Road Trip

6 Oct 2007
Day One: Tucumcari, New Mexico

So Debra and I packed up our stuff and headed out this morning at 0-dark-thirty, and now sitting in a hotel room in New Mexico. I'd like to say I've seen as much of Kansas as I think might be necessary to see. Some of it actually was quite beautiful. But we're rather excited as the Southwest seems to have a little more variety in the scenery, at least for Midwesterners, unaccustomed as we are to oblique, non-rounded hills. And what is a "gulch" and why don't we have those in Missouri? Answer me that.

We drove through Greensburg, Kansas, purely by accident, and while I tried to approximate an appropriate Alan Jackson style 9/11 tear-jerker ("were ya there, when that twister came down, did it make ya cry, when the cow flew past yer windshield...like on that movie...") my wife made the astute observation that "HEY! It didn't destroy the WHOLE TOWN!!!". Although another quarter-mile or so, wow, it looked like Hiroshima, minus the glowing radioactive waste, and with a lot more Red Cross porta-potties. So, we apologize to the good citizens of Greensburg, Kansas for doubting the wrath of the tornado. We think Alan Jackson should write TWO songs about it.

We stopped in Liberal, Kansas, just before we passed into a region under the cloud of God's perpetual wrath (the panhandle of Oklahoma, which neither Texas nor Kansas would claim, thus pushed off on the Okies). The Panhandle featured such booming towns as "Hooker" Oklahoma, which wasn't so much of a good joke until I passed by the 10 x 10 shack labelled as the "Hooker Chamber of Commerce", replete with curly-lashed eyes for the two o's. It would have been worth stopping to take a picture if we weren't flying along like banshees seeking to escape the area.

But no, I was telling you about Liberal, which is home to the Mid-America Air Museum. I went their with my family years ago, so it was great to come back. Very sad to see how empty the place was; perhaps seeing these majestic and historic planes no longer interests the younger generations. Still, it brought me back, even that air museum / plane hangar smell. If you can get out there, go, and donate a buck or two if you can. I'm hoping they'll be around long enough I could take my kids.

On to Texas. We started seeing what no doubt were that most glorious of weed trees, the Mesquite. A raggedy, brush-like tree that apparently is very frustrating to farmers and ranchers, it is my favourite cooking wood and I wanted to chop down a truckful and bring it back, but no dice. No truck, actually, but no dice sounded like the right thing to say at the time.

My wife noted a keen difference between Texas and New Mexico. In Texas, the highway signs say NO PASSING or PASSING ZONE, and the motto greeting you on entry is DON'T MESS WITH TEXAS. When you pass into New Mexico, the motto is Land of Enchantment, and the highway signs say things like "Pass with care!" and "Courtesy costs nothing!". So basically we found much humour in the contrast between Texas' macho bravado and New Mexico's metrosexual sensitivity.

Which was kind of a common theme...we found a lot of things far more funny than they should have been. It could have been getting up before the dawn of...dawn, or it could have been the gloriously noxious fumes from the Texas cattle pens UNTHINKABLY LOCATED NEXT TO A PUBLIC HIGHWAY. But at one point I should point out that the following phrase was uttered:

"I think 'dillhole' might be my favourite word."

7 Oct 2007
Day Two: Kingman, Arizona

Today was mildly less eventful, I'm happy/sorry to say. We departed from beneath the shadow of the mesa in Tucumcari around seven-ish, after partaking of the copious bounty of the Econolodge continental breakfast, which included soft-boiled eggs clever disguised as hard-boiled eggs (which facilitated a rather comic episode as I unwittingly allowed my wife to demonstrate the way to briskly crack open a hard-boiled egg).

New Mexico continued in its manner of sensitive niceness, with hot air balloons sent up for display over Albuquerque as we passed through (very kind of them) and pink and blue seeming to be the state's official colours, with the highway overpasses painted that way. Even the dirt is pink. The mesas seem to be mountains restrained and lopped off out of concern for the self esteem of the smaller hills. This combined with the road signs imploring all manner of nice niceness and sweet goodygums politeness on the roadways, and New Mexico is sort of the Disney version of the Southwest.

