The Freedom Ferry

George Will of the Washington Post is maddening. Today Ayn Rand, tomorrow George Soros.

He talks the talk about American liberty, then lauds guys of the Romney caste to lead us to freedom. He has sometimes gone softer than squishy on self-defense rights. In 1991 he suggested we might repeal the Second Amendment.

This happens to be one of his better days. It occurred to him that that the libertarian idea of leaving folks alone can be pretty broad. It can even be interpreted to include  the right to earn a living without years of tugging your forelock, on bended knee before the bureaucrats, begging permission to do a little honest business.

George discovered Jim and Cliff Courtney, two brothers conspiring to create a new ferry service across Lake Chelan in the Cascades. The State of Washington has marshaled its might to say, "No. There's already a state-sanctioned ferry service, so get lost."

"...84 years ago,"  Will writes, " Washington state asserted a principle much favored by all of America’s governments:It may parcel out certain economic liberties sparingly and only to those who can prove to government that their exercise of their liberty will satisfy some government-concocted criteria."


(I doubt there are many better  better short definitions of tyranny in the English language.)


Jim and Cliff run a resort on one end of the 55-mile-long lake, far beyond the end of  any road. so you get to those environs by private boat or plane or  a seasonal two-vessel ferry service -- a government sanctioned monopoly. The two boats operate once a day, both sailing at the same time and, get this, in the same direction.


The brothers think they can do better. All they need is approval of  a couple of dozen bureaucrats to sign off on their application for a "certificate of public interest, convenience, and necessity." The bureaucrats tell Jim and Cliff to go pound rocks, and  the lawsuit begins.


Back to Will. He's referring to a couple of old Supreme Court decisions which hold that personal liberty does not necessarily mean personal economic liberty.



"It is now routine for government to have transactions with rent-seekers — private interests who want public power used to confer advantages on them, or disadvantages on competitors. This case from a remote region of Washington state explains much about a Washington 2,200 miles away. Start with a misbegotten constitutional principle that denigrates economic liberty as less than fundamental, and thus licenses government to ration such liberty. You end with the pandemic rent-seeking that defines the nation’s capital."


---


Yes, Sir.

And just a couple of personal notes. I fully agree with you that the might of government ought to be brought brought down on the designated hitter rule. On the other hand, may I suggest you seek treatment for your recurring attacks of  hoplophobia?

Yep, Romney

That didn't take long. Romney is The One.  Smart, experienced, moderate, and all that.

The Register (correctly, I think)  dismisses Gingrich as a flake. It rejects Ron Paul because:

"Ron Paul’s libertarian ideology would lead to economic chaos and isolationism, neither of which this nation can afford."


That would be as opposed to the current economic chaos accompanied by shooting all the Arabaic speakers who piss us off?  Bearing in mind, of course, that this  sometimes motivates the Arabs shoot back. 

Bated breath - Iowa Caucuses 2012

The Des Moines Register is about to announce its endorsement of a GOP caucus candidate.  It will be good for one news cycle of excess verbiage among the political classes, then fade iinto the murk.

The Register has a history of endorsing the left-most candidate who has never been convicted of a serious felony. This year that would seem to be Romney, but everything else is so screwy any guess is dangerous.

The paper is trying to create suspense -- and traffic -- with a poll asking whom you think it will endorse. Ron Paul is the runaway winner. Good enough, although it is apparently a result of Paulistas' intensity rather than an answer to the actual question. The paper didn't ask, and doesn't care,  whom it should endorse.

Stop me if you've already heard this.

In 2012, Groundhog Day and the State of the Union address happen the same day. This is an ironic juxtaposition of events.

One involves a meaningless ritual in which we look to an insignificant creature of little intelligence for prognostication.

The other involves a groundhog.

---

(Thank you, Hans)

An Iowa blogger joins the TMR blog roll. He's ColdHardCashner, a Constitutionalist and  big-L  Libertarian who's spending this season working hard for Ron Paul in the Iowa caucus. Welcome aboard, Sir.

The hot, the tepid, and the frozen; Iowa Caucuses 2012

The complete TMR caucus list just published named 25 hopefuls.

Of those, 12  remain alive for the caucuses, although some only in the purely techincal sense. As a practical matter, six are  cyrogenic. None actively campaigned.  Among them, only Huntsman is accorded a chance of scoring as much as 5 per cent. Johnson might eke out 1 per cent.  The aggregate vote for these men should not materially affect the chances of any of the viable candidates.

John Davis


Jon Huntsman


Gary Johnson


Fred Karger


Roy Moore


Buddy Roemer

---

The tepid. Any one of them might  break out into the hot class over the remaining 17 days. Short of Venus melting right into Mars, however, none of them will head for New Hampshire with a braggable Iowa record.

Michele Bachman


Rick Perry


Rick Santorum

---

Leaving the hotties

Newt Gingrich


Ron Paul


Mitt Romney


---

These lists are alphabetical. I'm not ready to handicap horses (whole or partial)  yet, just as I would be scared witless to  bet on the number of hours the next Kardashian marriage will endure.

Herding Elephants V2.9, Iowa Caucuses 2012

(Bumped up again, just for convenience. Also upated with date of Cain's bailout.)

EDIT, December  17, 201:  Because it seems unlikely anyone still on the list (in black) will formally drop out before the Jan. 3, 2012 caucuses, this list can be considered final  in the sense of listing everyone who is, was, or might have been mentioned publicly as a caucus contender.  I relegate it to history and hereby grant permission for reproduction, with credit,  for the use of academics who wish to give the impression of having done rigorous and detailed research.  The earlier versions    remain in the TMR achives under various titles. The easiest way to find them is by scrolling through the posts labeled "Iowa Caucuses 2012.)

----

Even dedicated political geeks have a hard time keeping track of all the White House hopefuls trying out their pickup lines in Iowa. For one thing, it is hard to find a complete list of the serious, semi-serious,  and loony  trying on overalls and looking for a comfortable hay-bale perch.  So, here's an alphabetical list of these statesmen as culled from published sources, but I haven't gotten around to ferreting out all of the more obscure dimwaddiedoowops yet. 

