G'mornin' Mama

Mid-morning on a holiday weekend isn't the best time to cross the road in these parts, Woman. Trying to nest your eggs in the gravel adjacent to the tarmac is worse, a sure ticket to the unpleasant end of the Darwin-results spectrum.

That's why you got the ride on the grain scoop, and I'm sorry to have offended your  snappish sense of dignity. I really think you'll find greater happiness in a more obscure region of the canal network.

A slice of wildlife

In one of my AP gigs I was given a half-day a week  of "enterprise" time to produce a Midwest outdoor column. Of the hundred or so that hit the wire, I remember only a few in detail. One of them is a longish piece on how to find and kill a wild turkey.  It was well-received, though I suspect it discouraged many would-be hunters with its  long exposition of the expensive gear and Leatherstocking wilderness skills necessary to take a gobbler.

I'm glad I wrote that in pre-internet days. I would be embarrassed if it were commonly available today.

That point occurred to me a few minutes ago when my peripheral vision caught a movement just outside the big south window. A grand-daddy strolled by, glanced at me, strutted around the house to the mulch pile, and, careless of all concern, rooted around in the decaying leaves for whatever turkey goodies might be squiggling there.  It's getting so common that I didn't even reach for the camera. More tellingly, New Dog Libby didn't bother to bark.

A similar column today would be short; "Get a sling shot. Sit quietly on your deck. Pretty soon one will walk by. Shoot it."

All kinds of porn

Bad trigger procedure here, Mitzi. Rule 3.









But I forgive you because 













This is one of the better of the mid-century studio-glamour shots, so I used it instead of one of Ms. Gaynor as Ensign Nellie Forbush, the role that got a wee lad's attention about the time he started thinking less about Trigger and more about Dale Evans.


And what the heck. As long as I'm pandering to the vile instincts of the gentlemen in the room, here's a sop for the ladies. It is, in part, a fulfillment of an old promise to my buddy Doris.

Switzerland Listening to Ron Paul

Everyone knows an alternative currency based on a commodity won't work. Anyone who thinks it will is crazy and, worse, doesn't watch Rachel Maddow; in other words a deranged crank like Dr. Paul.

Or a citizen of Switzerland getting all worried about its own fiat currency and persuading his parliament to actually debate a circulating gold coin.

As I say, cranks.  As is well known, the Swiss know nothing about money.