Passing into Arizona, we encountered a new road sign phenomenom. In Arizona they seem to have a preoccupation with ice. Presumably because they rarely see it outside of their highball glasses, they appear to have a mortal fear of frozen water, and road signs saying "WATCH FOR ICE!" and "ICE ON BRIDGE!" abound all across the state. Now, I haven't seen these very often in Missouri, much less places to our north, and we get plenty of hail/sleet/snow/ice during the winters.

Also, "WATCH FOR ROCKS!" was common, and rounding up the trio of watch-for signs was my favourite, "WATCH FOR ELK!". I'm not sure what we were supposed to do if we did manage to see an elk; the sign neglected to give further detail. Were we to walk up and shake its hand? Arrest it? Take a picture of it? Arizona needs to stop with these incomplete instructions.

Speaking of rocks, we stopped and saw a great bally lot of them along the way, at the Petrified Forest Nat'l Park. We didn't actually go in, but milled around near the entrance, looking at examples laid out of petrified wood. Sufficiently satisfied, we determined that petrified wood looks like a cross between wood and rock, and once you've seen one petrified log you've seen them all, so we got back on the interstate post-haste.

Flagstaff, Arizona was quite a pleasant surprise, though we only stopped briefly to give our vehicle a full draught of fresh petrol. High in altitude with very beautiful flora, it's an area we wouldn't mind spending more time in again.

Here in Kingman we have passed the mountains and are essentially in the honest-to-goodness desert; the locals here have carefully tended dirt lawns. Lucky bastards! What I wouldn't give to be able to get away with that. However they do have one thing, leaked across the border to the west...In-N-Out. The best fast-food burger joint in the country. Dinner was good.

As I said, a much less varied day today, but tomorrow, we push on through the Mojave to visit San Diego, then back up to Santa Ana/Anaheim.

Day Three: Santa Ana, California
8 Oct 2007

Today started with us bidding our fond farewell to Arizona, filling up with an excellent complimentary breakfast at the hotel, and filling our car up with a not-so-complimentary breakfast at an antiquated filling station in the quaintly dusty town of Yucca, Arizona.

But nothing could prepare us for the border crossing.

All vehicles entering into California had to stop for an inspection. We naturally started to feel a little anxious. Upon pulling up to the inspection clerk, we expected something like "do you have any illicit drugs" or "are you smuggling illegal aliens", but instead, he asked the hard questions. DO YOU HAVE ANY FRUIT??!! Why yes, officer, we have an apple or two. FROM MISSOURI?! Yes, we bought it in Missouri, I have no idea where it was grown. The officer seemed to breathe a huge sigh of relief as he noted we only had a total of two Honeycrisp apples in storage, and he relaxed his grip on his sidearm and called off the request for backup. Once again California has shown its excellent priorities. There was no concern over whether our Model 12 and P3-AT were safely and legally stowed (they were), as the only thing on the minds of the Fruit Patrol was stopping rogue tangelos from crossing the border.

Then after crossing the Mojave desert (with myself humming the theme of "Lawrence of Arabia" incessantly) we eventually started getting into city traffic. Let me just say, we have at this point driven in seven states in the past three days, and virtually everywhere people drove with some semblance of sanity, and even the speedier ones were generally considerate on the roadways. Excepting Southern California. As much as I mocked the "kinder gentler" road signs of New Mexico, the one place those would be worthwhile would be in California. These people are insane! Apparently they are so energy conscious out here that they refuse to use turn signals, because of the carbon footprint of the incandescent bulbs. Instead they use the "California turn signal", which is the same for right or left turns: stick your arm at a 45 degree angle out of your window, and make a fist, and extend the middle finger while retaining the fist with the remaining fingers. It is also recommended to pass on the right whenever feasible, and to never change lanes while passing unless within 12 inches of another car's bumper.

We eventually got to the harbor in San Diego, which was quite beautiful. With a backdrop of some extremely cool USN aircraft carriers at the naval base, we visited the San Diego Maritime Museum. We saw the B-39, a Soviet post-war diesel attack submarine. There I realized my youthful ambitions of submarine service were far misguided, as a man over six foot on one of those boats is in for a cramped tour, that's for certain. But it was immensely interesting to actually tour a Soviet submarine. We also got to see the H.M.S. Surprise, a replica 19th century warship used in the movie Master and Commander. I got to stand where Russell Crowe stood, and I sang (not quite as boisterously as I wanted) "makin' movies, makin' songs, and foightin' round the world!", the theme song of Russell Crowe's Fighting Round The World series.