---------------------

--Michele Bachmann, 55,  congresswoman, Minnesota


--(OUT) Haley Barbour, 64, Mississippi governor (Dropped out April 25)


--John Bolton,  63, former ambassador, Bush II's point man in Iraq. (Dropped out September 26.) 


-- (OUT) Herman Cain, 66, Godfather's Pizza.(Dropped out -- "suspended campaign"  -- December 3)


-- (OUT) Mitch Daniels, 62, Indiana governor (dropped May 21)


--John Davis of Grand Junction, Colorado, lumber yard owner, builder (added May 3)


--Newt Gingrich,  68, former U.S. House speaker, Georgia


--(OUT) Mike Huckabee, 56, former Arkansas governor, Fox teevee star (dropped May 15)


--Jon Huntsman, 51, former Utah governor,  ambassador to China


--Gary Johnson, 43, former New Mexico governor (added April 22)

--Fred Karger, California, GOP politcal consultant, openly gay. (Added August 14)

--(OUT) Thaddeus George "Thad" McCotter, 45,  Michigan congressman (added June 24, dropped out September 22.) 

--Judge Roy Moore, 64, disrobed, two-time loser for Alabama governor  (added May 19)


--Sarah Palin,  47, former Alaska governor, VP candidate 2008 (Out. Withdrew   Oct. 5.)

--(OUT) George Pataki, 66, former New York governor. (Added august 25 and dropped August 26) 

--(OUT) Rand Paul, 48, Kentucky U.S. senator (if  his dad opts out).  (Dropped April 26 in anticipation of Ron's formal "in" announcement)


  
--Ron Paul, 75, Texas congressman, former LP presidential candidate


--Tim Pawlenty,  51, former  Minnesota governor (Dropped August 14; withdrew after Ames straw poll)


--(OUT)  Mike Pence, 52, Indiana congressman (dropped May 15)


--Rick Perry, 61, Texas governor, (added June 19)


--Buddy Roemer, 68, former Louisiana governor


--Mitt Romney, 64, former Massachusetts governor


--Rick Santorum,  53, former U.S. senator, Pennsylvania


--( OUT?) John thune, South Dakota senator. (Dropped from list,with reservations, May 21)


--(OUT) Donald Trump, 65, businessman, casino operator, teevee star (dropped May 16) 

-0-

The list will change, and I'll try to keep it more or less up to date.

EDIT: May 5:Red ink identifies those who bailed after having been considered players or possibles.  I thought of just deleting them, but that seems so cold.

EDIT: John Thune was Xed out May 21. He said in February he wouldn't run, but the weasel words(not planning at this time, etc.)suggested he desired begging. No one has  begged yet,  and he hasn't been spotted scouting our hog lots, so TMR crosses him off with the caution that things are silly enough that he might change his mind.)

It's a start, but ...

The SEC has decided to charge some Fannie Mae and Freddy Mac honchos with civil fraud, saying they misled the government and taxpayers about risky subprime mortgages ...

Note "civil" charges, meaning they're just being asked nicely to return what was stolen and maybe pay a penalty -- probably large enough to cut a couple of weeks off their vacations in the Hamptons next summer.

No jail for them, unlike some poor schmuck who got caught lifting a set of hub caps from parked car in Newark.

Look, if these guys profited by lying through their teeth about the value of the junk mortgages they bought and sold, they're criminals. And they have a lot of company in the genteel world of Crony (which it is) Capitalism (which it is not).

My guess is that the guilty total something in the thousands. Together they created misery and sometimes absolute poverty for hundredsof thousands of decent enough (though often, admittedly,  dense) Americans.

Holder, this is the time to uncage your most rabid prosecutor, some brilliant guy with a night-school law degree, halitosis, and a badass attitude. Slip his leash and say sic-em.

Meanwhile Hillary can open negotiations to buy the old Frog prison on Devil's Island. A guy does hate to think of the Armanied thieves serving their 40 years in such a nice tropical climate, but we can compensate by making bug repellent contraband.

Gingrich Gun Grabber

I actually don't know whether he is or not, for sure. The Hell of it is, neither does he.

Newt claims to be pro-2A, but,  as nicely illustrated by Dirt Crashr  Speaker Tweaker, his actions make his nose grow. His center of gravity is a wetted finger in the political winds.

I have a hazy memory that it was Tallulah Bankhead who went looking for the city part of Los Angeles and couldn't find it. She said, "There is no there there."

That's Newt.

---

EDIT: Fact Check. Mostly wrong. It was Gertrude Stein referring to Oakland.  But I don't think it alters the point, maybe even strengthens it. I have no trouble thinking of Newt as an Oakland kind of guy. Noisy, confused,  and on the ugly side of the bay.

Ron Paul bats .500; Iowa Caucuses 2012

The debate question was about  electability. Who can beat His Ineptness?


Ron Paul responds:

"Any one of us on this stage  can beat President Obama...".  It's a fine applause line, and he gets it,  a cheerleader effect. (Match a junior high eleven against the Chicago Bears and the school gym pep rally will  echo with promises of an upset. Republicans are  becoming persuaded Obama will beat himself, just like unpopular Harry Truman did in 1948.)   No score.

When things quiet down, he becomes his sensible self again: "... the question is, what do we have to offer?"  Then he trots out the logic which defines him, sound money, and end to warlike nation building in the Sandbox and beyond,  government as a necessary evil rather than dispenser of free ice cream. Bingo. Out of the park, Sir. Everyone who hates free ice cream will vote for you.

---

Embarrassment of the night: Rick Perry: "I'm the Tim Tebow of the Iowa caucuses."


Surprise of the night: Michele appears quite sane in one or two exchanges and seems to have won the point that Newt is an ass for patting her girly little head.

Winner of the Georgia two-step competition: Newt for his creative explanation that  sucking a million-six from the taxpayers via Freddie and Fannie is neither lobbying nor influence peddling.

Most disciplined hair and best-tailored suit: Mitt, for the umpteenth time, retiring the trophy.

As usual, Santorum displays the most concerned visage, just this side of tears. As a matter of simple human compassion, we need to cheer this guy up.  Next time, somebody should ask him about muffins.

