Somehow I doubt Jay Leone of Marin County, California, is about to get a nice congratulatory card from his Senator Boxer.
Mr. Leone is 90, seems fit , and is without doubt feisty. A burglar got in and shot him in the head.
Now, there are a lot of possible reactions to that sort of affront, including trying to call 911 before you die. But Mr. Leone's was, "F---- you, you son of a bitch. Now it's my turn." Whereupon he got his SW .38 snubby and emptied it, hitting one Samuel Joseph Cutrufelli thrice in the stomach.
Burglar Sam is one of those rare Californians without a highly developed social conscience. If he had one he would have reclined and quietly bled to death, dreaming his last dreams of aromatherapy and unleaded condors.
He survived to become an expensive public charge, accused of attempted murder and other sins.
So far no one has proposed indicting Mr. Leone for anything.
---
I recommend reading the story for its funny scatalogical deails and the grace with which reporter Gary Klien tells the tale of Mr. Leone's testimony.
H/T Nephew Mike
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 21, 2012
Learning Politics with Travis McGee
Our friend John D. MacDonald pauses in his narrative of the search for Bix Bowie's fate in the Oaxacan highlands. Travis and Meyer are interested in the scene, a high mesa marked with anthropological remnants of a tough and ancient people. John D. permits Enelio, their bright new Mexican friend, to explain. (N.B. The term "priest" needs to be read in its meaning in Meso-American culture before the Spanish invasion. The priests were also the temporal masters -- the polticians, the Obamas, Santorums, Gingriches, and Romneys, among many other latter-day names.):
---
"Here is how it was. Five, six, seven hundred years ago, these mountain people who had been led into this place by the priests and the soldiers, they cimbed to that place that you see, and they made offerings of food, and they worshipped. They bult the temples and they dug the wells, carried the stones, made the pottery, cut the thatch. But the priests got too far away from the people. They thought they owned the people forever. They lost common understanding. So one day the people went up to the high places and killed the priests and killed the guards and pulled down the temples and never went back. ... They just got tired of slave life, of catering to the demands of priests for food and women and children to train, and tired of work that became more meaningless to them. They went up and killed them and put and end to it...".
---
This little offering is not meant as an immediate call to hone the swords and hoist Mencken's Black Flag. It is a suggestion that authoritarianism has its ultimate punishments.
---
From Dress Her in Indigo, the 1987 Fawcett printing, p. 95.
---
"Here is how it was. Five, six, seven hundred years ago, these mountain people who had been led into this place by the priests and the soldiers, they cimbed to that place that you see, and they made offerings of food, and they worshipped. They bult the temples and they dug the wells, carried the stones, made the pottery, cut the thatch. But the priests got too far away from the people. They thought they owned the people forever. They lost common understanding. So one day the people went up to the high places and killed the priests and killed the guards and pulled down the temples and never went back. ... They just got tired of slave life, of catering to the demands of priests for food and women and children to train, and tired of work that became more meaningless to them. They went up and killed them and put and end to it...".
---
This little offering is not meant as an immediate call to hone the swords and hoist Mencken's Black Flag. It is a suggestion that authoritarianism has its ultimate punishments.
---
From Dress Her in Indigo, the 1987 Fawcett printing, p. 95.
Feb 20, 2012
Investment paranoia
I foggily clicked through the trading numbers of a little stock I don't hate. They looked okay, so I scribbled a calculation of the dividend income compared to the zero-point zero-point-insult-giggle interest rate from my friendly home-town bank.
Decided the difference justified the principle risk. Started entering the order and noticed it hadn't traded in the first five minutes of the Wall Street Daily Follies. Crap! More coffee. Or if I'd powered up the electric teevee I'd have been reminded.
Even Washington and Lincoln hate me.
.
Decided the difference justified the principle risk. Started entering the order and noticed it hadn't traded in the first five minutes of the Wall Street Daily Follies. Crap! More coffee. Or if I'd powered up the electric teevee I'd have been reminded.
Even Washington and Lincoln hate me.
.
Feb 19, 2012
The Frontrunner Ron Paul (Caution: Adult Content)
Now will you forgive us for imposing Rick Santorum on you? Even though his primary campaign theme is a strict "One Climax, One Kid" rule?
The competent Ann Selzer has just published a poll of Iowa voters, and our "unelectable" Ron Paul whips every other GOPer in a face-to-face against His Ineptness Barack Obama.
I wouldn't break out the champagne just yet. The results seem to reflect more revulsion with President Obama and the other Republicans than any great enchantment with our offbeat ol' Grandpa Paul. But a guy can be heartened to see hints of a friendlier attitude toward Constitutional government.
Paul beats the president by 7 points. Santorum beats him by 4 and Romney wins by 2. Poor Newt loses; Mr. Obama sends him home to Callista by 14 points.
From Hawkeye lips to God's ears, eh?
(There is rain on our parade. Paul's unfavorables total 41 points against Santorum's 33. The others' hate numbers are worse, 51 for Mitt and 65 for Newt.
---
For a couple of reasons you probably want to read the whole thing, including links to the polling geekery. My brief report here is undoubtedly colored by a bias against hinging a presidential race on regulating the reproductive habits of every Joe and Sally Sixpack in the land. Likewise by disgust with the intense debate about how manly -- or bogus -- Mitt looks in his new starched and ironed jeans. Too, my mind may still be fogged by the pleasant little fantasy about going rock climbing with Rachel.
The competent Ann Selzer has just published a poll of Iowa voters, and our "unelectable" Ron Paul whips every other GOPer in a face-to-face against His Ineptness Barack Obama.
I wouldn't break out the champagne just yet. The results seem to reflect more revulsion with President Obama and the other Republicans than any great enchantment with our offbeat ol' Grandpa Paul. But a guy can be heartened to see hints of a friendlier attitude toward Constitutional government.
Paul beats the president by 7 points. Santorum beats him by 4 and Romney wins by 2. Poor Newt loses; Mr. Obama sends him home to Callista by 14 points.
From Hawkeye lips to God's ears, eh?
(There is rain on our parade. Paul's unfavorables total 41 points against Santorum's 33. The others' hate numbers are worse, 51 for Mitt and 65 for Newt.
---
For a couple of reasons you probably want to read the whole thing, including links to the polling geekery. My brief report here is undoubtedly colored by a bias against hinging a presidential race on regulating the reproductive habits of every Joe and Sally Sixpack in the land. Likewise by disgust with the intense debate about how manly -- or bogus -- Mitt looks in his new starched and ironed jeans. Too, my mind may still be fogged by the pleasant little fantasy about going rock climbing with Rachel.
Here ya go
New girl friend
It's been sickish around here for fully a week. Just a cold, bad enough to slow a fellow down to idle speed plus maybe a hundred rpm or so. Yesterday I gave up and took to my bed -- couch, actually -- with the electric teevee on. The nap lasted close to 18 hours, broken only for the demands of biology, human and canine.
It ended around 2 a.m with a cheerful awakening, the bugs either in retreat or on a tactical stand down, leaving me with an appetite an an attitude tolerant enough to actually focus on the flat screen where I saw most of:
Among Giants, c. 1998, from the Brits and featuring an actress to whom I've never paid attention. She's an Aussie lass named Rachel Griffiths. Here she is Gerry, also an Aussie, a rock climber who hooked up with a crew of tower painters working in the British Moors. I spare you my plot summary. You can always Bing it if you want. But I foist upon you my view that Ms. Griffiths is a woman to behold, even though the skin magazines wouldn't be terribly interested. Not quite enough chin, nothing-much hair, an ordinary figure. So the attraction comes from what? I don't know and probably couldn't articulate it if I did. Probably just something unusually alive in her which the cameras can't help but catch.
In any case, I wish to thank Australia for producing her and the British film industry for bringing her to my tellie. For the latter it represents a great leap forward from The Barnicles of Wimply Street.
If you happen to be in my neighborhood, Ms. Griffiths ....
---
It ended around 2 a.m with a cheerful awakening, the bugs either in retreat or on a tactical stand down, leaving me with an appetite an an attitude tolerant enough to actually focus on the flat screen where I saw most of:
Among Giants, c. 1998, from the Brits and featuring an actress to whom I've never paid attention. She's an Aussie lass named Rachel Griffiths. Here she is Gerry, also an Aussie, a rock climber who hooked up with a crew of tower painters working in the British Moors. I spare you my plot summary. You can always Bing it if you want. But I foist upon you my view that Ms. Griffiths is a woman to behold, even though the skin magazines wouldn't be terribly interested. Not quite enough chin, nothing-much hair, an ordinary figure. So the attraction comes from what? I don't know and probably couldn't articulate it if I did. Probably just something unusually alive in her which the cameras can't help but catch.
In any case, I wish to thank Australia for producing her and the British film industry for bringing her to my tellie. For the latter it represents a great leap forward from The Barnicles of Wimply Street.
If you happen to be in my neighborhood, Ms. Griffiths ....
---
Feb 18, 2012
Tally Ho. PUULLL. Splash One.
Out on a South Kalinky plantation, a gathering of gentlemen organized a live pigeon shoot. Well-sensitized and organized souls objected.
"We'll fix them," the SHARKs (SHowing Animals Respect and Kindness, /sigh/) resolved. Then they sent their little drone helicopter to spook the birds. The hunt was off. Well, almost off.
"Seconds after it hit the air, numerous shots rang out," (Senior SHARK Steve) Hindi said in the release. "As an act of revenge for us shutting down the pigeon slaughter, they had shot down our copter?"
Steve, ol' buddy, we detect a surprised tone in your wail. Let us review:
A bunch of heavily armed guys gathered for a a legal -- if admittedly obnoxious -- "sport." They were loaded to knock small flying things out of the sky. You badly pissed them off by sending a small but noisy flying object into the sky. And you expected what, you dingbat? An invitation back to the plantation house for a few chuckles over bourbon and branch?
---
.
H/T Jon via email
"We'll fix them," the SHARKs (SHowing Animals Respect and Kindness, /sigh/) resolved. Then they sent their little drone helicopter to spook the birds. The hunt was off. Well, almost off.
