592501165

Wikipedia contributors. (n.d.). 9-track tape. Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/9-track_tape

Wikipedia contributors. (n.d.). IBM 727 magnetic tape unit. Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/IBM_727

Computer History Wiki. (n.d.). UNIVAC 1100 series. Computer History Wiki. https://gunkies.org/wiki/UNIVAC_1100_series

 

The Arcane Mail-Order Catalog for Pathfinder First Edition

 I had yet another idea for a fun TTRPG addition. What if there were some kind of weird Amazon.com setup in Pathfinder where you could order supplies and things you needed, and have them delivered to your location? And they could always find you and deliver?

Well, here is the Arcane Mail-Order Catalog for Pathfinder First Edition!

Play Murder Hobos!

I had the idea of creating a solo-RPG to play when the regular weekly session is not available. Just something to roll dice and wander around a dungeon taking out anything that moves. And that's how Murder Hobos came to be! Give it a try?

 

I met God in a dog...

 

Remembering the old Disk Packs we had to use to boot our mainframe...

 

Latest Website Creation

Here is my latest website creation. Interestingly, this one is hosted on CloudFlare.

 

 

2026 Corn Festival comming up!

The event is over, and it went well. Photos of the event are available at https://www.centennial326.org 

  

DUM-E: The Saddest Employee in Tony Stark’s Lab

Every great genius needs an assistant. Batman has Alfred. Sherlock Holmes has Watson. Doc Brown had Marty, whether Marty wanted the job or not.

Tony Stark had DUM-E.

And honestly, poor DUM-E deserved better.

DUM-E, pronounced “dummy,” is the robotic arm in Tony Stark’s lab who seems to exist mainly to be yelled at, threatened, mocked, and occasionally blamed for doing exactly what he was programmed to do. His most memorable job is standing by with a fire extinguisher while Tony tests incredibly dangerous experimental technology in a private garage like OSHA is just a rumor.

And when Tony catches on fire, crashes into walls, or nearly vaporizes himself?

DUM-E acts.

He blasts Tony with the fire extinguisher.

This is not incompetence. This is commitment.

The Most Underappreciated Member of Stark Industries

Let’s be fair to DUM-E. Tony Stark’s lab is not a normal workplace.

Most assistants are asked to schedule meetings, order lunch, or prepare reports. DUM-E’s job description appears to include:

• Watching Tony build weapons-grade technology in his basement

• Remaining calm during explosions

• Handling emergency fire suppression

• Assisting with impossible engineering projects

• Enduring constant verbal abuse

• Not developing a robot union

And despite all of that, DUM-E shows up.

Every time Tony is about to do something reckless, DUM-E is there. Quietly. Faithfully. Fire extinguisher ready.

Tony, of course, does not appreciate this. Instead, he treats DUM-E like the world’s worst intern. He threatens to donate him to a community college. He calls him useless. He acts annoyed when DUM-E tries to save his life.

This is classic Tony Stark behavior. He builds a loyal robot assistant, gives it just enough personality to be endearing, then spends years emotionally bullying it for not being Jarvis.

DUM-E Is Not Dumb

The joke is that DUM-E is clumsy. He is not smooth like Jarvis. He is not sleek like Friday. He does not speak in a calm British voice or run complex battlefield simulations.

But DUM-E is not dumb.

DUM-E understands the assignment. Tony catches on fire, DUM-E extinguishes the fire. Tony flies into a wall, DUM-E responds. Tony behaves like a man who has never heard the phrase “controlled test environment,” DUM-E prepares for disaster.

In any other workplace, DUM-E would be Employee of the Month.

At Stark Industries, he gets insulted by a billionaire in a tank top.

The Tragedy of Trying Your Best

What makes DUM-E funny is also what makes him strangely sad. He is always trying to help. He is never malicious. He is not rebelling, scheming, or malfunctioning in some dramatic way. He is simply over-eager, awkward, and loyal.

That is why audiences love him.

DUM-E is the robot version of the person at work who means well, makes things worse by accident, then gets blamed by the boss who created the problem in the first place.

Tony is the guy testing rocket boots indoors.

DUM-E is the guy holding the fire extinguisher.

Somehow, Tony thinks DUM-E is the problem.

Tony’s Lab Has a Heart

For all the sarcasm, Tony does seem to care about DUM-E. That is part of the charm. Tony may threaten him, scold him, and act like he is one bad move away from being recycled, but DUM-E remains part of the lab.

That matters.

Tony Stark surrounds himself with machines, but he does not build lifeless tools. His creations have quirks. Jarvis has wit. The suits have style. DUM-E has anxious golden retriever energy and a fire extinguisher.

DUM-E helps make Tony’s lab feel less like a sterile high-tech facility and more like a messy, brilliant, dangerous home workshop. He is part assistant, part pet, part safety system, and part emotional support machinery.

He is family, even if Tony would never admit it without making a joke.

Justice for DUM-E

DUM-E may not be the smartest machine Tony Stark ever built, but he might be one of the most loyal. He stood beside Tony before the Avengers, before the world-saving, before the clean corporate labs and the polished superhero image.

He was there in the garage.

He was there with the extinguisher.

He was there when Tony was still figuring out how to become Iron Man.

So maybe DUM-E is not tragic because Tony insults him. Maybe DUM-E is tragic because he represents every loyal helper who never gets enough credit. He is the overlooked assistant, the unpaid intern, the nervous coworker trying to prevent disaster while the genius in charge creates more of it.

DUM-E is not just comic relief.

DUM-E is a hero.

A clumsy hero, yes. A hero who may fire-extinguish first and ask questions never. But a hero all the same.

And the next time Tony Stark calls him useless, someone should remind him that the richest genius on Earth still needed a robot arm standing nearby, ready to put him out when his own brilliance caught fire.

Happy Independence Day!

 

Remember!

 

Have a great Independance Day Weekend!

 

The Difference Between the Caduceus and the Rod of Asclepius

The caduceus and the Rod of Asclepius are often confused, especially in modern medical logos. At a glance, both symbols include snakes wrapped around a staff, but they come from different mythological traditions and originally meant very different things.

The Rod of Asclepius is the older and more accurate symbol of medicine. It shows one snake wrapped around a plain staff, with no wings. Asclepius was the Greek god associated with healing, medicine, and physicians. Because of that connection, his serpent-entwined staff became a lasting symbol of medical care and the healing arts.

The caduceus, by contrast, shows two snakes wrapped around a winged staff. This was the staff of Hermes, known to the Romans as Mercury. Hermes was the messenger of the gods, but he was also associated with travelers, merchants, trade, language, diplomacy, thievery, and cunning. In other words, the caduceus originally had more to do with communication, commerce, negotiation, and trickery than with healing.

The confusion became especially common in the United States. In 1902, the U.S. Army Medical Corps adopted the caduceus as an insignia, even though the Rod of Asclepius was the more traditional medical symbol. Over time, the caduceus became widely recognized in America as a medical emblem, despite its earlier association with Hermes rather than Asclepius.

The easiest way to remember the difference is simple: one snake means medicine; two snakes and wings mean Hermes. The Rod of Asclepius symbolizes healing and physicians. The caduceus points to messengers, merchants, travel, negotiation, and clever speech.

So the next time you see a medical logo with two snakes and wings, you are not looking at the ancient symbol of medicine. You are looking at a symbol that history borrowed, confused, and never quite gave back.