Then back on those blasted roads again, and cheating death we arrived at our somewhat lackluster motel in Santa Ana, but we trotted over for an early dinner at The Olde Ship, a British pub and restaurant in the area that I first tried a year and a half ago, while in Anaheim for a convention. Very good food as expected, and fantastic British beer.

Tomorrow will be duller still, I'm afraid, as it involves primarily visiting familial relations, which is of course of great interest to us, but of scant interest to you, loyal reader.

Quote of the day:

"Car pool lane violators PISS ME OFF!"

Days Four and Five: Burbank, California
9-10 Oct 2007

Yesterday and today are made up primarily of visiting family, which of course involves a healthy quantity of driving about Los Angeles, which of course involves a healthy quantity of fear for one's life. Still, we're getting a good deal of rest, which is nice.

I fear there may be a dearth of interesting information to add on this joint blog entry, so I'll just jabber on about some various topics.

Is capsaicin spray food grade, I wonder? How would it compare to habanero sauce?

Does anyone else struggle, upon visiting Los Angeles, with the highly embarrassing tendency to adopt an overly exaggerated and borderline offensive Mexican accent? I have the same problem when I've been on the phone with my company's dealers in the UK. I tend to start lapsing into a standard British accent, slightly chirpier than my typical non-descript Midwestern accent that I've adopted since moving here as a child. And that devolves into very nearly a drawl when talking to some of my more country-ish acquaintances at work. I am an accent chameleon, which is fun, but also dangerous. You don't want to exclaim, "hey, esé, whatchoo doo-eeng, man?" in line at El Pollo Loco. It's just offensive. But me gusta May-hee-can food, muy mucho, si si si! Alas, it is my cross to bear. It disappears when I leave the state, strangely enough.

Tomorrow we drive up to San Simeon. G'night all!

Day Six: Cambria, California
11 Oct 2007

Today we drove up from the sprawling tacolopolis that is Los Angeles, and first we visited Solvang for breakfast. Solvang is a great little town 100 miles or so north of LA...basically a Danish-settlement-turned-tourist-magnet, with quaint Scandinavian shops and restaurants. Paula's Pancake House is the requisite stop, for the thin style of Danish pancakes, accompanied with medisterpolse (Danish sausage). We toured the area a bit but didn't feel like emptying our wallets in shopping the local vendors of trinkets and assorted junk. One of the stranger things we noticed was the Rabobank branch. A mildly dyslexic moment had me registering that as Rob-a-Bank, to which I cheerfully replied, "don't mind if I do!" Upon which I got a jab in the ribs from my dear wife.

Back on the road, we stopped in San Luis Opisbo at the local Trader Joe's. I would love for Trader Joe's to open up in KC, but its not likely. They did open a couple branches in St Louis, strangely enough, but most of their locations are concentrated in the West. They have an "anniversary ale" which is a contract brew from Unibroue in French Canada. Very good Belgian quadrupel style.

Up at San Simeon (or Cambria, technically the town name) we spent an hour or so before check-in time searching the coast for elephant seals, but the ugly beasts played hard to get.

For dinner, we traipsed across the road to the beach, which is a state park and thus has the traditional BBQ grills and picnic tables. We grilled a mammoth KC strip (acquired from the aforementioned hippie grocery store) and we were swiftly surrounded by a flock of sneaky, greedy seagulls. As amusing as they were, we were under an obligation not to feed the local fauna, and thus we had to stiff the natives, no scraps for the birds. Might have been their only chance to eat a cow...

Day Seven: Cambria, California
12 Oct 2007

Today we had a fairly constant rain coming in from the sea, so we didn't do an awful lot...parked the car at the beach and sat, read books, and ate a picnic lunch while listening to the surf, mostly. Still, the ocean was beautiful, even with the rather constant rain. Gulls and egrets were quite common, and interesting to watch. We cut our time at the beach short when a couple vans full of hippies and Grenchies (we weren't sure if they were Greek or French, thus Grenchies) decided to boisterously congregate in the long term around the hood of our car. Kind of like the seagulls, you have to beat them back with a stick, but they keep coming back. Back, Grenchies, back!!!