Also present: Huntsman.

Brownian Motion in the Home

Everyone must believe in something. I believe in housekeeping by Brownian motion.

You never set out to clean and neaten and organize. Boring. You let sublime nature take its course. When the molecule glob which is you bumps against a blob of not-you  molecules which seem dirty or out of place you may react, clean it or put it away -- whatever seems necessary.

Or you may not. (What the heck, it isn't +that+ bad. I'll get at it tomorrow.)

It is a low-stress approach to domestic respectability, perhaps something like having a mute, invisible, Martha Stewart drop in once in a while.

Interesting thing about that, though; there seems to be a second absolute zero other than the one Lord Kelvin sort of discovered. Around here, anyway, the titivation-motivator molecule is often  remains inert for weeks, regardless of indicated ambient temperature. So, for days on end, a photo of my quarters would perfectly illustrate the Wiki entry on "entropy."

Other times, like this morning, it gets entirely out of hand.

All I intended was to get some books off the table, the couch, and the kitchen counter and maybe wash the dishes. That was about 8 a.m. Now, three and one-half  hours later, the books are shelved. But also I have vacuumed. I have rehung pictures.  I have cleaned the"miscellaneous" drawer. And, so help me, I am washing blankets.

Please.

Help.

Stop me before I get out the Windex.

Why we're broke

I've been thinking about Newt Gingrich lately.  Maybe an undigested bit of beef?

Thinking about Newt, the Ghost of  Christmas Future, reminds me of George Washington Plunkett, a real man who helped run Tammany Hall, famous for defending "honest" political graft and for summarizing how he got rich ward-heeling in New York City:

"I seen my opportunities and I took 'em."

He boasted that he never shook down widows and orphans.



"Just let me explain by examples. My party’s in power in the city, and it’s goin' to undertake a lot of public improvements. Well, I’m tipped off, say, that they’re going to lay out a new park at a certain place.


"I see my opportunity and I take it. I go to that place and I buy up all the land I can in the neighborhood. Then the board of this or that makes its plan public, and there is a rush to get my land, which nobody cared particular for before.


"Ain’t it perfectly honest to charge a good price and make a profit on my investment and foresight? Of course, it is. Well, that’s honest graft. Or supposin‘ it’s a new bridge they’re goin’ to build. I get tipped off and I buy as much property as I can that has to be taken for approaches. I sell at my own price later on and drop some more money in the bank."


That's at least candid, but it's remarkably crude by modern standards. Today Mr. Plunkett would leave his powerful political office and collect a few million or so giving strategic advice to the public titters of Freddy Mac and Fannie Mae.  And he could claim he wasn't lobbying.

If that don't beat the Dickens...

Thoughts after a great loss to American Letters

Putting the finishing touches on a Big Post, I highlighted and deleted a single word. And all the rest of it was wafted off into the ether, down the Memory Hole of No Return, all 800 or so words of truth and beauty.


"Damn Blogger! Damn everyone who won't damn Blogger!! Damn everyone that won't put lights in his windows and sit up all night damning Blogger!!!"


If that rings a bell, just think back to our 1795 treaty with the Bloody Brits not long after the Battle of Fallen Timbers. An anonymous proto-graffiti artist splashed it on a  Boston wall. Substitute "John Jay" for "Blogger".


Then say something about how civil our political discourse "used to be." :)   

From a Transylvania Fen

The single hint of color is the van, a subdued maroon breaking up the somber Gothic morning even through its coat of dust mud. Otherwise in this freshly thawed December world nature's only movement is a misty drizzle. The fog has lifted just enough to reveal the stone-still tops of the tallest oaks.

I should move the van from my window sight line, regress to a simpler time, and embark on a Gothic novel. Or see if I can find a nice Vincent Price film on the teevee.

Or write one of those dreary poems as the English used to like.

Hard by the steel mirror of sylvan lake it came,
Black as a the grave of its day's destiny.
And staccato on the ancients cobbles
A team of four, heads low, no bells to cheer their harness,
Bred for rue...


Aw, the Hell with it.  When it's this dreary only a bacon sandwich will get me moving.

Mucking around in the poll; Iowa Caucuses 2012

The results are:

Gingrich 22
Paul 21
Romney 16
Bachman 11, trailed by Perry, Santorum, and Huntsman

And since we're less interested in any given politician -- even Dr. Paul -- than we are in advancing the idea of liberty, let's nod to Gary Johnson who cracks the chart for  the first time that I've noticed -- at one per cent with an invisible campaign. He isn't really running for president, of course. He running to be Ron Paul in 2016.

---

Couple of other points:

If you lived in Iowa and watched television,  you would be be puking sick at the teevee spot saturation. As ridiculous as we find it, this sort of nonsense has its effects, so there are no sure bets. One Willy Horton spot could change everything.

Since Paul could now be considered "surging" and a probable front runner, he has a bigger bullseye painted on his back. So far, the GOP and media establishments have been content to treat him with amused condescension, but it's probably safe to bet that the opposition researchers are up early this morning, making mud of dirt and raw milk.

Declining fortunes of the holiest candidates can be attributed to dissension among the Van Der Platts Peeps evangelicals. They're all strung out about which of their one-time messiahs comes close enough to theocratic purity. Who the Hell do they think they are? Big-L libertarians?

Frankie Laine sings Ron Paul

"Get those dogies movin,  
  "Tho' they're disapprovin'
"RAWMIIILK."

---

Dr. Ron brought down the house last night in New Hampshire with a clarion call to let folks drink raw milk if they want. Holy Moly, Mary Marvel -- Cannabis. Raw Milk. There goes the Republic.

It's making the teevee heads even more nervous in light of Paul's new statistical tie with Newt in Iowa.

Gee, I like starting the day with a grin.

Survival according to Mommie Dot.Guv

A sign of the season has arrived, my government's annual hints from the Highway Patrol about avoiding death and other inconvenience on our wintry roads.

A winter survival kit should include items such as a coffee can or container, a candle, matches, sand or kitty litter, some candy bars, extra blankets, a shovel and a working cell phone.

