Silence, Varlet!

If you must face a County Board of Supervisors up in this corner of my state, be very careful to keep a civil tongue in your head. Do not question their wisdom, competence, or even simple good will. They are prepared for the prole who fails to tug his forelock.

Five supervisors.  Five desks, a ready can hidden away beneath each one.  Some sort of knife-to-a-gun-fight joke lurks there, but it isn't worth reaching for.

I do assume, however, that they have drilled extensively in small-unit tactics.

My offhand guess that they may remain unused until some subversive has the gall to question of cost of paving miles and miles of old railroad right -of-way so the Spandexers  won't suffer traumatic butt-jiggle  as they peddle through the corn fields.

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(Based on the direct observation of a friend who sometimes does business in the court house and who is absolutely credible.)

Lust object in multi-hued steel

An example of what  may result from a couple years of thought and experimentation and adaptation of equipment meant for something else. The more you like old Marlin lever guns and 19th Century metal finishing techniques, the more you'll appreciate the latest product from the shop of Genius Jeff who acquired the raw materials as rusty junk.

It's all assembled now -- you should see the walnut -- and at the Tulsa loophole. I'm not clear whether he means to sell or merely display. I sort of hope the latter. It's comforting to have such art only a few miles down the road.

I cannot offer a complete geekout because I know little of case-hardening technique. You need to clean and polish the metal, taking care to preserve the flats and sharp corners and markings, then bake it in calcium carbonate or something like that.  I'm told the pulverized bones of an Incan goddess work best, but in a pinch one can employ those of a sacred white buffalo. I'll ask him when he gets home.

The USS Arizona After Hours

I have been, as they say, around.  For quite a while now. So stuff like this shouldn't  make my eyes water, but it does.

https://www.youtube.com/embed/MgE2KiPd3xg?feature=player_detailpage

h/t John of the GMA

Nothing runs like a Deere

I've been suffering from a severe case of Mind Your Own Business lately.  It is personally profitable in one way or another, but it wrecks havoc on my favorite self-image. If I neglect my duties as a scourge of thieving politicians and goofy, power-mad, government minions everywhere, why am I continuing to consume precious oxygen?

What profits me if my kitchen is cleaner, the bank account slightly less laughable, and the lawn machinery tuned and ready for The Moon When the Crabgrass Thickens? If, I mean, all that selfishness is at the expense of omitting seditious comment on official ignorance piled upon bureaucratic stupidity upon political venality?

One hopes that St. Peter does not ask such a question, but just in case, I strive here for a tiny down payment on partial redemption.

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Early in February I noticed my passport was expired.  I cross guarded borders only rarely  any more, but who knows, so I sent John  Kerry my $110 and a couple pages of personally identifying information. The form promised processing in four-to-six weeks. About three weeks later the check cleared. Three weeks after that I received a nice email from John saying my application had been received and that processing would take four-to-six weeks. Then, a week later, John joyfully wrote me that my "application" had been "approved," that the Department of State of the United States of America had deployed its vast resources and concluded that I am me, the same me as identified on previous passports.

And Secretary Kerry reported that it had been mailed already, on April 2 or perhaps earlier. It included a note:

"You requested delivery by regular mail. Passport Agencies use Priority Mail. This means you should receive your passport on or about 04/07/2015."

Until reading this I had no strong urge to mock the U.S. Postal Service -- or perhaps John's trust in Snail Mail.

But waidaminnut. Priority Mail is advertised as, well, priority; faster than Bill Cody's speeding pony, more rapid than a New Jersey senator's grab for a bit cash.

I think my passport is coming from New Orleans, 1,203.3 miles distant, or, with six days elapsed time as predicted by the Secretary of State, an average of barely more than 200 miles per day.

Excuse me, Gentlemen, but I think with fresh spark plugs, on-the-fly refueling, and relief drivers,  we might do about that well using my lawn tractor. If not, there is always the pony option.

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Hell, I'm in no rush for the passport. Take your time John, mailman, et al.  The only big deal here is a reminder that government always, in matters from the largest to the smallest, speaks with a forked tongue.