"Seconds after it hit the air, numerous shots rang out," (Senior SHARK Steve) Hindi said in the release. "As an act of revenge for us shutting down the pigeon slaughter, they had shot down our copter?"
Steve, ol' buddy, we detect a surprised tone in your wail. Let us review:
A bunch of heavily armed guys gathered for a a legal -- if admittedly obnoxious -- "sport." They were loaded to knock small flying things out of the sky. You badly pissed them off by sending a small but noisy flying object into the sky. And you expected what, you dingbat? An invitation back to the plantation house for a few chuckles over bourbon and branch?
---
.
H/T Jon via email
Entertaining the Shieks
So that's what those guys do when they're not actually drilling.
Domain Name opec.org ? (Organization)
IP Address 212xxxxxxx.# (Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries
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IP Address 212xxxxxxx.# (Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries
ISP United Telekom Austria (UTA)...
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Half-staffing Whitney Houston
The teevee stations are getting entirely too much free programming fodder out of this one.
Whitney Houston was an entertainer, wildly popular among one set of Americans, and if her fans want to fly their flags at half-mast, more power to them. Those objecting to so-honoring a gifted junkie are free to two-block Old Glory this morning -- as are the folks who don't give a damn one way or another.
I think most of us were weary of the half-ass half-staff posturing slugs after about the third heated exchange on Fox or MSNBC, depending on where we go for our daily dose of idiocy.
I'll start listening again if someone will direct me to a good argument for allowing a successful politician -- say Christie or Obama, just for instance -- to decide which deaths are to be extraordinarily and officially mourned and which are routine, bury and forget.
Meanwhile I stick with a belief that we hire these clowns to administer their departments in a business-like fashion. Period. We're pretty much able to find our own source of grief counselling, symbolic gestures advice, etc. all by ourselves.
Whitney Houston was an entertainer, wildly popular among one set of Americans, and if her fans want to fly their flags at half-mast, more power to them. Those objecting to so-honoring a gifted junkie are free to two-block Old Glory this morning -- as are the folks who don't give a damn one way or another.
I think most of us were weary of the half-ass half-staff posturing slugs after about the third heated exchange on Fox or MSNBC, depending on where we go for our daily dose of idiocy.
I'll start listening again if someone will direct me to a good argument for allowing a successful politician -- say Christie or Obama, just for instance -- to decide which deaths are to be extraordinarily and officially mourned and which are routine, bury and forget.
Meanwhile I stick with a belief that we hire these clowns to administer their departments in a business-like fashion. Period. We're pretty much able to find our own source of grief counselling, symbolic gestures advice, etc. all by ourselves.
Feb 17, 2012
The perils of spell-check
Local Radio Bulletin:
"Storm Lake, IA (KICD)--An on the lamb fugitive from Storm Lake is apprehended in Corpus Christi, Texas..."
Long way to ride a getway sheep.
"Storm Lake, IA (KICD)--An on the lamb fugitive from Storm Lake is apprehended in Corpus Christi, Texas..."
Long way to ride a getway sheep.
Why We're Broke, Lutefish Edition
Star-Tribune* owners should award a small bonus to the copy desk drone who wrote: "Twin Cities Chase a Desire Named Street Car."
The headline is happy, the rest of the story less so. It's about a quarter-million in Federal Reserve Cartoons to be spent by St. Paul studying a new street car scheme. That's on top of $1.2 million Sis-City Minneapolis ispissing away investing to "analyze" potential steet car "corridors."
Mind you, this million-five doesn't actually build anything except a pile of dusty paper which, if honest, will confirm close to a century of American experience that street cars aren't worth a damn unless they are paid for by people who don't use them. It is the Cabrini Green principle** applied to mass transit.
But, well, they're kind of neat. Nostalgic and Asethetic and Romantic. Who says so? None other than His Ineptness (speaking of Cabrini Green).
Two years ago, "the Obama administration decided that transit projects could be evaluated for economic development and social benefits rather than just ridership and costs."
Translation: If three city council members, two loud-mouth hippies who eventually got rich trading pork belly futures, and one politically-connected construction company think street cars are cute, we're gonna get street cars which, like Blanche DuBois, will always depend on the kindness of strangers.
But as an occasional visitor to Minneapolis and St. Paul, I can look forward to my moment of drama. Step off the Lutefisk Trolly. Stand outside the big house all emoed up. "Stella...Steeella!"
No, wait. "Lena...Leeena!"
---
*The second most important newspaper in Minnesota, after The St. Cloud Times.
**"Build it and They Will Eff it Up at an Astronomical Cost to Innocent Tax-Paying Citizens Everywhere."
H/T to the author of the World's Greatest Travel Blog who is not responsible for any opinion which might have snuck into this blog entry despite it's intent to present a straightforward, objective, and dispassionate report of one of the great issues of the day.
The headline is happy, the rest of the story less so. It's about a quarter-million in Federal Reserve Cartoons to be spent by St. Paul studying a new street car scheme. That's on top of $1.2 million Sis-City Minneapolis is
Mind you, this million-five doesn't actually build anything except a pile of dusty paper which, if honest, will confirm close to a century of American experience that street cars aren't worth a damn unless they are paid for by people who don't use them. It is the Cabrini Green principle** applied to mass transit.
But, well, they're kind of neat. Nostalgic and Asethetic and Romantic. Who says so? None other than His Ineptness (speaking of Cabrini Green).
Two years ago, "the Obama administration decided that transit projects could be evaluated for economic development and social benefits rather than just ridership and costs."
Translation: If three city council members, two loud-mouth hippies who eventually got rich trading pork belly futures, and one politically-connected construction company think street cars are cute, we're gonna get street cars which, like Blanche DuBois, will always depend on the kindness of strangers.
But as an occasional visitor to Minneapolis and St. Paul, I can look forward to my moment of drama. Step off the Lutefisk Trolly. Stand outside the big house all emoed up. "Stella...Steeella!"
No, wait. "Lena...Leeena!"
---
*The second most important newspaper in Minnesota, after The St. Cloud Times.
**"Build it and They Will Eff it Up at an Astronomical Cost to Innocent Tax-Paying Citizens Everywhere."
H/T to the author of the World's Greatest Travel Blog who is not responsible for any opinion which might have snuck into this blog entry despite it's intent to present a straightforward, objective, and dispassionate report of one of the great issues of the day.
Feb 16, 2012
Dum-de-DUM-dum
It's an unhappy little news item about a woman accused of large-scale animal neglect. She's been charged, and the surviving dogs and cats are being cared for. Not worth mentioning but for the phrasing of AP's final sentence.
"Six of the dogs are suspected of being pregnant."
I hope Joe Friday gets to the bottom of this.
"Six of the dogs are suspected of being pregnant."
I hope Joe Friday gets to the bottom of this.
To Serve and Protect
When the SWAT team got to Mathew Corrigan's home in Washington, D.C., at 4 a.m., one of the boss cops asked Corrigan for permission to search his apartment. Corrigan declined. The officer remonstrated that his busy schedule made it inconvenient for him to secure a warrant merely to accommodate himself to the Fourth Amendment, or, in Officer Friendly's words:
"I don't have time to play this Constitutional bullshit."
The previous evening Mr. Corrigan, an Army reservist, felt depressed and called a "hot line" hawking itself as a source of help for military people under stress. (it turned out to be the National Suicide Prevention Hot Line operating under an alias.)
The counsellor asked if he had firearms. Mr. Corrigan answered, "yes." Some time later, the conversation ended and Mr. Corrigan went to bed. Meanwhile, the helpful hot liner alerted Washington cops who decided this threat to public order required a team of about 25 to 30 stormers in appropriate ninja gear.
With the Constitutional bullshit dismissed in the interest of administrative efficiency, officers entered the apartment, trashed it (very literally), took his dog, killed his tropical fish, seized his three firearms, and hustled Mr. Corrigan himself off to a hospital as a possible suicide risk. Two days later the doctors released him as non-suicidal -- released him to the police who jugged him for about two weeks.
He went home and found that, among other things, those who serve and protect had denied him the small courtesy of re-locking his apartment. He found that the local EOD detachment had practiced its craft by slitting open and scattering virtually every package in his refrigerator, cupboard, and closets.
He is suing has for $500,000 plus costs -- drastic under reach, if you ask me. I suggest about ten times that, to be assessed personally against every cop involved, not to the taxpayers.
For the "John Doe NO. 1" officer, the conscientious objector to Constitutional bull shit, I suggest:
-- That he be stripped of badge and gun, indicted, horse-whipped, have "asshole" tatooed on his forehead, and be assigned as Mr. Corrigan's personal slave for the remainder of his natural life. (This will require amendment of the Constitution, particularly a narrow suspension of the bill of attainder bar. So be it. Let the Article Five festivities begin.)
---
Two hat tips are necessary here. To Between Two Rivers -- who nominated TMR a Liebster Blog (with words kind enough to make me blush) -- and to Robert's Gun Shop.
"I don't have time to play this Constitutional bullshit."
The previous evening Mr. Corrigan, an Army reservist, felt depressed and called a "hot line" hawking itself as a source of help for military people under stress. (it turned out to be the National Suicide Prevention Hot Line operating under an alias.)
The counsellor asked if he had firearms. Mr. Corrigan answered, "yes." Some time later, the conversation ended and Mr. Corrigan went to bed. Meanwhile, the helpful hot liner alerted Washington cops who decided this threat to public order required a team of about 25 to 30 stormers in appropriate ninja gear.
With the Constitutional bullshit dismissed in the interest of administrative efficiency, officers entered the apartment, trashed it (very literally), took his dog, killed his tropical fish, seized his three firearms, and hustled Mr. Corrigan himself off to a hospital as a possible suicide risk. Two days later the doctors released him as non-suicidal -- released him to the police who jugged him for about two weeks.
He went home and found that, among other things, those who serve and protect had denied him the small courtesy of re-locking his apartment. He found that the local EOD detachment had practiced its craft by slitting open and scattering virtually every package in his refrigerator, cupboard, and closets.