We decided not to tour Hearst Castle tonight, but we did stop in at a small restaurant, the Wild Ginger Cafe in Cambria. We hadn't tried it before, and they had great "Pan-Asian" (mostly Southeast Asian) food, Not cheap, but recommendable.

Not a particularly witty or interesting entry, but there you have it!

Day Eight: Cambria, California
13 Oct 2007

Likewise today was a rather eventless day, but the weather was nicer. Again we had lunch at the beach, and the local wildlife were rather amusing. The signs say "DO NOT FEED THE WILDLIFE" but from the behavior of the aforementioned it seems apparent that this is a rule taken about as seriously as California's traffic laws. The squirrels, crows, blackbirds, and gulls all lined up to compete for attention. Lazy vermin, not willing to work for their food! What do they think this is, California?

Finished my latest Wodehouse book, "Thank You, Jeeves". A thoroughly enjoyable read. I'm also about halfway through "The Washing of the Spears", on the Zulu nation, and it's getting to the point where Lord Chelmsford is about to step in a gigantic Cape Buffalo pie, in a location known as Isandlhwana. Bad news for the 24th Foot!

Great dinner tonight at the Brambles Dinner House, dolmathes and rack of lamb with ouzo and retsina. I decided to give their Greek food a shot, as you can see. Not bad, not bad.

One thing I was thinking about. In Missouri we have a curious habit of naming towns after foreign locations, but then mispronouncing the name. Thus we have Versailles as Ver-sails' instead of Ver-sye', Nevada as Ne-vay'-da instead of Ne-va'-da, and New Madrid as Maa'-drid instead of Mah-dreed'. The question is, do we do this out of ignorance, or on purpose to piss off the French, Spanish, and whatever dusty reptiles are unlucky enough to live in the Nevada wastelands?

Speaking of, we'll be on our way through Nevada tomorrow, into Utah. Goodbye California, its been quite fun. Hopefully they won't catch us at the border smuggling out melons and raspberries.

Day Nine: Springdale, Utah
14 Oct 2007

Today was a long bit of driving, around there's not much to comment on. First point of business, if you're driving through Las Vegas northbound on the I-15, rethink your schedule, as in the Virgin River Gorge area you will be sitting for an hour or so, as it was in our case, in the NW corner of Arizona.

Other than that, not much, but we're here in Zion National Park, which is quite an impressive area, geologically speaking.

This vacation has also let us get caught up with the "cabled tele-vision" we've been hearing so much about these days...seems you can switch to all these different channels an antenna can't pick up! So we watched "Fat Pets Night" on the Animal Planet channel, which was enormously entertaining and reminded us of our gatito gordito. And then, picture my surprise when not only did the Fry/Laurie version of Jeeves and Wooster come on on the local PBS station, but it was the "Chuffy" episode, which compresses and approximates the story in the aforementioned "Thank You, Jeeves" book. Nice show to fall asleep to.

Day Ten: Springdale, Utah
15 Oct 2007

Today we hiked quite a bit, visiting the Emerald Pools in Zion. Made it all the way to the Upper Pools, which was a stout walk, but with all the old folk doing it we couldn't wimp out. Well worth the extra night, very beautiful country here.

Euros were thick here. Germans, possible Frenchies, and some brand of Slavic folk (possibly Russian, or Balkan area). I'm surprised they know of this place! I'm happy though, let them breathe the free air for a short while before returning to their socialist nation-states.

We had some kind of Thainese food tonight (Orange Chicken from a Thai restaurant) on our hotel room balcony, while watching the neighbor's alpaca trot around in his fluffy chubbiness, stuffing his face with grass and begging food off of passing tourists. There is also a pen of deer, elk, and ducks. Utah is like the petting zoo capital of the world. Either that or they like Peking Duck and Venison Pie rather a lot! As well as llama cheese.

On tomorrow to pass through Utah and Colorado.

Day Eleven: Stratton, Colorado
16 Oct 2007

Utah was surprisingly beautiful. We got off at a freakish 6AM in the morning and got into the hotel around 7:30PM. The hotel left a bit to be desired...the bed making me feel a bit like a hot dog on the grill...waking up every hour or so to rotate a quarter turn so I was equally browned..err..sored...on each side.

