Okay, I won't.
Actually, short of the whole "Keep the heathen Chinee fleet away from the coasts", I'd really rather my country not do anything for me.
But since it insists on trying to do all kinds of stuff for me anyway in its inept but well-meaning way, I'll settle for asking my country not to do anything to me. Can we compromise on that?
K Thx.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Oh really? How nice!
A friend called recently to let me know that they were about to be published in dead tree format. "Oh really? Now nice!" I replied, and then was forced to share this joke:
Two Atlanta matrons are sitting in an airliner on the Hartsfield tarmac, bound for a holiday season junket to London. One looks at the other and says "Did you know, my Edward bought me this trip for Christmas. Paid for the whole thing."
The second woman looked at her and replied "Why, how nice! How very, very nice!"
"And do you know what else he got me for Christmas?" continued the first, waving a digit sporting an enormous rock around "This beautiful diamond ring!"
"Why, how nice! How very, very nice!" said her seatmate.
"To top it all off, he gave me this grand fur coat, to keep the awful English chill away," finished the first lady, beaming smugly as she patted the luxurious mink.
Dutifully, the second responded with "Why, how nice! How very, very nice!"
"And what did your husband give you for Christmas?"
"Oh," was the airy response "Just a book on etiquette."
"A book on etiquette? Whatever good is that?"
"Well," said the long-suffering woman with an air of great patience, "It taught me to say 'How nice! How very, very nice!' instead of 'F&*$ you.'"
Two Atlanta matrons are sitting in an airliner on the Hartsfield tarmac, bound for a holiday season junket to London. One looks at the other and says "Did you know, my Edward bought me this trip for Christmas. Paid for the whole thing."
The second woman looked at her and replied "Why, how nice! How very, very nice!"
"And do you know what else he got me for Christmas?" continued the first, waving a digit sporting an enormous rock around "This beautiful diamond ring!"
"Why, how nice! How very, very nice!" said her seatmate.
"To top it all off, he gave me this grand fur coat, to keep the awful English chill away," finished the first lady, beaming smugly as she patted the luxurious mink.
Dutifully, the second responded with "Why, how nice! How very, very nice!"
"And what did your husband give you for Christmas?"
"Oh," was the airy response "Just a book on etiquette."
"A book on etiquette? Whatever good is that?"
"Well," said the long-suffering woman with an air of great patience, "It taught me to say 'How nice! How very, very nice!' instead of 'F&*$ you.'"
Today In History: Remember those who died to keep China British.
On August 14th, 1900, the main relief column of the Eight Nation Alliance, including the US 14th Infantry Regiment, entered Beijing.
(Gun Nut Trivia: Although the Mauser Gew.98 had been adopted two years prior as the standard German military rifle, the German marines in China were still using the Gew.88 "Commission Rifle", which was also the most numerous rifle employed by their Chinese opponents, thanks to Steyr's success with foreign contracts.)
(Gun Nut Trivia: Although the Mauser Gew.98 had been adopted two years prior as the standard German military rifle, the German marines in China were still using the Gew.88 "Commission Rifle", which was also the most numerous rifle employed by their Chinese opponents, thanks to Steyr's success with foreign contracts.)
As an experienced asphalt surfer...
...I am trying to picture the kind of interface with a safety barrier this guy must have had, to sever his leg below the knee yet leave him in control of the bike.
Must've hurt like a sonovabitch when he came to a stop and toppled over on the unsupported side. Let me tell y'all, there's no sensation quite like exposed broken bone ends on pavement. It'll wake you right up.
Must've hurt like a sonovabitch when he came to a stop and toppled over on the unsupported side. Let me tell y'all, there's no sensation quite like exposed broken bone ends on pavement. It'll wake you right up.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Oh, but they'd never abuse it!
Shiny new "Sneak 'n' Peek" warrants of the type authorized by the (hilariously misnamed) P.A.T.R.I.O.T. Act were used to round up East Tennessee rednecks, not one of which owns a Semtex Sweater.
It'll be interesting to watch the "My Party, Right Or Wrong" crowd twist as they try to explain this away as a righteous part of the War On A Noun.
(Hat Tip to Michael Silence.)
It'll be interesting to watch the "My Party, Right Or Wrong" crowd twist as they try to explain this away as a righteous part of the War On A Noun.
(Hat Tip to Michael Silence.)
Oh, dear. They're multiplying.
Coming back from Kroger, traffic was squeezed down to one lane to route it around a three car bumper-to-bumper-to-bumper stackup.
The lead car was a Jeep Grand Cherokee in that kind of champagne/bronze color. The second car was another Jeep Grand Cherokee in that kind of champagne/bronze color. The unfortunate tail-end Charlie was a Jeep Cherokee in bright red. As I'm passing the wreck, I glance in my rearview, and the car directly behind me in traffic is...
...a Jeep Grand Cherokee in that kind of champagne/bronze color.
That one's gonna be fun to sort out in a courtroom: "Well, Your Honor, then the Jeep..."
"Which Jeep?"