He is suing has for $500,000 plus costs -- drastic under reach, if you ask me. I suggest about ten times that, to be assessed personally against every cop involved, not to the taxpayers.
For the "John Doe NO. 1" officer, the conscientious objector to Constitutional bull shit, I suggest:
-- That he be stripped of badge and gun, indicted, horse-whipped, have "asshole" tatooed on his forehead, and be assigned as Mr. Corrigan's personal slave for the remainder of his natural life. (This will require amendment of the Constitution, particularly a narrow suspension of the bill of attainder bar. So be it. Let the Article Five festivities begin.)
---
Two hat tips are necessary here. To Between Two Rivers -- who nominated TMR a Liebster Blog (with words kind enough to make me blush) -- and to Robert's Gun Shop.
Feb 15, 2012
Speaking of P.O. Ackley
Following Parker O.s work was just plain fun. Still is, for that matter.
He was king of the wildcat game in that inventive era after World War Two when American men (mostly) weren't afraid to dirty up their hands, learn to read micrometers and ballistics charts, and explain to their neighborhood machinist just what they wanted in their custom chambering reamers.
This was before the time of televison, so of course the guys couldn't just watch Sons of Guns to learn all about which guns to buy and Top Shot to learn how to use them.
The aforementioned .22/.30-30 Ackley Improved was one of his creations, and I suspect even a space age M4gery-style gear queer might think it pretty sexy to loose a 50 grainer at 3980 from a handy little Savage 99
He was king of the wildcat game in that inventive era after World War Two when American men (mostly) weren't afraid to dirty up their hands, learn to read micrometers and ballistics charts, and explain to their neighborhood machinist just what they wanted in their custom chambering reamers.
This was before the time of televison, so of course the guys couldn't just watch Sons of Guns to learn all about which guns to buy and Top Shot to learn how to use them.
The aforementioned .22/.30-30 Ackley Improved was one of his creations, and I suspect even a space age M4gery-style gear queer might think it pretty sexy to loose a 50 grainer at 3980 from a handy little Savage 99
Bear in the Air*
Joel finds himself somewhat worried about new FAA regulations which could arm every Barney Fife in the nation with his own sky spy surveillance system -- straight optical, thermal, and, when the technology is ripe, x-ray for seeing through your bedroom curtains.**
Me too, but it may be an opportunity for some tech-savvy lad to start working on a new, affordable, man-portable air defense system. I'm thinking along the lines of a smart .22LR, 36-grain hollow point. With the proper digital internals -- fire and forget -- it would be just the thing for neutralizing cop-snoop-robots with a takeoff weight of six ounces, including the camera. I claim naming rights: The TMR Fourth Amendment Special. (C'mon. It isn't that much more linguistically awkward than, say, the .22/.30-30 Ackley Improved.)
---
*Objectionably young readers may not get this. It's from the 1970s era of the national 55 miles per hour speed limit. which (a) turned every driver in America into a criminal and (b) almost single-handedly created the CB radio industry. "Breaker breaker one-nine, Bear in the air mile post 69 makin' eights." It meant a cop in a Cessna 150 was up there, timing you. It sounds best drawled out in Tennessean.
**Rick Santorum would love this X-ray bit. Seems the weather in Joel's desert empire is miserable, giving him time to point out gaspers like this. Rick proposes to use this presidency to improve your sex life, apparently by making sure you get less.
Me too, but it may be an opportunity for some tech-savvy lad to start working on a new, affordable, man-portable air defense system. I'm thinking along the lines of a smart .22LR, 36-grain hollow point. With the proper digital internals -- fire and forget -- it would be just the thing for neutralizing cop-snoop-robots with a takeoff weight of six ounces, including the camera. I claim naming rights: The TMR Fourth Amendment Special. (C'mon. It isn't that much more linguistically awkward than, say, the .22/.30-30 Ackley Improved.)
---
*Objectionably young readers may not get this. It's from the 1970s era of the national 55 miles per hour speed limit. which (a) turned every driver in America into a criminal and (b) almost single-handedly created the CB radio industry. "Breaker breaker one-nine, Bear in the air mile post 69 makin' eights." It meant a cop in a Cessna 150 was up there, timing you. It sounds best drawled out in Tennessean.
**Rick Santorum would love this X-ray bit. Seems the weather in Joel's desert empire is miserable, giving him time to point out gaspers like this. Rick proposes to use this presidency to improve your sex life, apparently by making sure you get less.
Way too Early Squirrley
Woke up about 3:30. Followed usual pre-dawn routine anyway. Scan the AP and Reuters reports. Pour a cup of coffee. Plug in teevee just in time to catch the intro to "Way too Early."
Barnicle (subbing for Annoyingly Smiley Kid Willie) all excited about the seas off Iran where Dinner Jacket's patrol boat passes close to U.S. war ship. Worries about accidental war. Teases that MSNBC will report later from the "deck of one of the battle ships" there in the gulf.
Battle ship turns out to be either a carrier or a tin can. Too bad. For a brief moment I thought maybe we had recommissioned the Iowa. No such luck, just teevee doing what it does best -- phucking up phacts
I know. Battle ships are so 1940s, and they cost like Hell. So what? Romance is worth something. Like Amos (Andy?) said, "It's just the yo ho ho of the thing." The price of admiralty. Great White Fleet. Murder's Row. All that.
---
About "accidental" war as a result of opposing ships playing chicken. I urge one and all to refamiliarize him-or-herself with that accidental Gulf of Tonkin deal. It's pretty disheartening.
But at least we can be thankful that we don't have an LBJ top-kicking our armed forces any more. We're blessed in this era with a commander-in-chief far too moral to consider that a spot of election-year war might divert voter attention from --ohhh, I dunno -- Solyndra, the flat national wallet, record number of folks on food stamps, his flip-flop on super PACs and subsidized contraception. Stuff like that.
Thank you for your kind attention. I am returning to my bed. Foetally. Thumb in mouth. Whimpering.
Barnicle (subbing for Annoyingly Smiley Kid Willie) all excited about the seas off Iran where Dinner Jacket's patrol boat passes close to U.S. war ship. Worries about accidental war. Teases that MSNBC will report later from the "deck of one of the battle ships" there in the gulf.
Battle ship turns out to be either a carrier or a tin can. Too bad. For a brief moment I thought maybe we had recommissioned the Iowa. No such luck, just teevee doing what it does best -- phucking up phacts
I know. Battle ships are so 1940s, and they cost like Hell. So what? Romance is worth something. Like Amos (Andy?) said, "It's just the yo ho ho of the thing." The price of admiralty. Great White Fleet. Murder's Row. All that.
---
About "accidental" war as a result of opposing ships playing chicken. I urge one and all to refamiliarize him-or-herself with that accidental Gulf of Tonkin deal. It's pretty disheartening.
But at least we can be thankful that we don't have an LBJ top-kicking our armed forces any more. We're blessed in this era with a commander-in-chief far too moral to consider that a spot of election-year war might divert voter attention from --ohhh, I dunno -- Solyndra, the flat national wallet, record number of folks on food stamps, his flip-flop on super PACs and subsidized contraception. Stuff like that.
Thank you for your kind attention. I am returning to my bed. Foetally. Thumb in mouth. Whimpering.
Feb 14, 2012
Let's go to the mall and be somebody
Travis McGee: A man with a credit card is a man in hock to his self-image.
Mine enemy grows older
The Commonwealth of Virginia is on the verge of repealing its one-pistol-a-month law, and the Washington Post is dribbling in its didies.
But to tell the truth, I'm disappointed in the Post. Once upon a time, any favorable mention of rights guaranteed by the Second Amendment gave it a fat oaken erection, and you had an exhilarating fight on your hands to stave off hoplophobic rape.
Today, not so much. When an editorial resorts to a lame and frankly hysterical question to make its point, you know the Cialis has worn off and your once-feared enemy has become a pansy, hardly worth your attention.
Does the Second Amendment guarantee a right to purchase dozens, hundreds, maybe thousands of deadly weapons each month?
Why, yes, in fact it does. If it were otherwise, Amendment One could easily be interpreted to limit insipid editorials to one a month. Useful, perhaps, but unconstitutional and therefore out of the question.
As to this business of "hundreds or thousands" of illegal handguns per month, simple economics refutes the possibility. No private thug could afford it -- or find it a profitable venture. (Cf. any respectable supply/demand treatise.)
In fact, the only major multiple-purchase thuggery we've heard much about these past few decades is that of Eric Holder, gun runner to the Mexican drug lords.
But to tell the truth, I'm disappointed in the Post. Once upon a time, any favorable mention of rights guaranteed by the Second Amendment gave it a fat oaken erection, and you had an exhilarating fight on your hands to stave off hoplophobic rape.
Today, not so much. When an editorial resorts to a lame and frankly hysterical question to make its point, you know the Cialis has worn off and your once-feared enemy has become a pansy, hardly worth your attention.
Does the Second Amendment guarantee a right to purchase dozens, hundreds, maybe thousands of deadly weapons each month?
Why, yes, in fact it does. If it were otherwise, Amendment One could easily be interpreted to limit insipid editorials to one a month. Useful, perhaps, but unconstitutional and therefore out of the question.
As to this business of "hundreds or thousands" of illegal handguns per month, simple economics refutes the possibility. No private thug could afford it -- or find it a profitable venture. (Cf. any respectable supply/demand treatise.)
In fact, the only major multiple-purchase thuggery we've heard much about these past few decades is that of Eric Holder, gun runner to the Mexican drug lords.
Feb 13, 2012
Gun room Monday
It's shaping up to be a .30-06 kind of day. Thank the windy snow. It makes a warm gun room seem like a logical place to while away a few late-winter hours, fooling with rifles that shoot the only really necessary center-fire caliber.
I'll just wipe down the knockabout Stevens 110. The long-neglected 1903 makeover will advance with a bit of final polishing and fitting the Redfield peep so it will be ready for Jeff's bluing tanks.
Then on to the no-longer-a-mystery gun, the 1979 or 1980 Western Auto Revelation, a Mossy RM7 which followed me home from Minnesota a few weeks ago posing as an obscure Marlin turnbolt. (The mystery story, complete with gun porn, is here.)