Again, Utah is an enormously beautiful. Even in places that are not state parks, or national parks, the scenery is amazing.

Western Colorado, west of the Rockies, is also very beautiful, as I-70 snakes alongside the Colorado River. Very pretty, but not quite as awe inspiring as Utah. The Rockies themselves were impressive, but the annoying urban Colorado drivers moving in on Denver annoyed me too much to enjoy the scenery. And Eastern Colorado ought to be annexed by Kansas. It looks like Kansas, it smells like Kansas...it is Kansas.

Tomorrow is the last day of our trek. Up early in the morning and we streak across the length of Kansas at 70 mph. It'll be nice to be back in Missouri!

News Update!

Liberal and Conservative Secession Movements Meeting Together

This is an interesting article, and it plainly exemplifies the virtues of federalism. It is somewhat sad that the US government has drifted so far away beyond the 10th Amendment. The Constitution was set up in such a fashion that these movements should not be necessary. When the federal government limits itself and allows the states to decide more things for themselves, more people will be happy with the laws of their region, because different regions have different cultural values, in general. Let Massachusetts introduce Pointed Stick Control laws and legalize gay-triple-underage-interspecies marriages for all I care. If that is what the people want, more power to them. Likewise, let Alabama allow its citizens to own 105mm howitzers on their front lawns if the people choose to allow this.

But anyway, if our federal government hadn't decided to dump a gallon of Wite-Out on the 10th Amendment of the Constitution over the past century or two, we wouldn't be having these problems now, because Vermont could be a socialist hippie paradise and Tennessee a low-regulation individual liberty sort of establishment, and everyone's happy...those that aren't can move to another state. Certainly beats "American Civil War II" where BOTH Dixie and the Yankees secede.

[mercifully puts this somewhat uninspired topic to rest]

Well, we're about off on a trip through a number of free states to one of those aforementioned socialist hippie paradises...we are driving to CA on Saturday. So no blogging for a week or two. Not that I have been...

In-N-Out, I am coming.

Late night, last minute post addendum:

The Beatles Smell Faintly of Garam Masala

An invaluable maxim of the entertainment industry is "know your audience". Fortunately this is a blog, and has precious little to do with entertainment, so I feel at liberty to post a link to some reading which I honestly consider to be one of the funniest things on the internet, but that also is probably quite boring to the casual or uninterested reader.

Behold...

The Shrine of the Mall Ninja

And for a slightly easier-to-chew version, that still is painfully funny (though not as classic as the above thread by Gecko45, grandfather of all mall ninjas, for whom the term was coined):

Return of the Iron Fist of the Mall Ninja

I freely admit that these are chock full of jargon and have a narrow appeal to their humour, but they are just so bleeding magnificent I had to post them.

So this news story caught my eye:

Hillary Calls Cheney "Darth Vader"

Hillary exercised immense skill in narrowly avoiding Godwin's Law by masking a Hitlerian comparison in Star Wars language. Deftly played, Senator! Now as for why I found this so delightful, allow me to bore you with some background. On a forum which I frequent I managed to win a caption contest for a photo of the esteemed Senator and her current opponent in the primary. Here it is:

OBAMA: What is thy bidding, my master?
CLINTON: Send the fleet to the far side of Endor. There it will stay until called for.
OBAMA: What of the reports of the Rebel fleet massing near Sullust?
CLINTON: It is of no concern. Soon the Rebellion will be crushed and young Skywalker will be one of us! Your work here is finished, my friend. Go out to the command ship and await my orders.
OBAMA: Yes, my Master.

It STILL amuses me. Apparently Darth Chenu, Sith-Lord and Vice-Emporer, amuses Mrs. Clinton too. I feel validated!

So, tonight, accompanied with the creature comforts of a spicy pepper/broccoli stirfry with rice noodles and Momokawa sake (nihonshu), I watched Sanjuro (not to be confused with Sanjaya, the talentless South Asian androgyne), Akira Kurosawa's sequel to Yojimbo, the film that inspired Sergio Leone's A Fistful of Dollars.

Basically this has led me to post a comparison of the two consummate bad___es of both films.