I'll forgive the omission of a well-tuned 1911 and several charged magazines.  I can overlook the absence of a flashlight. After all, these little public relations fluff jobs are meant for people qualified to operate neither.

But why a can AND  kitty litter? Seems to me that if you're traveling without a cat one or the other would suffice. And even if  you have Tabby with you, couldn't you share? I mean, it's an emergency and all.

Neck Knife

With respect for the gentle and competent Marko, I question the practice of carrying a  knife around the neck. Securely sheathed, it may not pose much of a cutting threat to the carrier, but, then again, it might.

The  paracord necklace bothers me more. My philosophy of life holds that anything around a guy's neck should have the breaking strength of a Girl Scout handicraft project, say, a string of beads on three-pound mono.  Why wear a garrote, handy to the bad guy and to any random snag when you go off balance?

Nevertheless, he has worked out the risks and rewards to his own satisfaction. If he's content, I'm content. Not so one of his commenters.

I suggest you drop by  Marko's place to see what I mean. The guy wonders what the knife is +for+ and then answers his own question by speculating the most likely use is crazed and bloody revenge on some innocent nun who fails to step aside for you on the sidewalk.  I am amazed at the tolerance Marko shows for the  person.

H/T Tam.

Sidebar on my youthful loves

The courtship of Margie did not prosper.

Not long after classes began in September, she entered into a relationship with with a much older man, guy by the name of Rex, about 16,  who had curly hair and one of the coolest cars around. Funny,  I can't remember if it was a c. '50 Ford two-door or a '50 Merc. Either way, it was lowered in back and had frenched headlights.

The blow to my self-esteem was devastating, and riding past her house on my Whizzer* brought no solace.

I yearned for a better world, a nation governed by men devoted to fairness and equality, a power structure which would have required Rex to share and share alike. Imagine, a law giving me ownership of that rod --and hence, presumptively, claim to the company of the lovely Margie  -- on alternate Saturday nights.

While it comes too late to spare me a life of regret, it is heartening that the egalitarian forces of President Obama are working so hard to spare other stricken lads such pain.

*

Note from a former exploited child

When 14-year-old Margie Rabbit walked out of the girls' changing room at the Expo Park pool, wearing the daring two-piece suit, I was pleased to have been a victim of human trafficking.

I belonged to a crew of young teens under the thumb of a slaver who hauled us from  field to field where we toiled in the hot sun, cleaning corn and cockle burrs from the soybeans for the profiteering ogre who owned the land. No sooner had we satisfied one such parasite than the crew master trafficked us off to another, hoes chopping and machetes swinging.

I was free to quit only if I was willing to forgo a Saturday afternoon ritual, the ceremonial distribution of envelopes containing money.

I hated the work. On the other hand, it was my best opportunity that July for wherewithal to invite  Margie for Sunday swims and hamburger-and-malted dinners afterwards. All on me. Damn the expense.

It's funny how easily the capitalist power structure was able to exploit my weaknesses, and I, for one, welcome the social advances  of the 21st Century where  
agents of my government conspire to spare young men such inconvenience and   (Dare I say it?) indignity.

It's from Stranded in Iowa, and for my money the post of the week, at least.

Listen up, Kemosabe

According to Jinglebob, tribal wisdom of the Dacotah holds that upon discovering you're riding a dead horse you are well-advised to dismount.

Government has not absorbed this truth and instead believes it should respond by, among other things ...

1. Buying a stronger (and more expensive) whip.

The whole thing makes a good read, although a bit frightening for its truth.

Alert the Department of Education

Here we go again. 


In Iowa, we admit to sending something like 10,000 illiterate third-grade graduates to fourth grade every year. This is generally considered less than optimal. especially in light of knowledge that these kids, in about ten years, will be fully qualified to vote. 


We spent eleventy-some million dollars to discover this  problem and about that much more  developing an innovative solution: A do-over. Have them repeat third grade. Oh, the horror:


Critics in Iowa say ending social promotion for third-graders could erode students’ self-esteem, and they question the wisdom of retaining children based solely on their performance in one subject area.

(Hey, Teach. Few cud say out lowd what is the name of my rithmutik book is my steem for me wud go up evin hier.)


Please excuse me for advancing the radical notion that by the time a child has spent four years in a school system he should have been given a fighting chance to understand that Dick is the Boy, Jane is the girl, and Spot goes bow-wow.

Let Hitler cure your megrims

Please step over to Random Acts of Patriotism for the Hitler take on John Moses Browning's 1911 versus the Teutonic brick. If it doesn't make you laugh you're not a true gun nut.

H/T Borepatch

Climb Mount Niitaka

...and the sneak raid was on.

Travis McGee: "With every passing year it will seem more quaint, the little tin airplanes attacking the sleeping giants."

There's not much we can do about the Japanese attack seeming quaint to the uninformed young,  but we can try to make sure they remember it happened.

Oh, Brave New World

I  still cling bitterly to the belief that the last important inventions were the Model 94 Winchester and the Zenith Transceanic radio. But it can be hard.

About once a month New Dog Libby's dietary needs send me reluctantly to WalMart  for 44 pounds of Purina Dog Chow in an Ol' Roy bag. This was such a day. The crowd was thin, thank God, but I had forgotten to activate my anti-impulse  circuits.

The new, cheap flat-panel HDTV is better in every respect that the bulky monster it has replaced. Merely saving space in the small living room made it worthwhile, never mind the better picture and curse-free setup.

Nevertheless, I feel like a primitive Baptist who has just discovered  Charles Darwin.

Barack Theodore Hussein Roosevelt Obama

His Ineptness went to Kansas yesterday to channel a little William Jennings Bryan and a lot of the old Bull Moose.

Pardon me for saying so, Sir,  but you don't  make a very credible prairie populist, and it's even harder to picture you leading a battalion of actual men, charging up a Cuban hill in the face of other actual men shooting back.

Mr. President, this country knew Teddy Roosevelt. Teddy Roosevelt was a friend of ours. You're no Teddy Roosevelt.

If you want to Americans to quit dissing you as a  street wimp who lucked out, flying Unicorn One to Hawaii at our expense for a 17-day golf junket won't do the job.