It's already been fitted with a set of QDs and a nice cow-derived sling, leaving only the scope installation to be done and ready for my next grizzly hunt or TEOTWAWKI, which ever comes first.
There's a small quandary here. The Camp J arsenal has about four loose scopes on hand, and one of them is a NIB Revelation 4x32 from Rising Sun, Inc., a vintage piece which would give me a matched set, Revelation rifle, Revelation optics. Blecch, too cute, like mother-daughter matching pinafores. Besides, it could well be a piece of crap.
Then there's the stainless Simmons 4 x 32 from the Chinese paddies. Naah. A two-tone gun? Who wants to present himself as a gangsta mall ninja? Besides, the Simmons is almost assuredly a piece of crap. (Customary whine about the days when the Simmons marque meant something omitted.)
Leaving two possibles: A new Tasco 3x9x40 and a clean old Weaver K4. Decisions decisions. The Weaver is the tougher and more patriotic choice, of course, but I'll probably mount the variable. At 600 yards, nine power could be just what a fellow needs to distinguish between a turbaned terrorist and an odoriferous but otherwise harmless hippie in a do-rag.
I'll just wipe down the knockabout Stevens 110. The long-neglected 1903 makeover will advance with a bit of final polishing and fitting the Redfield peep so it will be ready for Jeff's bluing tanks.
Then on to the no-longer-a-mystery gun, the 1979 or 1980 Western Auto Revelation, a Mossy RM7 which followed me home from Minnesota a few weeks ago posing as an obscure Marlin turnbolt. (The mystery story, complete with gun porn, is here.)
It's already been fitted with a set of QDs and a nice cow-derived sling, leaving only the scope installation to be done and ready for my next grizzly hunt or TEOTWAWKI, which ever comes first.
There's a small quandary here. The Camp J arsenal has about four loose scopes on hand, and one of them is a NIB Revelation 4x32 from Rising Sun, Inc., a vintage piece which would give me a matched set, Revelation rifle, Revelation optics. Blecch, too cute, like mother-daughter matching pinafores. Besides, it could well be a piece of crap.
Then there's the stainless Simmons 4 x 32 from the Chinese paddies. Naah. A two-tone gun? Who wants to present himself as a gangsta mall ninja? Besides, the Simmons is almost assuredly a piece of crap. (Customary whine about the days when the Simmons marque meant something omitted.)
Leaving two possibles: A new Tasco 3x9x40 and a clean old Weaver K4. Decisions decisions. The Weaver is the tougher and more patriotic choice, of course, but I'll probably mount the variable. At 600 yards, nine power could be just what a fellow needs to distinguish between a turbaned terrorist and an odoriferous but otherwise harmless hippie in a do-rag.
Mr. Chairman, I ask unanimous consent to suspend the rules.
Quite properly, most writers in this corner of blogville consider it gauche to prattle on about personal good fortune. But we can make an exception when a man's grandson becomes a National Merit Scholarship finalist, can't we?
Well done, Son.
Well done, Son.
Feb 11, 2012
Populating my island
Dorothy would meet my standards of anarcho-capitalist nubility. She was quite a homemaker to boot and could easily whip out a black-and-gold sarong.
Oh it's brother Jimmy's turn to throw the bomb
Well, heck. I've thought of myself all these years as a simple libertarian, friendly, not too bullheaded about my ideas, just a regular live-and-let-live guy who would shoot you only as a last resort.
Rigorous testing by the authoritative Christian Science Monitor reveals the black truth.
You are an anarcho-capitalist.
You have sailed right past Paul's hard-nosed libertarianism and off into the uncharted waters of right-wing anarchism. You would be most happy living on a private island that you have declared a sovereign state, which, needless to say, won't be seeking to join the UN anytime soon..---
So be it. (The warmer the island and its nubility, the better.)
Feb 9, 2012
The Wisdom of Leonard Nimoy
Heather Mc Hugh, poet, writes:
"Once, on meeting Leonard Nimoy and his wife, I was gratified to find out...how literate they are. He advised me on the pronunciation of some words in the expression Alle Kunst ist umsunst Wenn ein Engel auf das Zundloch brunzet (which covers a multitude of sins and means something like: all skill is in vain if an angel pisses down the touch-hole of your musket."
(Via snail mail from my old pal Janna.)
"Once, on meeting Leonard Nimoy and his wife, I was gratified to find out...how literate they are. He advised me on the pronunciation of some words in the expression Alle Kunst ist umsunst Wenn ein Engel auf das Zundloch brunzet (which covers a multitude of sins and means something like: all skill is in vain if an angel pisses down the touch-hole of your musket."
(Via snail mail from my old pal Janna.)
Feb 8, 2012
Toward a badder Constitution
I would take a stab at Ruth Bader-Ginsberg's lust to simply scrap the Constitutuon and replace it with one like, for instance, Mexico's. But ASM826 -- Random Acts of Patriotism -- has pretty well nailed it. Recommended reading.
Heckler and Kock malfs
Maybe the H&K geniuses sold too many plastic P30s to Greece, nothing down, pay as you shoot.
Or maybe something else made Moody's cut the HK credit rating to to Caa2/negative outlook. In English, that means buying into HK is about as safe as loaning money to your brother-in-law who plans to get rich with a Peoria worm farm.
---
The same link gets you to the latest on Smith& Wesson's most recent rifle recall.
Any wonder some of us still prefer steel weapons built before Doris Day became a virgin?
Or maybe something else made Moody's cut the HK credit rating to to Caa2/negative outlook. In English, that means buying into HK is about as safe as loaning money to your brother-in-law who plans to get rich with a Peoria worm farm.
---
The same link gets you to the latest on Smith& Wesson's most recent rifle recall.
Any wonder some of us still prefer steel weapons built before Doris Day became a virgin?
What a sexy night it was
Santorum won big on purity platform. "God tells me that you must never wear a condom."
He was running against an Obama position. "Rubber it up, sucka. Don't sweat the money. Your homies gonna pay the drug store."
It's the battle of the Trojan Whores.
.
He was running against an Obama position. "Rubber it up, sucka. Don't sweat the money. Your homies gonna pay the drug store."
It's the battle of the Trojan Whores.
.
Feb 7, 2012
Geeky Malevolent Vampires
If you need someone to troubleshoot an SPS-10 radar, I'm you're man. Filament voltages checked and six-pound capicitors cheerfully replaced. I'll even climb the mast for preventive maintenance on the antenna and wave guide.
More lately, I have determined that modern electronic malfunctions are best thought of as supernatural phenomena.
When my iBook came home from the shop, the fresh hard drive corrected most problems, I assume because Rick's Computers down in Danbury has a pretty good -- but not perfect -- voodoo kit. The old gal was smokin' hot on the web, but the Safari email program was still croaked.
After a week of messing with it to no avail I dripped a little fresh chicken blood on the keyboard and the GMVs fled. All is well, and I am serene. Some might argue that downloading the latest Safari "fix" from Apple contributed to the solution. Maybe, but I remain skeptical.
---
I don't expect anyone to be very interested in Cold-War era radar, but it's almost worth clicking the link just for an example of perfectly true but quite meaningless statements:
"The SPS-10 surface search radar had a shorter range than other shipboard radars."
Duhhh. The only other common ship radar was for air search, aimed higher and looking for higher targets.
More lately, I have determined that modern electronic malfunctions are best thought of as supernatural phenomena.
When my iBook came home from the shop, the fresh hard drive corrected most problems, I assume because Rick's Computers down in Danbury has a pretty good -- but not perfect -- voodoo kit. The old gal was smokin' hot on the web, but the Safari email program was still croaked.
After a week of messing with it to no avail I dripped a little fresh chicken blood on the keyboard and the GMVs fled. All is well, and I am serene. Some might argue that downloading the latest Safari "fix" from Apple contributed to the solution. Maybe, but I remain skeptical.
---
I don't expect anyone to be very interested in Cold-War era radar, but it's almost worth clicking the link just for an example of perfectly true but quite meaningless statements:
"The SPS-10 surface search radar had a shorter range than other shipboard radars."
Duhhh. The only other common ship radar was for air search, aimed higher and looking for higher targets.
Loophole AAR (or) I chickened out
My God How the Money Rolled in. Quite a lot of my junk found new homes. Same with the dealer leftovers I was liquidating.
And I recall promising if the junk moved as well Sunday as it did Saturday, I would buy something deadly enough to make Boxer -Pelosi hearts go glurg.
The vision materialized late in the loophole when a dealer friend offered me an outstanding deal on two pretty old Browning Nomads. I thought about the new Bernanke/Obama/Geithner cartoons in the mad-money fund, sighed, thought about a family opportunity, and concluded, "Naahhh." Could the end of my adolescence be drawing nigh?
---
The manner in which the dealer junk moved interested me. Young guys bought the bubble-packed accessories -- tactical scope covers, P85 magazines, anything painted camo, almost any macho thing you can plug-and-play.
Graybeards -- guys who obviously knew how to read a mike, which end of the screwdriver to hold, and what actually makes a cartridge go bang -- bought the swivel sets, odd reloading gear, and scope mounts. There were only a few of the latter, and that makes me a little sad. It sort of confirms my feeling that the country is becoming wanna-buy instead of can-do.
---
it's hard to say enough about how well the Emmett County Ike Walton league runs this little show. For one small instance: when I checked in Friday afternoon, the Ike-in-charge made sure the table location was satisfactory; he was willing to move things around to make sure we were happy. Then, about four of his club partners traipsed out to the truck and carried in most of my gear for me. I don't recall that ever happening before, and this is a public thank-you to them.
And I recall promising if the junk moved as well Sunday as it did Saturday, I would buy something deadly enough to make Boxer -Pelosi hearts go glurg.
The vision materialized late in the loophole when a dealer friend offered me an outstanding deal on two pretty old Browning Nomads. I thought about the new Bernanke/Obama/Geithner cartoons in the mad-money fund, sighed, thought about a family opportunity, and concluded, "Naahhh." Could the end of my adolescence be drawing nigh?