First, Clint Eastwood:

Clint, after finally sitting down and seeing the Hallowed Triumvirate of the Wopsterns (A Fistful of Dollars, For A Few Dollars More, and The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly), is admittedly the consummate bad___. And to all who I've just offended by inventing the term "wopstern", I'll just say that I googled the word "wopstern" just now and received no hits, so I feel rather proud of my inventive conjunction of an ethnic slur and movie category. But anyway, Clint is the man. I felt the need to go out and get a poncho, but I have thus far resisted. It certainly made a nice cover garment for CCW.

But anyway, on to his original counterpart, Toshiro Mifune:

Toshiro Mifune, star of practically every Akira Kurosawa film, or at least very many of them, is the lead in both Yojimbo and Sanjuro and does an exceptionally good job portraying the original "Man With No Name". I give him special credit for the fact that my introduction to him was as the interminably annoying young Kikuchiyo in Seven Samurai. I honestly could not have pictured him as a collected, potent, and wise samurai after that performance, but Yojimbo quickly changed that preconception.

Anyway, if Clint fought Toshiro, I'd still have my money on Clint. We know that Toshiro beats the pistol-wielding Unosuke in Yojimbo, but bear in mind that Unosuke with a pistol is the equivalent of me with a paintbrush...Clint's character is a regular Leonardo. Once again, the technical superiority of the West wins out.

But that said, the points for style and originality go to Kurosawa's films and Mifune's character. You can't help liking both, though. I now find the need to put both Kurosawa's and Leone's "No Name" films on my short list to acquire.

Random Reference Time!

As I believe I mentioned earlier, saw Mr. Bean's Holiday and rather liked it! This following scene was particularly good (the latter opera-based portion of the clip). I thought it was worth passing on. Something about Rowan Atkinson's acting makes me think he could bring someone to tears from the opera stage if only he didn't look like, well, him, and if only he could sing like that. Very, very funny. To me at least, but I'm one to see humour in bally everything.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=yx1F41IdQXM

Take the following ingredients:

1. High-interest Mastercard
2. 15lb seedless watermelon
3. Nine .32 caliber lead balls

Combine them abruptly at a rate of somewhere around 1100 feet per second.

What do you get?

A Dave Ramsey "plasectomy" demonstration video

I must say, this blog has gone downhill, eh? Once a haven of firebrand rhetoric and visceral diatribes of ideological evaluation and debate where the greatest minds of an entire generation congregated to collectively solve the world's ills, now a pallid and limp exposition of whatever shallow observations and opinions I find fit to trot out before the masses, typically entertainment reviews (revues?) spiced with the occasional priceless pearl of wisdom from the grab-bag of Neufish Insight. Rather like Thom Jefferson, fresh from writing some really cracking stuff about courses of human events and such in the Declaration of Independence, starting a column in the Philadelphia Gazette where he talks about the unparalleled excellence of his supper the previous night, how much he loves to read the works of Danielle Steel, and his personal picks for the finalists of Commonwealth Idol. But as President Jefferson would be likely to say if such a downfall was pointed out to him, yah boo, sucks to you!

There's something very comforting in P.G. Wodehouse's writing. I was sitting outside last night while some beef ribs cooked over smoking embers of mesquite and apple wood, and to pass the time I picked out "Life with Jeeves" and started reading a chapter at random. While the plots are well devised, the real appeal of these books is in the style and language. Perhaps it was the respite of cool (almost cold) weather, but sitting outside (in the occasional spot of drizzling rain) reading that book was surprisingly relaxing and palliative after a day of mass hysteria at work.

I've been bitten by the 10mm bug. There are a number of loads that exceed 700, even 750 foot pounds in muzzle energy. Compared to, say, a .380ACP, which will be closer to 200 ft/lbs. .40S&W and .45ACP are more around the 400 range. The 10mm even beats out the .357 Magnum in most loads in muzzle energy. Somewhat dwarfs my previous favourite "performance caliber" .357SIG, which attempted to duplicate the muzzle energy of a .357 Mag but always fell a little short. The Tanfoglio Witness line of pistols, developed from the classic CZ-75, includes a stunning little compact steel 10mm, that has my name on it. It will no doubt be recoil-icious...750 ft/lbs one way is going to equal a decent amount of force in the opposite direction (into my hand). Still, I'm young, and you can always buy 10mm loaded to lighter pressures, similar to the .40S&W, derisively known as the .40 Short and Weak. As a little background info to those of you that are not gun geeks, the .40 Smith and Wesson is basically a shortened 10mm cartridge that was designed as a compromise because 10mm Auto was considered too powerful in recoil for FBI agents to handle...probably making allowances for smaller framed and female agents. Thus .40S&W took off (and is now one of the world's major handgun calibers) and 10mm Auto is a historical cartridge that is rare but retains a small but rabidly loyal enthusiast fanbase.