You want to be Teddy Roosevelt? Fine. Book a train to Libby, Montana. Find yourself a Flathead guide.  Hire a good old quarter horse with some mountain pony in his pedigree (demand a birth certificate) and an agile, hefty pack horse or two.   Learn to throw a diamond hitch. Head on up into the Kootenai country. Be ready to pull your weight when it comes time to pitch the big wall tent and fire up the Sibley stove.

I'm pro-choice when it when  it comes to personal weapons, but your  image consultants probably will recommend something like a Model 95 in .30-40 Krag, scabbarded under your leg.

Get in, shoot at a quarter-ton of something with teeth and claws, and get out. Then maybe some of us will listen to you prattle on about big sticks and heroic presidents.

Until then: President Obama as Bull Moose? Bull Shit.

Sky Kings

If your sky is clear, brave the cold for a couple of  minutes to see the moon, nearing full, with a brilliant Jupiter at its 5 o'clock . (c. 43N 95W). Beautiful.

Conversation with my selves

Machoself: "Hell, it may be one below zero, but the wood fire is enough.

Wimpself: "My feet are a litle chilly."

Machoself: "Then put on a cap and the wool socks.

Wimpself: "Already did, Dummy."

Machoself: "Oh. Okay." (Walks over to propane furnace. Turns knob to medium-low.)
.

Monday Gun Pron: Mystery Marlin

BIG WHOLE-POST EDIT: It's a Mystery Mossberg,  RM7 variant or something close to it.

If you ever need a persistent friend trying to set you straight, I recommend  a GMA guy named John. :)  See comments.

--------








Even before you note the Micro

 Groove rifling,  you ID it as Marlin. The utilitarian -- okay, clunky -- stock is characteristic of the fine old firm's bolt-action line. At least it's walnut.

Then there's the Marlin penchant for adding gizmos here and there. The button on the left side is a smoothly working bolt release. The one in the middle of the receiver cut retracts a cartridge feeder guide. The safety has three positions. One of the "safe" positions lets you cycle the action. The other "safe" locks the bolt closed.










Marlin has long loved Herculean locking systems. But four, count-'em, four lugs?














The mystery is the precise Marlin identity. Several net searches yield a sort of Ron Paul-in-the-MSM result. There ain't no such animal. Even searching under the private Western Auto label  -- "Revelation, Model R 270 A  ___  Cal. 30-06 Sprg." yields nothing beyond another guy who has one, lost his bolt, and is looking for a replacement.  (Rotsa ruck, Pardner.)  None of the crossover lists mentions it.

EDIT: Also note the fluted bolt.

The vendor's story is that it was a "prototype," and Marlin decided to call it a "Revelation" to protect the marque if it flopped.  I love gun show stories.

Now would be the time to own one of those high-price, limited-edition company history books so detailed as to specify the number of moles on John Marlin's back.

Meanwhile, I'm pleased to own it as a workaday rifle. The condition is superb. It's in the most noble of calibers, the one we used back when we could win wars with a certain dispatch. On a snowy Saturday, mainly checking for bangability, we kept several rounds within a minute of hillside at an estimated 400 yards.

It will make a nice place to store the old Weaver K4 and one of those nice 1903-style leather slings I've been hoarding.

I don't suppose it's necessary to mention it was loopholed quite economically -- about what desperate dealers were asking for their NIB Hi-Points.

Hunch confirmed: Gingrich, Paul, Romney: Iowa Caucuses 2012

A brief recess from reality is in order as we hoist a pint to Ron Paul. He makes the headlines again in the  farm-fresh Iowa Poll --  behind Newt and ahead of MItt, also up on even Dunno.

In order:

Newt Gingrich 25
Ron Paul 18
Mitt Romney 16
Undecided 11
Michele Bachmann 8
Herman Cain 8 (poll taken before he hit the mat))
Rick Perry 6
Rick Santorum 6

I'm not about to crunch  lot of numbers or subject readers to prophecy posing as analysis, but something stands out. Even if every Cain voter switched to Bachmann or Perry or Santorum, that person would still trail Dr. Paul.

Politico's Maggie Haberman purrs welcome words into libertarian-leaning ears:

As for the rest, the poll also means the Paul rise is also real - and in a fractured, multi-candidate field, if he can pull a few more points his way and expand his base, he could win the caucuses given his level of organization. This would be the best scenario for Romney short of an outright win there himself at this point.

It wouldn't be bad for Paul, either. Even scaring Newt here would send him strong to New Hampshire where a finish around  20 per cent would keep him kicking through more primaries than we expected.

We all know the odds that, in the end, one of the showmen will beat the statesman. Never mind. We were never about Ron Paul. We are about the idea of free men and women, an idea whose most effective embodiment at this stage of our history is Ron Paul.

What a zillion dollars worth of Pentagon small arms experts couldn't do:

They couldn't keep the Mk-48 machine gun firing  without ammo bearers on hand. When it ran dry in combat the gunner had to stop and laboriously reload. When that happened the enemy got pretty arrogant about shooting you.

If you're Bill Gates you solve problems like that by having a couple-three good ol' country boys around. You let them kumshaw some old ammo cans, parts of a junked MOLLE system, and a few other odds and ends of scrap metal. Quicker than you can say "lemme use your welder," you have the "Ironman Pack Ammunition System."

It works, so the Army gives the lads a ceremony and a little attaboy award.

Then, a few hours later, unless thngs have changed since my  day, some shave-ass second looie notices the rustic inventors and tells them their  fingernails are ragged and sideburns a quarter-inch over regulation and shape up or ship out.

The lieutenant's career will prosper and, in due course, he will be the Army's general in charge of small-arms design.

Saturday guns, Saturday politicians

(Being a partial compendium of what's important to me today.)

Iowa Caucuses: The quick are Gingrich, Paul, and Romney. The dead are everyone else.  An Iowa Poll  to be released this evening should reflect that hunch, but it won't  say much about where Cain people are going. I judge they'll scatter, keeping the Newt-Ron-Mitt lineup intact.