---
The manner in which the dealer junk moved interested me. Young guys bought the bubble-packed accessories -- tactical scope covers, P85 magazines, anything painted camo, almost any macho thing you can plug-and-play.
Graybeards -- guys who obviously knew how to read a mike, which end of the screwdriver to hold, and what actually makes a cartridge go bang -- bought the swivel sets, odd reloading gear, and scope mounts. There were only a few of the latter, and that makes me a little sad. It sort of confirms my feeling that the country is becoming wanna-buy instead of can-do.
---
it's hard to say enough about how well the Emmett County Ike Walton league runs this little show. For one small instance: when I checked in Friday afternoon, the Ike-in-charge made sure the table location was satisfactory; he was willing to move things around to make sure we were happy. Then, about four of his club partners traipsed out to the truck and carried in most of my gear for me. I don't recall that ever happening before, and this is a public thank-you to them.
Feb 5, 2012
Sunday Morning Catch-All; Gun Show Loophole Editon
What a fine little show over in Estherville. Discerning buyers from miles around swamped my table and left happy with pounds and pounds of shooty (and otherwise outdoor-jockish) stuff which a partner and I were just plain tired of looking at. Why, I had to get up early this morning to count the money Federal Reserve Cartoons.
If today goes as well I'll treat myself to something lethal enough to send the Bloomberg Bleating Society scurrying to the sanctuary of the nearest fern bar.
---
Speaking of the Super Bowl, have you seen that Mayor Bloomberg is sponsoring a SB commercial demanding more common-sense gun control? I presume it includes a bleat for ending the mysterious gun show loophole. He probably heard that I reverse loopholed a Bubba-ed, trashed-out Winchester 37 and knows that it can be modified and sniper-scoped to bring down a Cessna 150 at nearly 50 yards. Too bad I'll miss the ad. My Super Bowl plan is to check the internet tomorrow morning to see who played, and, if my interest doesn't wane, who won. Just in case the subject happens to come up in conversation. Wouldn't want to sound ignorant.
---
Politics: The anti-authoritarian idea is doing reasonably well in Nevada, considering Ron Paul is running against the Mormon Church, or, rather, the Mormon Church is running against him.
I wonder if he's trotted out that bit of recent history showing that the Government of the United States is the only outfit in the history of the world to lose money on a place peddling whiskey and whores?
---
Thank you for your kind attention. See you after the loophole closes this evening.
If today goes as well I'll treat myself to something lethal enough to send the Bloomberg Bleating Society scurrying to the sanctuary of the nearest fern bar.
---
Speaking of the Super Bowl, have you seen that Mayor Bloomberg is sponsoring a SB commercial demanding more common-sense gun control? I presume it includes a bleat for ending the mysterious gun show loophole. He probably heard that I reverse loopholed a Bubba-ed, trashed-out Winchester 37 and knows that it can be modified and sniper-scoped to bring down a Cessna 150 at nearly 50 yards. Too bad I'll miss the ad. My Super Bowl plan is to check the internet tomorrow morning to see who played, and, if my interest doesn't wane, who won. Just in case the subject happens to come up in conversation. Wouldn't want to sound ignorant.
---
Politics: The anti-authoritarian idea is doing reasonably well in Nevada, considering Ron Paul is running against the Mormon Church, or, rather, the Mormon Church is running against him.
I wonder if he's trotted out that bit of recent history showing that the Government of the United States is the only outfit in the history of the world to lose money on a place peddling whiskey and whores?
---
Thank you for your kind attention. See you after the loophole closes this evening.
Feb 3, 2012
Holy Loophole, Batman...
This one is close enough and typically good enough to move me to become an actual vendor. It helped that a bait shop which once tried to get big in the gun business turned over its entire remaining inventory to me. The deal offered was too good to pass up: "I just want to get rid of the (sterling merchandise). I'll split whatever you can get." (I won't actually take that much; the guy's a buddy.)
There will be bargains. My impulse is to announce the price as one-half of the lowest marked sale price, and those numbers were pasted on while we were still anticipating TEOTWAWKI due to Y2K.
No guns occupy these particular swag boxes, but a half-dozen so-so quality scopes, a couple dozen Burris mounting kits, many pounds of sling hardware, and miscellaneous RCBS loading accessories. Why, there's even a cassette of crow-call recordings. And some cute orange caps with built-in LEDs.
To this I add my own three bushels of miscellaneous ("I'm tired of looking at it,") crap, and my 16 feet of hired table space will be jammed, barely leaving room for the three or four bait guns priced at something over 200 per cent of value. If I may say so myself, I'm pretty good at inventing stories about why my Stevens .410 single is priceless.
("Waaahhll, y'see I got this here four-ten from a guy down Looziana way whose grandpa was wunna the deputies when they shot up Bonnie and Clyde. Now I can't actually prove this little rust spot is from Bonnie's own blood, but the fella told me...".)
No one believes it, of course, but some of them enjoy it enough to loosen up and take some of the other junk off my hands.
But then, knowing myself, I'll probably take the money around the hall and come back to my own table with a bag of other interesting but near-useless stuff, that is, stuff I am not tired of looking at. Yet.
I'm glad His Ineptness has not yet issued an executive order banning pointless hobbies.
And maybe I'll even find something shootable to loophole. I still want need something American to shoot up the big stash of .38 Special, and I don't give a diddly about which way the cylinder turns.
There will be bargains. My impulse is to announce the price as one-half of the lowest marked sale price, and those numbers were pasted on while we were still anticipating TEOTWAWKI due to Y2K.
No guns occupy these particular swag boxes, but a half-dozen so-so quality scopes, a couple dozen Burris mounting kits, many pounds of sling hardware, and miscellaneous RCBS loading accessories. Why, there's even a cassette of crow-call recordings. And some cute orange caps with built-in LEDs.
To this I add my own three bushels of miscellaneous ("I'm tired of looking at it,") crap, and my 16 feet of hired table space will be jammed, barely leaving room for the three or four bait guns priced at something over 200 per cent of value. If I may say so myself, I'm pretty good at inventing stories about why my Stevens .410 single is priceless.
("Waaahhll, y'see I got this here four-ten from a guy down Looziana way whose grandpa was wunna the deputies when they shot up Bonnie and Clyde. Now I can't actually prove this little rust spot is from Bonnie's own blood, but the fella told me...".)
No one believes it, of course, but some of them enjoy it enough to loosen up and take some of the other junk off my hands.
But then, knowing myself, I'll probably take the money around the hall and come back to my own table with a bag of other interesting but near-useless stuff, that is, stuff I am not tired of looking at. Yet.
I'm glad His Ineptness has not yet issued an executive order banning pointless hobbies.
And maybe I'll even find something shootable to loophole. I still want need something American to shoot up the big stash of .38 Special, and I don't give a diddly about which way the cylinder turns.
Feb 2, 2012
A merry stop to the Terry stop
The hits just keep on comin'.
A vigilent cop stood tall in defending the safety of Council Bluffs citizens with a righteous but, he figured, dangerous bust of a guy riding his unlighted bicylcle after dark.
Officer safety being paramount, he patted the Lance down because "it was dark and people in the neighborhood were known to have weapons." Yep, a smidgeon of reefer and a ride to jail in defense of law-abiding citizens everywhere.
The Iowa Court of Appeals told Officer Friendly he was full of it and vacated the pot-possession conviction.
It's almost like the Fourth Amendment followed us home for cuddling and warm milk.
A vigilent cop stood tall in defending the safety of Council Bluffs citizens with a righteous but, he figured, dangerous bust of a guy riding his unlighted bicylcle after dark.
Officer safety being paramount, he patted the Lance down because "it was dark and people in the neighborhood were known to have weapons." Yep, a smidgeon of reefer and a ride to jail in defense of law-abiding citizens everywhere.
The Iowa Court of Appeals told Officer Friendly he was full of it and vacated the pot-possession conviction.
It's almost like the Fourth Amendment followed us home for cuddling and warm milk.
Lo, the poor eaglet
I'm getting pretty damned tired of complimenting our semi-elected masters in the Iowa House of Representatives. I was comfortable in the days when truth required only occasional reporting that our solons personally didn't steal much compared to, say, the legislators of Illinois.
But this morning --a day afer advancing a stand-you-ground bill --- our guys struck another blow for liberty by saying it's okay to shoot at doves with lead shot. That created another giggle as a horrified, but maladroit, Des Moines Register reporter tied himself in verbal granny knots to get the upcoming environmental Armageddon in his lede.
"A type of ammunition used in hunting that leaves lead remains in the environment and is linked in some studies to deaths in Eagles (sic) and other animals was approved this morning in a House vote."
Oh the egality!
---
There's a background here that leads a fellow to suspect the lead ban debate doesn't have much to do with doves, eagles, or lead-poisoned children growing up to be important politicians.
Iowa got its first dove season in something like a century last year. The debate made the abortion controversy look like a polite chat in the Harvard faculty lounge. When it passed the rivers rose with tears of PETA-type anguish.
The Iowa DNR was especially petatrified and, by administrative fiat, said hunters had to use high-price non-lead shells, making dove-hunting a sport of relative lairds and economically difficult to impossible for the peasantry.
Peasant voices yelled in lawmaker ears. The message was transmitted to lawmaker brains and processed into the takeaway, "Hot damn, but I got an election coming up in nine months." (Well, one or two of the more astute might have added, "Besides, where do a bunch of appointed DNR bureaucrats get off making a law of general applicability. That's what our General Assembly is for."
I know nothing of the alleged science behind the lead-shot scare, but I know something of droop-ass bureaucrats anxious to wonk policy via end runs around constitutions (nodding to Sir Winston).
Anyway, I'll be checking the craws of all the dead baby eagles I run across, and if I find a bunch of cold-rolled No. 7 1/2s, I'll let you know.
But this morning --a day afer advancing a stand-you-ground bill --- our guys struck another blow for liberty by saying it's okay to shoot at doves with lead shot. That created another giggle as a horrified, but maladroit, Des Moines Register reporter tied himself in verbal granny knots to get the upcoming environmental Armageddon in his lede.