"The brown one..."
The lead car was a Jeep Grand Cherokee in that kind of champagne/bronze color. The second car was another Jeep Grand Cherokee in that kind of champagne/bronze color. The unfortunate tail-end Charlie was a Jeep Cherokee in bright red. As I'm passing the wreck, I glance in my rearview, and the car directly behind me in traffic is...
...a Jeep Grand Cherokee in that kind of champagne/bronze color.
That one's gonna be fun to sort out in a courtroom: "Well, Your Honor, then the Jeep..."
"Which Jeep?"
"The brown one..."
Train derailed in Russia.
Interfax news agency, citing law enforcement sources, said a crater measuring about 1.5 meters (5 ft) in diameter was found underneath one of the carriages.
I wish I could take anything coming out of Putinville at face value these days, but if the Russian government were to claim the sun was rising in the east I'd look out the window to double check.
Boomsticks: A chance to help the cause.
Frequent readers probably know Oleg Volk, Minister of Propaganda for the 2nd Amendment, and those who don't would probably recognize his work. Oleg's photos and posters have been used in pro-RKBA literature and gun rights rallies worldwide and have been translated into several foreign languages.
At the moment he's trying to raise funds to help defray the expense of a new lens for his camera. If you can help, I'm sure he'd appreciate it.
At the moment he's trying to raise funds to help defray the expense of a new lens for his camera. If you can help, I'm sure he'd appreciate it.
Kroger is only three miles away or so...
...and I only need a couple of things, so why do I feel like I'm trying to psych myself up for the Bataan Death March? I mean, I've hopped in the car and zipped to Nashville or Atlanta with more spontaneity than this. It's probably something to do with my sleep cycle getting seriously out of whack.
Left to my druthers, I'm a night owl. Sleeping 'til noon and staying up deep into the night, even seeing the occasional dawn, is what feels normal to me. However, I've been on a daytime work cycle for a few years now and my inner clock is just confused as all get out now that it can set its own hours again. I really don't want to have to forcibly set a schedule with pills and alarm clocks until it takes. I mean really. It always leaves me feeling like I've been run over by a bus when I do that. I'd rather just ease into it...
Left to my druthers, I'm a night owl. Sleeping 'til noon and staying up deep into the night, even seeing the occasional dawn, is what feels normal to me. However, I've been on a daytime work cycle for a few years now and my inner clock is just confused as all get out now that it can set its own hours again. I really don't want to have to forcibly set a schedule with pills and alarm clocks until it takes. I mean really. It always leaves me feeling like I've been run over by a bus when I do that. I'd rather just ease into it...
News: Thank you, Captain Obvious.
East German Border Guards Had 'Shoot-to-Kill' Orders to Stop Defections to West
No kidding? I guess those machine guns and land mines weren't set to "stun", then?
On her blog, Robyn Ringler asked...
...not too long ago, "When are we going to do something about men shooting women?"
After the events of this weekend, a more contemporary question would be "What are we going to do about men savagely beating women with hammers?"
I have a suggestion regarding the latter question, but Robyn probably wouldn't like it. See if you can guess what it is.
(HINT: "You shouldn't bring a hammer to a ___ fight." Ready? Go.)
After the events of this weekend, a more contemporary question would be "What are we going to do about men savagely beating women with hammers?"
I have a suggestion regarding the latter question, but Robyn probably wouldn't like it. See if you can guess what it is.
(HINT: "You shouldn't bring a hammer to a ___ fight." Ready? Go.)
Revenge Of The Nerds.
Ellen Goodman of the Boston Globe has recently made a stink about the political blogosphere, or at least that fragment of it she covered at the Kossack Konvention, being lilly-white and able to pee standing up. She stopped short of demanding that federal funds be spent on teaching blogging skills to schoolgirls, but not very far short, and the whole thing left me scratching my head.
Or rather, her puzzlement about it did. See, I know the reason for all this. I've mentioned it before, as a matter of fact. The reason is this: If you are reading this blog on your own computer, on your own time, you are at least a little bit of a geek. Now, I'm not saying you own a pair of foam rubber Spock ears, but chances are that you have watched at least one episode of Star Trek (or Firefly or Battlestar Galactica or The X-Files or whatever.) The reason I say this is because you have your nose against a computer screen on your own time rather than being out shopping with your friends at the mall or playing pool at the bar or dancing at a club or working on your old Corvette or whatever, and that is a very geek thing to do.
If Ms. Goodman had been a geekette herself, she would have known that, for whatever sociological reason, geekery is still largely a white male preserve. If you go to the geek Mecca, DragonCon, and peel off the Klingon costumes, the crowd is about as sexually and racially diverse as the cast of Dead Poet's Society. While those of us who are geekettes don't seem to mind this (after all, the odds are good, even if the goods are odd) it must drive levellers like Ms. Goodman into a tizzy, especially when the geeks take keyboard in hand and start writing political blogs, and folks actually pay attention to them.