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Iowa guns: Thanks to the nice little Jackson loophole,  K. and I may augment the state's arsenal at the expense of Minnesota's. The small trading windfall of last weekend left a supply of mad money in the Bat Belt.  It seeks blue steel shooting things old, heavy, and slow, not unlike your author.

Christmas is a time for materialistic dreaming, so I am permitted to fantasize about finding a quality 1911 frame  or two --  a place to put those extra slides and barrels.

(Note to self: Also watch for .30 M1 Carbine bullets in honor of the new set of dies for same. Time to heat that old girl up a little.)

We're taking nothing to trade, still standing on our "never-sell-a-gun"  principles. The Model 88 was a rare exception, purchased strictly for rapid turnover.

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The first measurable snow of the season is to occur today, statistically a little late. It's been a gorgeous autumn, and I am grateful for the localized global warming.

Survival food

I mean survival both before and after the SHTF. I mean biscuits. Home-brew biscuits as what's made back in the hollers where there ain't no bizkwik.

And I mean it a a small tool for financial survival for small households even before the politicians force us to create a Madd Max world.

Bread.

Now, I'm not an aggressive food snob. I tolerate grocery-store bread just fine for toast and sandwiches.   Some are even pretty good. Around here we can get real Amana bread, excellent especially in the black and rye versions.

Unfortunately the actual cost is about double the shelf price because one person can eat about a half loaf before even the best commercial stuff begins to get that obnoxious musty odor and taste whereupon you convert it to very expensive bird feed. I like my downy woodpeckers and nuthatches just fine, but damned if I'll support them at something like a buck-fifty a pound.

So I make what grandma called scratch biscuits. And do it with minimum hassle, I make the makin's in quantity based on a typical old recipe:

2 cups flour

4 teaspoons baking powder

3/4 teaspoon salt (scant)

1/4 teaspoon baking soda (a little less if anything)

That's the dry stuff. Stir it all together in a huge bowl, then:

2 tablespoons butter

2 tablespoons shortening, preferably lard but a nice transfatty elixer like Crisco will do

Toss the fat into the dry goods and play with your food with both hands for a little longer than seems like fun, until you produce a crumbly mix.  (This business of "cutting in" with some sort of special instrument is tedious nonsense.)

1 cup milk

You already  heated your oven to about 350, so all you have to do now is stir in the milk. (It's okay to make a hole in the flour  and quickly! pour in the milk if it makes you feel more like Emeril and Alton and them.)

Stir it all up and hope you have a very sticky product -- just this side of runny.   Add a litttle more milk or water if you don't.

Take your rolling pin and place it on the floor as a dog chewy. Then take a big spoon and drop dollops of dough on your greased pan. (Any kind of pan will do, but cast iron lends a certain down-home, coon-hound, and 12 gauge-hammer-double panache to the process.)

Pat the dollops slight flat and bake for ten minutes or so. You'll have about eight biscuits, or a little over a day's worth for one.


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Now, sharp-eyed readers have been wondering why a "huge" bowl was specified. It's because no one with a life wants to do all this every day.  You are going to quadruple or quintuple the recipe so you have to do it only once a week or so. Seal the extra dry mix in a plastic bag. It keeps a long time in your cupboard without going rancid,  longer in your ice box. Face it. It's Bisquick only better and cheaper and fresher.

Leading us to the question of extended storage against the era when life has become ungridded. Just leave out the butter and lard and it should keep more or less forever, until you've developed your butter-churning and hog-fat-rendering skills.

Further annotating the SHTF considerations: Dry milk can be mixed with the other dry stuff  and the biscuits will not be too repulsive. Or you can make the dough with water, ending up with a sort of fancy bannock which you can learn to like.

Back to the present: These things are good and amenable to refinements. For instance, add sage to the dough if you intend to grace biscuits with turkey gravy. Shredded cheese is good, either mixed in the dough or melted on top. Likewise a little sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon, chili powder.  You can also substitute wheat or rye flower for part of the white. They'll just be a little chewier.

Come to think of it, it's all but impossible to screw them up which, I suppose, is why I make them.

Holiday Visitation

Virtually the entire GOP field, the Class of '12 , visits Camp J on Iowa Caucus Day minus 33.  Only Dr. Ron Paul was absent.

From world welfare capital

Looking for a reason to admire Herman Cain and despise Newt Gingrich?

Search no further than the land of the tall corn where our economic base grows in rows, where our corn and bean producers have, for a century and a-half, cultivated an image of sober, god-fearing, rugged individualism.

And so they endorse* for President of These United States, ta-da, conservative Newt Gingrich.

Newt Gingrich earned straight A’s on agriculture, energy, trade and other policies measured by the Iowa Corn Growers Association.

They love Newt because he promises to give them all they want of other people's stuff. And I do mean all they want. He is the agripimptorian of the GOP Class of '12.

By contrast, the Row Crop Royalty hates Herman Cain without even referring to off-field boffing. Herm gets a "D" for telling the Corn Growers' Association to put on big-boy pants and quit whining like a 16-year-old unwed mother of three on the south side of Chicago upset because she doan get enough from the welfare.

Our Ron Paul sits in the back of the room with Herman. He also earned a "D" despite not returning the questionnaire. The cornies said they evaluated such refusniks by checking their records and public statements. Paul, of course, has taken several subversive positions, including the radical notion that you should be permitted to put gasoline in your tank.

Just for shidts and grins, I suppose, the corn growers also graded His Ineptness, the sitting president.  Barry got a "B," tied with Mitt Romney.

N.B. -- To absorb the full flavor of all this, a guy should take time to click through the links in the news story and on the corn growers candidate report card where you can read the questions and candidate answers. If the corn growers implicit demands don't read like an Acorn wish list I'll kiss your arse in a crop circle and let you take aerial photos with a long lens.

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* “ 'This is a tool for farmers and voters, not an endorsement,'  (said) Corn Growers president Kevin Ross..."   Kevin, that's bullshit and you know it.


.

For all you Chevy Volt haters...

It took  a few decades, but General Motors has managed to recreate the pyrotechnic potential of the Ford Pinto. You'll all recall the little pony was reputed to enjoy exploding its gas tank in relatively minor crashes.