"A type of ammunition used in hunting that leaves lead remains in the environment and is linked in some studies to deaths in Eagles (sic) and other animals was approved this morning in a House vote."
Oh the egality!
---
There's a background here that leads a fellow to suspect the lead ban debate doesn't have much to do with doves, eagles, or lead-poisoned children growing up to be important politicians.
Iowa got its first dove season in something like a century last year. The debate made the abortion controversy look like a polite chat in the Harvard faculty lounge. When it passed the rivers rose with tears of PETA-type anguish.
The Iowa DNR was especially petatrified and, by administrative fiat, said hunters had to use high-price non-lead shells, making dove-hunting a sport of relative lairds and economically difficult to impossible for the peasantry.
Peasant voices yelled in lawmaker ears. The message was transmitted to lawmaker brains and processed into the takeaway, "Hot damn, but I got an election coming up in nine months." (Well, one or two of the more astute might have added, "Besides, where do a bunch of appointed DNR bureaucrats get off making a law of general applicability. That's what our General Assembly is for."
I know nothing of the alleged science behind the lead-shot scare, but I know something of droop-ass bureaucrats anxious to wonk policy via end runs around constitutions (nodding to Sir Winston).
Anyway, I'll be checking the craws of all the dead baby eagles I run across, and if I find a bunch of cold-rolled No. 7 1/2s, I'll let you know.
Jan 31, 2012
Castle Doctrine/Stand Your Ground
A House committee this afternoon approved House File 573. Oversimplified, it embraces the sensible notion that your right to defend yourself against violence is well-nigh universal and that you have no legal duty to retreat from threat, in your home or on the streets.
I like to think of it as putting the fear of God into violent criminals, one thug at a time, any time, anywhere.
The antis will resume their snide characterization of a "shoot your neighbor law."
That is their understanding of reasoned discourse, and they will not admit to being persuaded that (a) little, if any, additional gun play will occur as a result of HF573 and (b )the value of the policy is in making thugs think twice before they sneak into your bedroom or grab your wife's purse (or something) as you stroll home from the movies.
---
The politics of the thing is iffy. Conventional wisdom has it passing the GOP-controlled house but faltering in a Senate laden with Democrats and some Republican metrocons.
While that may be a smart-money bet this early in the legislative goat rope, it's also the same conventional thinking that was dead wrong on shall-issue in 2010. Liberals that year eyeballed an upcoming election and scurried to the camp of most Iowa voters, a peaceable lot who really hate shooting other folks but reserve the right to do so when there's no time to summon a cop or even a government-trained crisis counsellor.
I like to think of it as putting the fear of God into violent criminals, one thug at a time, any time, anywhere.
The antis will resume their snide characterization of a "shoot your neighbor law."
That is their understanding of reasoned discourse, and they will not admit to being persuaded that (a) little, if any, additional gun play will occur as a result of HF573 and (b )the value of the policy is in making thugs think twice before they sneak into your bedroom or grab your wife's purse (or something) as you stroll home from the movies.
---
The politics of the thing is iffy. Conventional wisdom has it passing the GOP-controlled house but faltering in a Senate laden with Democrats and some Republican metrocons.
While that may be a smart-money bet this early in the legislative goat rope, it's also the same conventional thinking that was dead wrong on shall-issue in 2010. Liberals that year eyeballed an upcoming election and scurried to the camp of most Iowa voters, a peaceable lot who really hate shooting other folks but reserve the right to do so when there's no time to summon a cop or even a government-trained crisis counsellor.
War is a glorious thing, isn't it, Private Slovik?
-
- They've taken off his buttons off an' cut his stripes away,
- An' they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'.
On this day, 1945, The United States Army shot one of its own. In eastern France, twelve soldiers, combat veterans, aimed M1 Garands at the heart of coward Eddie Slovik of Detroit. All eleven rounds found a mark on the slight body. Officers had humanely loaded one of the rifles with a blank in deference to the polite fiction that each of the soldiers could believe that he, personally, did not kill the deserter.
- "What are the bugles blowin' for?" said Files-on-Parade.
- No bugles sounded for the execution of Private Slovik who had run from his comrades as they readied themselves for further blood-letting in the Hurtgen Forest. The regiment was not massed, no flags flew proudly in a hollow square. No national nor military honor was proclaimed as the saddest of Sad Sacks was lashed to a six-by-six timber in a dreary courtyard. One can fairly read the accounts of that morning near Sainte-Marie-aux-Mines as memoirs of a sordid act by the citizens of the United States of America, perhaps necessary, perhaps not.
- Private Slovik was not the stuff of which memorable characters are made. His letters to his wife reveal one of those genetic mishaps, a personhood barely fitted for survival even in circumstances more benign than military combat.
HIs youth was a mosaic of weakness, thievery, drunkenness, jail, and general failure. It extended even to being declared unfit for military service. His final misfortune began when he was scraped from the bottom in the last troll for cannon fodder, reclassified as suitable to be shot at, drafted, trained after a fashion, and shipped out to slay the Hun in the final allied drives of World War Two.
His bad luck accelerated when SHAEF -- Eisenhower and his staff -- added fear of mass desertions to their other worries at about the time when Eddie turned tail, wrote a confession, and hoped he would spend the rest of the war safely in a warm stockade alongside all the others who did what he did. The court-martial and the chain of command, apparently expecting the Supreme Commander to commute, ordered the firing squad. But Eisenhower said "shoot him." Not because he murdered, like Danny Deever, but:
Pour encourager les autres.
To valor.
It is written that Private Slovik died well and with courage in the minutes before he was buried in a hidden grave, marked only by code number. As to les autres?
...The regiment's in column, an' they're marchin' us away;
Ho! the young recruits are shakin', an' they'll want their beer to-day,
After hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'.
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 29, 2012
Two Magic Guns
And one was extra magic. Not only did a brand new 9mm pistol fall from a "case" and go off by itself, but it did so without having been loaded. The empty, self-discharging weapon propelled a projectile though the apartment floor and into the fellow who lives one floor down.
The other gun, also brand new, magically disappeared in the few hours after leaving the gun store and before cops came to arrest the 19-year-old son for reckless use a a firearm and shooting in the city limits.
His mother (of the year) said she bought the two guns for about $1000. She draws $300 weekly unemployment pay. The cops said her little boy had "several thousand dollars" in his pocket when he was arrested. My crack instincts suggest another mystery here.
(Edited to delete factual error.)
The other gun, also brand new, magically disappeared in the few hours after leaving the gun store and before cops came to arrest the 19-year-old son for reckless use a a firearm and shooting in the city limits.
His mother (of the year) said she bought the two guns for about $1000. She draws $300 weekly unemployment pay. The cops said her little boy had "several thousand dollars" in his pocket when he was arrested. My crack instincts suggest another mystery here.
(Edited to delete factual error.)
Jan 27, 2012
The adulation of Ron Paul
...and while I'm on the subject, let me tip my hat to our grumpy hermit out in the western desert.
"Surely there must be some golden mean, in which a person can be credulous enough to still have faith in the political process, without going completely moonbat in the veneration of an individual."
That's Joel's reaction -- spot on, if you ask me -- to some nincompoop's screed linking Ron Paul to the Second Coming.
.
"Surely there must be some golden mean, in which a person can be credulous enough to still have faith in the political process, without going completely moonbat in the veneration of an individual."
That's Joel's reaction -- spot on, if you ask me -- to some nincompoop's screed linking Ron Paul to the Second Coming.
.
The Space-Out Coast
Down in Florida last night the best line of the cage fight was nonchalantly delivered by Ron Paul. "...that debate doesn't interest me very much."
He was addressing the unzipped front-runners, two-handedly swinging their members at one another about whose investments were least horrible.
Paul's contribution was his usual, that is, consistent view that (a) presidential debates ought to be about policy and (b) no policy will work well until Washington learns arithmetic and weans itself from ever-flowing tit of fiat money. That actually got a passing reaction from Mitt and Newt, essentially, "Good point in a way, (pause) but my balls really are brazenbigger than Mitt's (or Newt's.)"
Welcome to the great national dialog as it is understood by most of the GOP and all -- every one -- of the famous heads who agree that the morning-after headline must proclaim that Mitt added three inches.
He was addressing the unzipped front-runners, two-handedly swinging their members at one another about whose investments were least horrible.
Paul's contribution was his usual, that is, consistent view that (a) presidential debates ought to be about policy and (b) no policy will work well until Washington learns arithmetic and weans itself from ever-flowing tit of fiat money. That actually got a passing reaction from Mitt and Newt, essentially, "Good point in a way, (pause) but my balls really are brazenbigger than Mitt's (or Newt's.)"
Welcome to the great national dialog as it is understood by most of the GOP and all -- every one -- of the famous heads who agree that the morning-after headline must proclaim that Mitt added three inches.
Jan 26, 2012
Traffic-cam extortion
The story lead is a warm fuzzy for the libertarian soul.
"The classic democratic tension between liberty and security was tested once again Wednesday in a debate on legislation to ban traffic-enforcement cameras on Iowa roads..."
Even better, liberty won the first of the warmup bouts, 3-0, in subcommittee.
The report doesn't mention any great debate about raping the Constitution.* Irritated citizens sat on one side of the table and the usual authoritarians -- cops, city taxing authorities, etc. -- on the other. "It's for your own good, your safety," blatted the former. The citizens carried the day with a highly accurate response: "Boooll sheet, you greedy creeps."
It's early in the sausage-making process, but at least it's a hopeful development.
---
*Amendments Five and Fourteen are clear enough in telling government it can not screw around with your "life, liberty, or property" without "due process of law." It seems damned doubtful the Founders would have deemed a dun from a company of IT geeks in Snottsdale to constitute due process of law. Even if they are part of that sacred public/private partnership congregation.
---
(Does this argument get us thinking about the general concept of "administrative forfeiture?" Ought to.)
"The classic democratic tension between liberty and security was tested once again Wednesday in a debate on legislation to ban traffic-enforcement cameras on Iowa roads..."
Even better, liberty won the first of the warmup bouts, 3-0, in subcommittee.