Let the nerds have their revenge, Ellen. Let them glory in their spark. There was something quaintly touching about the Democrat candidates coming to tug their forelocks in respect before a convention packed full of the very people whose heads they used to flush down toilets in high school.
(H/T to Captain's Quarters.)
Or rather, her puzzlement about it did. See, I know the reason for all this. I've mentioned it before, as a matter of fact. The reason is this: If you are reading this blog on your own computer, on your own time, you are at least a little bit of a geek. Now, I'm not saying you own a pair of foam rubber Spock ears, but chances are that you have watched at least one episode of Star Trek (or Firefly or Battlestar Galactica or The X-Files or whatever.) The reason I say this is because you have your nose against a computer screen on your own time rather than being out shopping with your friends at the mall or playing pool at the bar or dancing at a club or working on your old Corvette or whatever, and that is a very geek thing to do.
If Ms. Goodman had been a geekette herself, she would have known that, for whatever sociological reason, geekery is still largely a white male preserve. If you go to the geek Mecca, DragonCon, and peel off the Klingon costumes, the crowd is about as sexually and racially diverse as the cast of Dead Poet's Society. While those of us who are geekettes don't seem to mind this (after all, the odds are good, even if the goods are odd) it must drive levellers like Ms. Goodman into a tizzy, especially when the geeks take keyboard in hand and start writing political blogs, and folks actually pay attention to them.
Let the nerds have their revenge, Ellen. Let them glory in their spark. There was something quaintly touching about the Democrat candidates coming to tug their forelocks in respect before a convention packed full of the very people whose heads they used to flush down toilets in high school.
(H/T to Captain's Quarters.)
Sunday, August 12, 2007
I think that number's a little low.
72%
I'm not only ready for the Zombocalypse, I'm ready to liveblog the Zombocalypse.
Mingle2 - Free Online Dating
I'm not only ready for the Zombocalypse, I'm ready to liveblog the Zombocalypse.
A gaming-related bleg...
Any pointers on getting my old CD of Quake to run on this P4/XP box?
I haven't shot the machine yet, but the idea's getting more attractive by the hour...
I haven't shot the machine yet, but the idea's getting more attractive by the hour...
Blog Stuff: Overheard this morning.
Gunsmith Bob: "Hey, can you give me a ride to go pick my folks' car up from the Turkey Creek WalMart parking lot?"
Me: "Do you not read my blog?"
Me: "Do you not read my blog?"
Boomsticks: A few words...
...on an icon of industrial design that makes the VW Beetle look like a flash in the pan.
(By way of comparison, the Gem wire paper clip was first produced in 1890.)
(By way of comparison, the Gem wire paper clip was first produced in 1890.)
Saturday, August 11, 2007
I'd rather put my own eyes out with rusty nails...
...than go to WallyWorld on a Saturday afternoon. Come to think of it, I'd rather put my own eyes out with rusty nails than go to WallyWorld period.
And yet there I was, playing "nomads of the asphalt prairie" across the Turkey Creek mega shop-o-rama complex, rubbing shoulders with a seething mass of aberrant humanity, all because I needed plastic cement, greeting cards, sodas, and crackers, plus I needed to do some banking. That, and WallyWorld is right across the street from Turkey Creek Wine & Spirits, who seem to be doing better than McScrooge's at getting products from Stone Brewing these days.
Anyway, an observation I made: There came a time in my life when I crossed a certain threshold of age and muscle tone and said to myself "Self, our navel will not be seen in public like this." It was painfully obvious today that not everyone has had that bit of internal dialogue. Further, I didn't know that they even made hip-huggers in that size. With something intended to be sassy printed across the ass, no less. Worse, the letters were in yellow against the blue denim background and before my forebrain could parse what they actually spelled out, the snark crouching in the dark recesses of my skull whispered "Goodyear," causing me to burst out laughing at a rather inopportune moment. I hate it when that happens.
Anyhow, I made it out okay and if I'm lucky, I won't have to drive through Turkey Creek on a weekend again 'til early '08.
And yet there I was, playing "nomads of the asphalt prairie" across the Turkey Creek mega shop-o-rama complex, rubbing shoulders with a seething mass of aberrant humanity, all because I needed plastic cement, greeting cards, sodas, and crackers, plus I needed to do some banking. That, and WallyWorld is right across the street from Turkey Creek Wine & Spirits, who seem to be doing better than McScrooge's at getting products from Stone Brewing these days.
Anyway, an observation I made: There came a time in my life when I crossed a certain threshold of age and muscle tone and said to myself "Self, our navel will not be seen in public like this." It was painfully obvious today that not everyone has had that bit of internal dialogue. Further, I didn't know that they even made hip-huggers in that size. With something intended to be sassy printed across the ass, no less. Worse, the letters were in yellow against the blue denim background and before my forebrain could parse what they actually spelled out, the snark crouching in the dark recesses of my skull whispered "Goodyear," causing me to burst out laughing at a rather inopportune moment. I hate it when that happens.
Anyhow, I made it out okay and if I'm lucky, I won't have to drive through Turkey Creek on a weekend again 'til early '08.
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