Chevy's  Volt likes to splode its battery, and that seems to be creating a public relations problem for the company. 

The piece also justifies its existence with a single sentence:

"As Robert Bryce points out in his book Power Hungry, electric cars are the "Next Big Thing. And they always will be."

The Transformation of Barack Obama

Chris Christie to Barack Obama: "What the hell are we paying you for?"

Thank you, Governor. For some time the TMR has been pondering a new Obama moniker. "His Obamaness" is getting shop worn. Worse, it is much too regal for a president  whose fight-or-flight instincts tilt so heavily to the latter. How can we attribute regality to a man whose response to national bankruptcy is a jet trip to Asia and Oceania where his most notable act was ordering a company of U.S. Marines to Australia?

So the stunningly apt Christie question inspires "His Ineptness."

Just over three years ago, Barack Obama capitalized on an amazing run of luck. A lackluster lawyer turned welfare bureaucrat, he possessed a certain personal charm and, more important, a great gift of oratory in the Benny Hinn sense of the term. Local political imperatives in Cook County, Illinois, made him a young state legislator and a very young United States senator. Why? Because Daley's Chicago machine found him useful in group-identity politics.

As a senator his potential for damage was limited, but in 2008 a majority of Americans stared gape-mouthed at one another and asked "What the Hell happened."

The only thing they agreed on was that things had blown up like a Vanguard missile on the launch pad. The bills had come due for optional wars, more optional nation-building across the seas, an avalanche of domestic vote-buying,  and government-assisted fraud by our great financial institutions.

Families couldn't pay their bills. Banks and giant insurance companies couldn't pay their bills. Neither could many states, and for damned sure Washington couldn't either.

Enter Hope and Change, Barack Obama as messiah -- or as Robin Hood wielding his long bow in Nottingham Castle and marshaling the peasantry for war on the Evil Prince.

In the event, his quiver was empty, his bow string soaked and stretched. The man was intellectually impotent in any setting more rigorous than a rally of the slack-jawed who once heard and continued to believe that, by right, they were entitled to other people's stuff.

His Ineptness couldn't deliver on his leftist fantasies, even with squads of Little Johns commanding a majority of his Merry Men in the legislative bodies. As the end of A.D. 2011 approached, the president discovered that he was no longer taken seriously.

Of course, Obama's failure to maintain is not a bad thing. We are spared his corps of paramilitarized civilians in "service" to the statist ideal. We escaped some -- too little --  of his desired national health bureaucracy.  We have been temporarily spared the final currency collapse as his exchequer officials revved the printing presses to something more than supersonic to meet the cost of his pixie dust dreams.

But we have not evaded a generalized popular dread, that ambition destroying malaise of millions of American souls. They look at the debt. They note His Ineptness and his courtiers, empty suits purporting to guide our destiny.

They begin to suspect that in November of 2008, they fell for a practical joke of cosmic proportion.

And they look at the available -- meaning politically viable --alternatives to His Ineptness, one of whom they may choose in just over 11 months.

And they continue to despair.

What gun for grizzlies?

My pardner John swears by the Beretta Jetfire in .22 short. Since you never hike dangerous bear territory without a buddy, he reasons than when a furious old silvertip charges you can shoot  your trail-mate in the kneecap and stroll nonchalantly back to the truck. He seems to suggest an in-law as the ideal companion in these circumstances

Citizen of the month award

In lieu of a handy cop,  a guy can always try direct action.

Dennis Giehl was pulling up to his house. He saw a couple of strangers backing his other car out of his drive. He chased the apprentice criminals down. He took the car away from them. He whipped them both when they decided to contest his decisions.

Police finally arrived and the 47-year-old Dennis was pleased to turn the thuglets, 14 and 15, over to official gummint control. 

(When the parents get around to suing you for effing with their children's self- esteem, drop a note. We'll try to put together a little legal defense fund. Meanwhile please accept a "well-done," Sir.)

Jiggety-Jig

No fat pig, but a fat-enough and fine-enough turkey courtesy of the world's greatest hostess, who just happens to be married to the world's greatest host.

This and that is to be reported, but for now a single narrow point. Promoters who cancel their gun shows at the last hour and without proper notice should be questioned on the rack and handed over to secular authority for punishment. Stakes and faggots to be raised by private subscription.

Over the river and through the loophole to...

I await arrival of the house-sitter and her irritable German shepherd.

The pile of shootie stuff is stowed in the camper. It will be my first gun show presence as a "vendor" in quite a while.

The quotation marks around "vendor" are used advisedly. More  accurately  stated it is an enthusiast who let things get out of hand  and desires to clear out a few more-or-less "parts" rifles,  trade one dandy Winchester 88 in .284 for more militant types of iron, and, most importantly, shed about three cubic feet of goodies. Things like vintage taxidermy supplies, a Flaubert lock, A Winchester '06 bolt, dies for calibers I've permanently abandoned, an old Herter's press.  

If you're a pack-rat gunny, you'll understand.  You acquire and acquire when prices are right.  Or when you've taken temporary leave of your senses. Every few years you reach a decision point. You either put up a Morton building or peddle stuff.

Of course, there's always the danger of  further acquisition at any loophole, regardless of what side of the table you're on. A man of strong resolve and sterling character can resist. I'll let you know how I do.

---

Note to self: Don't forget the black Sharpie.

Fate of the Nation

Or, "Back to work after a day of monumental bad judgement at the groaning board." (Thank you Enid et al. Food and company outstanding, as usual.)

Politics, bucolic style: By this time a citizen who pays attention should have a very plausible list of top Iowa Caucus finishers. Not this year. The state polls are like congressman's morals -- loose, confused, and certainly not to be relied on.

In order, the averages make it;

Gingrich
Cain
Romney
Paul

My take puts Paul no worse than third -- or second if the Gingrich immigration stand really riles the right.

---


More than usual, the outcome may depend on weather the night of January 3. A good libertarian thinker  hopes for the mother of all blizzards. If the north wind shuts down the state, the "values voters" will  cocoon and pray for a miracle.

The Ron Paul forces will mobilize everything from snowmobiles to one-horse open sleighs. Victory will be ours, a landslide.