The report doesn't mention any great debate about raping the Constitution.* Irritated citizens sat on one side of the table and the usual authoritarians -- cops, city taxing authorities, etc. -- on the other. "It's for your own good, your safety," blatted the former. The citizens carried the day with a highly accurate response: "Boooll sheet, you greedy creeps."
It's early in the sausage-making process, but at least it's a hopeful development.
---
*Amendments Five and Fourteen are clear enough in telling government it can not screw around with your "life, liberty, or property" without "due process of law." It seems damned doubtful the Founders would have deemed a dun from a company of IT geeks in Snottsdale to constitute due process of law. Even if they are part of that sacred public/private partnership congregation.
---
(Does this argument get us thinking about the general concept of "administrative forfeiture?" Ought to.)
Oh you can (kiss?) me on a ...
I like Greeks well enough. Zorba was cool, and in my youth I thought it would be fun to meet Melina. I've even forgiven them for inventing the Olympics which, over a few thousand years, evolved into an unseemly marketing device that gave Mitt Romney cause to believe he is qualified to administer all the affairs of the United States of America.
(EDITOR'S NOTE: Everything below is boring economics and politics. So if you're in the mood for nothing but cheap thrills and light porn this morning, just click the Melina link. An alternative filthy picture is noted for the pleasure of female readers.)
---
I don't think, though, that its a very good idea to lend money to Greek persons.
The report is just one of the latest in the Hanna-Barbera epic which narrates the comic effort of Greek politicians, unions, corrupt businesses, and public-sector idlers to pretend they know what the (eff) they're doing.
It makes the point that people -- including giant banks which should have known better -- loaned too much money to Athens politicians for the purpose of buying voting blocks across the land, from the Mediterranean Isles to the Albanian border.
The lenders knew the loans were somewhat risky, but, hey, it's a sovereign nation, right? So they charged a high interest rate and forked over.
A few years went by and, ooops, the Greeks finally admitted that they could not pay even the interest, not to mention the zero chance of ever retiring the actual loans.
So now the lending sharks are humping to renegotiate the loans as a lower interest rate -- about 4 per cent -- in hopes that, for a little while, they have something plausible to show their gullible share holders and bank examiners. Something other than the actual collateral -- a load of empty ouzo bottles and a first lien on next year's grape leaves.
---
Now, this is an American blog, written from an American perspective, largely for Americans, so why does it give a rat's pubie about the elected and appointed thugs of Athens and the financiers they're trying to hornswaggle.
Why, for educational purposes, of course. Our own president and nearly all satraps in the Congress may read about it and lay down their golf clubs long enough to go, "hmmmmm, wonder how much lower our credit rating has to go before we have to ask the ECB and the IMF for permission to pay our guys in the 82nd Airborne?
---
I probably wouldn't have bothered with Greece this morning if I hadn't noticed Ben's press release promising that American money would continue to be rent-free for at least three more years. And that he had his finger on the trigger to sell more gummint bonds, backed again by the solemn word of the gummint plus, this time, a load of empty ouzo bottles and a lien on next year's grape leaves.
(EDITOR'S NOTE: Everything below is boring economics and politics. So if you're in the mood for nothing but cheap thrills and light porn this morning, just click the Melina link. An alternative filthy picture is noted for the pleasure of female readers.)
---
I don't think, though, that its a very good idea to lend money to Greek persons.
The report is just one of the latest in the Hanna-Barbera epic which narrates the comic effort of Greek politicians, unions, corrupt businesses, and public-sector idlers to pretend they know what the (eff) they're doing.
It makes the point that people -- including giant banks which should have known better -- loaned too much money to Athens politicians for the purpose of buying voting blocks across the land, from the Mediterranean Isles to the Albanian border.
The lenders knew the loans were somewhat risky, but, hey, it's a sovereign nation, right? So they charged a high interest rate and forked over.
A few years went by and, ooops, the Greeks finally admitted that they could not pay even the interest, not to mention the zero chance of ever retiring the actual loans.
So now the lending sharks are humping to renegotiate the loans as a lower interest rate -- about 4 per cent -- in hopes that, for a little while, they have something plausible to show their gullible share holders and bank examiners. Something other than the actual collateral -- a load of empty ouzo bottles and a first lien on next year's grape leaves.
---
Now, this is an American blog, written from an American perspective, largely for Americans, so why does it give a rat's pubie about the elected and appointed thugs of Athens and the financiers they're trying to hornswaggle.
Why, for educational purposes, of course. Our own president and nearly all satraps in the Congress may read about it and lay down their golf clubs long enough to go, "hmmmmm, wonder how much lower our credit rating has to go before we have to ask the ECB and the IMF for permission to pay our guys in the 82nd Airborne?
---
I probably wouldn't have bothered with Greece this morning if I hadn't noticed Ben's press release promising that American money would continue to be rent-free for at least three more years. And that he had his finger on the trigger to sell more gummint bonds, backed again by the solemn word of the gummint plus, this time, a load of empty ouzo bottles and a lien on next year's grape leaves.
Jan 24, 2012
The magic mirror of Barack Obama
Spell-binding oratory is always pleasant to hear. Composed of thin air and monstrously questionable assumptions, it still creates a brief mountain top experience, visions of an entire world -- all seven billion of us -- composed of knights and their ladies, never in want, living in noble comradeship, destined by some political magic to live happily ever after as a matter of natural law
Which is to say I suspended disbelief and simply enjoyed the theater, much as I enjoyed a Travis McGee novel, until about the time he turned away from his teleprompter and shook Joe Biden's hand.
Then, the ancient concept of "ethos" crossed my mind, probably the residue of a dull graduate seminar on Greek rhetoric. It deals with the credibility of the orator by inquiring, "What has this man done in his personal life to give power to the pretty words he speaks?"
---
The President began as he ended. He praised our warriors at the open, and at his coda. Citing their unit coherence as a model for every citizen, invoking their heroism and associating himself with it -- President Obama as the spiritual brother of the men and women who brought down Osama Bin Laden. Some viewers may have been able to make the leap to the vision he sought to evoke, this president in battle dress, heroically charging up those stairs in the dark, weapon at the ready, anxious to confront Bin Laden, man to man.
Some of us, more attuned to this man's personal history, couldn't. We recall that the modern battles of the Middle East began in and continued through his young manhood. It was a time when Barack Obama had absolutely equal opportunity to demonstrate his devotion to country by putting on a uniform. Nothing barred him from displaying the personal valor he now claims to cherish but must borrow.
While other young citizens volunteered he found it more congenial to ally himself with a political machine and await political anointment, whiling away his meanwhile by organizing the streets of Chicago.
If you care to mark those portions of the president's State of the Union speech as dishonorable hypocrisy, I will not dispute your view.
Which is to say I suspended disbelief and simply enjoyed the theater, much as I enjoyed a Travis McGee novel, until about the time he turned away from his teleprompter and shook Joe Biden's hand.
Then, the ancient concept of "ethos" crossed my mind, probably the residue of a dull graduate seminar on Greek rhetoric. It deals with the credibility of the orator by inquiring, "What has this man done in his personal life to give power to the pretty words he speaks?"
---
The President began as he ended. He praised our warriors at the open, and at his coda. Citing their unit coherence as a model for every citizen, invoking their heroism and associating himself with it -- President Obama as the spiritual brother of the men and women who brought down Osama Bin Laden. Some viewers may have been able to make the leap to the vision he sought to evoke, this president in battle dress, heroically charging up those stairs in the dark, weapon at the ready, anxious to confront Bin Laden, man to man.
Some of us, more attuned to this man's personal history, couldn't. We recall that the modern battles of the Middle East began in and continued through his young manhood. It was a time when Barack Obama had absolutely equal opportunity to demonstrate his devotion to country by putting on a uniform. Nothing barred him from displaying the personal valor he now claims to cherish but must borrow.
While other young citizens volunteered he found it more congenial to ally himself with a political machine and await political anointment, whiling away his meanwhile by organizing the streets of Chicago.
If you care to mark those portions of the president's State of the Union speech as dishonorable hypocrisy, I will not dispute your view.
But the things you will learn from the Yellow an' Brown, they'll help you a lot with the white
Some folks in Bombay and Tehran are listening to Ron Paul. Those sneaky, oil-starved Indians of the sub-continent dislike our "sanctions" on Iran, so they've plotted with the ayatollahs. The sub-conts will get Iranian oil. The Iranians get gold.
It would be fun to turn this into a 21st Century Kipling tale. Gold-laden cargo elephants by the score lumber across the Khyber Pass to a rendezvous with Shiite camel trains at a fortified wadi in the high desert plateau of Taliban land. All is guarded with Khyber Pass Rifles, and security is further secured with golden-coin baksheesh to the Afghan war lords.
Alas, isn't that romantic, and personally I blame Obama, for whom Ben Bernanke works. His Ineptness's sanctions defy mortal understanding, but, highly simplified, they rap the knuckles of any bank looking to make a buck on Iranian oil deals. The trouble is, the sanctions work only with banks addicted to the funny money of Fed Boss Bernanke and his counterparts in the Eurosoc zone. (And of course EastAsia with whom we have always been at war.)
The maharajahs just happen to own their own bank which does quite nicely with a stiff middle finger presented to all the world's fiat money thugs of the "central banks" -- save their own, of course. It will handle the bullion transfers, and if it chooses to involve a SMLE or fake Remington rolling block, that will be just a nostalgic tip of the turban to its national history.
---
As the cited article notes, this gold/oil deal will chip another smidgen of value from what ever assets we peons have foolishly invested in the funny money of the West. Dollars, Euros, Pounds, etc.
Could be that Dr. Paul can digest this in time for the next debate. For years and years he has been expounding the logic of sound money -- at the very least as an alternative to to Federal Reserve Cartoons posing as actual wealth. It might occur to him to bring up the Indian-Iran transaction to illustrate that when the shit hits the fan, gold works wonders. And people smarter than our own political masters already know it.