Thanksgiving

May you enjoy the day.

Here at Camp J, the commandant's contribution to a traditional dinner bubbles gently in the dutch oven. Bush's, laced with extra high-test molassas, bacon, onion, a pinch of organic St. Cloud oregano. I'd tell you the other ingredients, but then I'd have to kill you.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Land of the Hoosier Hip --Occupy It

In Indianapolis exists a neighborhood called Broad Ripple. It is a Hoosier iteration of classic hip scenes of other cities (Old Town Chicago in the 60s; Greenwich Village in the 50s, etc.). People, mostly young, go there for eating, drinking, meeting, and a sense of  the pleasant side of urban living.

This creates an attraction for the other side of city life, the rapist, the mugger, the robber. No surprise. The underbelly parasites are always attracted to money and other-sex comeliness.  They have made looking for love, or arugula, or whatever, a somewhat hazardous thing to do in Broad Ripple after sundown.

In reaction, a movement has sprung up to "Occupy Broad Ripple with Guns." It's more benign than it sounds. Adult people are to quietly stroll the nightlife area this Saturday night, carrying openly and legally.

There seems to be a dual intent. (1) Remind the thugs that they do not own the streets, even when Officer Friendly is absent and (2) spread the word to revelers how they, too, may bear arms for effective self-defense by jumping through a few regulatory hoops.

I am decidedly wishy-washy about public demonstrations of any kind, and even more firmly ambivalent about open-carry events. But at the very worst, OBR seems like something that should do no harm and may do some good.  The mugging class  tends to prefer swimming in a pool of docile, surprised, and unarmed victims, and it's always good to dissuade them about your neighborhood. So have at it, Hoosiers. If I were there I'd probably join you.

---

Roberta has a good little essay on the matter, including a riff on the predicable outcry of the ubermeek that Broad Ripple is about to be taken over by gun-slinging skinhead racists. She's taken care of that nonsense. There's no need for repetition here, but it  did give me an idea.

I've always appreciated a retort to the soaked-Pamper Left whose idea of rational discussion is to shout "Nazi!" at libertarian thinkers, particularly armed ones. "We're not the Nazis, Binky. We're the guys hiding the Jews."

That thought occurs just as much of America prepares to storm the big boxes in search of cheap but neat Christmas gifts.

An alternative worth thought?

There is an organization known as Jews for the Preservation of Firearms Ownership.  You need not be Jewish to belong. So if you're stumped for something for Mr./Ms. Hard-to-Buy-For, how about a gift JFPO membership?  At $25 it's cheap enough, and it lasts a whole year which the gizmo from WalMart probably won't.

Debate afterthought

Oratory seeks to sway people with the allure of magical thinking.

If Dr. Paul had the gift of oratory he would be the man to beat. But then he wouldn't be Ron Paul, would he?

Political short take

Barack Obama returned from the Mysterious East and chose his 2012 opponent. Mitt Romney. Why should his loyal opposition trouble itself with all that complicated primary stuff?

The president will blanket Iowa with Charlie McCarthy's reading Obama talking points. The mouthpiece du jour is R.T. Rybak, mayor of Minneapolis. He likes light rail, high-end bike trails, and about anything else that can't be operated without massive tax subsidies.

He's also a former neighborhood organizer who early put his nose under the Obama coat tail and was rewarded with vice-chairmanship of the Democratic National Commitee.

We consider ourselves lucky to have the counsel of such a man, but I think we'll go ahead and hold our caucuses anyway. A matter of form, don't you know.

Domestica

I've let the fire go out because it's time to haul ashes. Propane is keeping the place warm enough, but it is just not right.

Like the air on a 747. You can breathe it, but  it cloys. The odor is wrong. The feel is wrong. It's making me cranky. It's making me think all this modern surliness results from the demise of the oaken fire.

EDIT: Ashes hauled. Propane off. Blaze kindled. The world is a lovely place.

Water is not wet enough to prevent dehydration, and after an arduous three-year study the European Union has written a law to clamp you in gaol if you claim otherwise.

Joel has the details of this particular idiocy.

888888 post

About three "real" essays rest in my blogger "save" box, but damned if I can get motivated to call up any one of them and batter it into some semblance of readable coherence.

Maybe I'm demoralized because, unless I misconstrue her, Ron Paul has lost Tam.

(Remember Lyndon Johnson at the height of his Asian diplomacy and Vietnam War fubar fest?  Remember the night Grandpa Walter of CBS  called him on it? Remember Lyndon moaning, "If I've lost Cronkite, I've lost the country?"  History rhymes.)

Or maybe my synapses are discommoded from messing around with a bunch of non-organic electrons. To wit:

I have sybaritic dreams of stepping out of the shower into an 88-degree chamber on winter's most evil day and to do it without heating up the entire house. So I finally got round to installing the beautiful old Arvin heater.

When I got the plasterboard* out I found the light switch didn't need to be disturbed, but the little box for the existing duplex outlet was too busy for the tie-in.  The replacement double box is still tight and -- to come to the point of this whine --  it's in a cramped corner requiring left-handed work. Ladies and gentlemen, I am fully entitled to bitch about having to screw screws and wire nuts and wrap tape in such a sinister manner.

Anyway, it's all done now, and perhaps I'll be able to improve my mood by persuading myself that all that left-handed agony will strengthen my weak-hand shooting.

I'll let you know.

---

*AKA "sheet rock" and "wall board" and "the world's most obnoxious construction material." In a properly run nation it would be outlawed.

Well, Uncles are supposed to be avuncular

I don't know what set Uncle off, though it looks like a case of misusing the internet. Meaning he may have spent too much time reading the iron-clad conclusions of the uninformed while unsolaced by ancient Irish Whiskey.

But I'm glad something tripped his trigger.

I especially liked the suggestion to gun-terminology pedants:

Yeah, I know a silencer doesn’t completely silence a gun. But the guy who invented the things called them silencers. He gets dibs. And you don’t.


This could even be extended to suggest that if you slip up and call a magazine a clip you are not automatically sentenced to dinner with Barbara Boxer.


The rest is good, too, including most of the comments.


H/T Joel.