It would be fun to turn this into a 21st Century Kipling tale. Gold-laden cargo elephants by the score lumber across the Khyber Pass to a rendezvous with Shiite camel trains at a fortified wadi in the high desert plateau of Taliban land. All is guarded with Khyber Pass Rifles, and security is further secured with golden-coin baksheesh to the Afghan war lords.
Alas, isn't that romantic, and personally I blame Obama, for whom Ben Bernanke works. His Ineptness's sanctions defy mortal understanding, but, highly simplified, they rap the knuckles of any bank looking to make a buck on Iranian oil deals. The trouble is, the sanctions work only with banks addicted to the funny money of Fed Boss Bernanke and his counterparts in the Eurosoc zone. (And of course EastAsia with whom we have always been at war.)
The maharajahs just happen to own their own bank which does quite nicely with a stiff middle finger presented to all the world's fiat money thugs of the "central banks" -- save their own, of course. It will handle the bullion transfers, and if it chooses to involve a SMLE or fake Remington rolling block, that will be just a nostalgic tip of the turban to its national history.
---
As the cited article notes, this gold/oil deal will chip another smidgen of value from what ever assets we peons have foolishly invested in the funny money of the West. Dollars, Euros, Pounds, etc.
Could be that Dr. Paul can digest this in time for the next debate. For years and years he has been expounding the logic of sound money -- at the very least as an alternative to to Federal Reserve Cartoons posing as actual wealth. It might occur to him to bring up the Indian-Iran transaction to illustrate that when the shit hits the fan, gold works wonders. And people smarter than our own political masters already know it.
Jan 23, 2012
Down with sex
I see by the news that Mitt is releasing his tax dope tomorrow. Yippie. The Republic is saved.
Even better, Newt might have to come clean about how much history he taught to Freddie and Fanny in return for the million-six.
Together that's about all we need to know to make an informed choice about who should get to control the nuke codes and the number of Federal Reserve Cartoons Ben Bernanke must print.
I know all this because I have spent an unconscionable amount of time in front of the new, cheap flat screen watching the sexiest people in the world tell me so.
Ideas? We don't need to talk about no steenken ideas.
Booooring.
---
While I would miss ogling Mika and whazhername -- Mrs. Newt the Third -- some mornings, I nevertheless propose to amend the Constitution.
We must require that candidates for public office, their spouses, and, especially, electric teevee "newspersons" to be drawn from the ranks of the truly ugly. Further, they must be adjudged charmless by a jury of their peers.
By thus ending the constant titillation of our glands on the pretext of following a great national dialog, we might begin the process of thinking about how to choose those leaders who will steal the fewest possible numbers of our dollars and our liberties.
To this end I announce formation of a national committee to promote it. The honorary co-chairpersons are to be Josh Hartnett and Paris Hilton.
Even better, Newt might have to come clean about how much history he taught to Freddie and Fanny in return for the million-six.
Together that's about all we need to know to make an informed choice about who should get to control the nuke codes and the number of Federal Reserve Cartoons Ben Bernanke must print.
I know all this because I have spent an unconscionable amount of time in front of the new, cheap flat screen watching the sexiest people in the world tell me so.
Ideas? We don't need to talk about no steenken ideas.
Booooring.
---
While I would miss ogling Mika and whazhername -- Mrs. Newt the Third -- some mornings, I nevertheless propose to amend the Constitution.
We must require that candidates for public office, their spouses, and, especially, electric teevee "newspersons" to be drawn from the ranks of the truly ugly. Further, they must be adjudged charmless by a jury of their peers.
By thus ending the constant titillation of our glands on the pretext of following a great national dialog, we might begin the process of thinking about how to choose those leaders who will steal the fewest possible numbers of our dollars and our liberties.
To this end I announce formation of a national committee to promote it. The honorary co-chairpersons are to be Josh Hartnett and Paris Hilton.
Jan 22, 2012
Poor Me
Once in a great while a guy wakes up just plain growly. The overnight fire didn't hold. The coffee tastes bitter. The V8 lacks bite. All three yolks broke when you flipped them. There's just enough biscuit mix left for one tiny, measly bite. The view from the big south window is an insult to the eye, gray sky and snow already becoming dirty. The ancient Mac desktop is cranky.
Even the dog is standoffish.
So, no matter what crud you face in your life this morning, you should turn thankful eyes to whatever Heaven you believe in and express gratitude that you are somewhere other than here.
(The proposed cure involves a few hours in the loading shack. If it works, you'll be the first to know. If it doesn't I'll find other phraseology to continue sharing my fascinating self-pity with y'all.)
Even the dog is standoffish.
So, no matter what crud you face in your life this morning, you should turn thankful eyes to whatever Heaven you believe in and express gratitude that you are somewhere other than here.
(The proposed cure involves a few hours in the loading shack. If it works, you'll be the first to know. If it doesn't I'll find other phraseology to continue sharing my fascinating self-pity with y'all.)
Jan 20, 2012
Friday morning roundup
--The calendar notwithstanding, stalwarts of the northern plains are looking at the first day of winter, ankle-deep snow, cold enough to make you think about the cost of fuel, and a wind very clever at finding those little cracks and gaps you forgot to recaulk last fall.
--The four inches of fresh snow shocked New Dog Libby this morning. She assumed her normal position for answering nature's call, instantly resumed a full upright pose, thought it over, and in due course achieved relief with a much shallower squat.
-- The electric teevee can be almost as entertaining on a gloomy morning as a young lab. Joe Scarborough built a long segment around Colbert whose run for the presidency is a funny concept, though wearing thin. Still, Colbert redeemed himself by endorsing -- fairly seriously as far as I could tell -- Ron Paul.
--The debate last night was insufferably banal, although I had to grin at John King's discomfort when Newt went into his self-righteous junkyard dog mode.
--The four inches of fresh snow shocked New Dog Libby this morning. She assumed her normal position for answering nature's call, instantly resumed a full upright pose, thought it over, and in due course achieved relief with a much shallower squat.
-- The electric teevee can be almost as entertaining on a gloomy morning as a young lab. Joe Scarborough built a long segment around Colbert whose run for the presidency is a funny concept, though wearing thin. Still, Colbert redeemed himself by endorsing -- fairly seriously as far as I could tell -- Ron Paul.
--The debate last night was insufferably banal, although I had to grin at John King's discomfort when Newt went into his self-righteous junkyard dog mode.
Jan 19, 2012
Let's run 'em through the chute again, LeRoy
Re: Iowa Caucuses 2012
We grow hogs pretty good, but it sure shames us we can't count 'em.
We grow hogs pretty good, but it sure shames us we can't count 'em.
Jan 18, 2012
Why we're broke -- publik edukasun edition
Shill we danse in skule like on dansin with the stirs, err, stars? And we kin have peerkie chear leederz two yell spirits for the dancerz 2 cuz we can get the suckers to pay for it.
The (Iowa Lakes Community) college's board of trustees ''Tuesday heard requests to offer competitive cheer and competitive dance. Julie Williams, Dean of Students, told trustees research has shown the programs would assist in the recruitment of full-time students. She added that coaches will target northwest Iowa and southern Minnesota because of the amount of cheer and dance/drill programs being offered in the area. The trustees voted in favor proceeding to the next step.''
This is a nice one to clip and save against the next time you have to deal with some teachers' union representative or academic bureaucrat caterwauling about the crisis in education funding.
The (Iowa Lakes Community) college's board of trustees ''Tuesday heard requests to offer competitive cheer and competitive dance. Julie Williams, Dean of Students, told trustees research has shown the programs would assist in the recruitment of full-time students. She added that coaches will target northwest Iowa and southern Minnesota because of the amount of cheer and dance/drill programs being offered in the area. The trustees voted in favor proceeding to the next step.''
This is a nice one to clip and save against the next time you have to deal with some teachers' union representative or academic bureaucrat caterwauling about the crisis in education funding.
Warming the cockles of your heart
Confused and lonely no more, the littlest puppy comes home, wagging its tiny butt and rolling over and over in hopes of a nice snack of .25 ACP.
I tip my hat to mommydotguv for returning the little guy to the man from whom it was stolen 30 years ago.
---
Title note: Dammit, I forgot what heart cockles are, and with Wiki black I can't look it up. So I put my hat back on to the SOPA freaks.
I tip my hat to mommydotguv for returning the little guy to the man from whom it was stolen 30 years ago.
---
Title note: Dammit, I forgot what heart cockles are, and with Wiki black I can't look it up. So I put my hat back on to the SOPA freaks.
The New Obama Government: Lean and Mean, Baby
What you're about to read can be thought of as a practice question for your SATs.
If you don't plan to take your SATs, you can think of it as one of those "What's Wrong With This Picture?" features in Mechanix Illustrated in the '60s.
President Obama decided to kill the Commerce Department in the name of frugality and a a more streamlined federal government. Less than a week later he made a legally questionable appointment to get a brand new federal behemoth up and spending -- Cordray's new empire for pretending to protect consumers.
Compare and contrast. You have five minutes. Keep your eyes on your own work.
---
And please stop nitpicking the question. We are all aware that His Ineptness is not "killing" Commerce. Out of respect to His high office we're pretending He is telling the truth. Rather than killing Commerce, he is spreading it around like, you know, warm peanut butter or a bovine look-alike. By his own admission the number of paper shufflers to be laid off equals zero.
If you want my personal guess, the chief financial result will be a multi-million tab for printing new stationery.
If you don't plan to take your SATs, you can think of it as one of those "What's Wrong With This Picture?" features in Mechanix Illustrated in the '60s.
President Obama decided to kill the Commerce Department in the name of frugality and a a more streamlined federal government. Less than a week later he made a legally questionable appointment to get a brand new federal behemoth up and spending -- Cordray's new empire for pretending to protect consumers.
Compare and contrast. You have five minutes. Keep your eyes on your own work.
---
And please stop nitpicking the question. We are all aware that His Ineptness is not "killing" Commerce. Out of respect to His high office we're pretending He is telling the truth. Rather than killing Commerce, he is spreading it around like, you know, warm peanut butter or a bovine look-alike. By his own admission the number of paper shufflers to be laid off equals zero.
If you want my personal guess, the chief financial result will be a multi-million tab for printing new stationery.
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