A rather silly bit of thought I just had. Puccini sounds like a kind of pasta. And Mostaccioli sounds vaguely like a 19th century composer. On that note, why do pastas all seem to have these very distinctive names, when they are all pretty much the same product pressed into different shapes? Linguine, spaghetti, fioriettini, cavatelli, rigatoni, vermicelli, etc. Very descriptive, colourful names, but it's basically same cookie dough, different cookie cutter.

With that transient flash of spell-binding brilliance behind us in the annals of blog history, we'll move on. Saw "Mr. Bean's Holiday" last weekend with my wife and parents. I liked it a lot more than I thought I might. We watched via Netflix the 1997 "Bean" movie with expectations of utter crap (compared to the original BBC shows), and it didn't really disappoint those expectations...it was moderately enjoyable, but overall a great disservice to how funny Bean actually is, with its limp attempts at an American-style plot and dialogue. Funny moments shone through occasionally, but byly and largely those were only momentary lapses of a raging crapstorm. That said, the new one is much better. The title alone suggests as much, using "Holiday" instead of "Vacation", thus not becoming a craven, pathetic attempt to translate it into a Rob Schneider style American comedy. LET BEAN BE BRITISH!

Willem Dafoe was great. One of my favourite actors, actually, ever since he shot up the vast majority of Columbia in "Clear and Present Danger" with Harrison Ford. He played an archetypal ego-obsessed art film director at the Cannes film festival. On the whole, it is a movie I would actually buy, and watch again. I'm glad Atkinson got it right this time! Maybe that's why he did this one, so he wouldn't be 0 for 1 in the movie department.

On to other movies (pretty varied blog post today, isn't it?)...I watched a pair of great movies last week, Yojimbo and A Fistful of Dollars. The latter is one of the classic Eastwood "spaghetti westerns", and it derives almost completely from the original Japanese samurai film Yojimbo by Akira Kurosawa. I actually enjoyed Yojimbo a bit more. A very dark film, not quite as good-and-evil as Seven Samurai, but more comic. Basically a lone ronin (masterless samurai) walks into a corrupt town full of evil men with two feuding factions, and he ends up seeing the two warring houses destroyed by pitting them against each other. The Clint Eastwood one is, well, a classic, and the first in the "Man with No Name" trilogy that ends with the better-known "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly".

And Pastor Sam was good enough to pass on this interesting article, with which I generally agree:

http://www.sfpulpit.com/2007/08/24/style-or-substance-whats-the-biggest-problem-with-contemporary-church-music/

It is a very interesting look at how the writing of Christian songs has changed in the past century or so. Ironically after reading this article yesterday afternoon, I hopped into the car to go to band practice, and I decided to give 88.5 the benefit of the doubt. The song on there was "Miracle of the Moment" by Steven Chapman (no, you are not special; no, you don't people to type your middle name). Here's the first verse or so:

It's time for letting go
All of our "if onlies"
Cause we don't have a time machine

And even if we did
Would we really want to use it
Would we really want to go change everything
Cause we are who and where and what we are for now
And this is the only moment we can do anything about

So breathe it in and breathe it out
And listen to your heartbeat
There's a wonder in the here and now
It's right there in front of you
And I don't want you to miss the miracle of the moment

After reading through the lyrics I did manage to find an obscure reference to "the One", although of course it is hard to hear the capitalization of "One" when it is being sung, don't you know. Here's another great little nugget:

And if it brings you tears
Then taste them as they fall
Let them soften your heart
And if it brings you laughter
Then throw your head back
And let it go
Let it go, yeah
You gotta let it go

And listen to your heartbeat

I used to get mildly sick to my stomach when I worked a job where they had country music on all the time, just because the treacle-sweet sentiment crammed into some of those songs is just a bit off-putting occasionally. But geez, just using the above random song as a reference, Christian music has it beat, bad. It's like crossing Dr. Phil with New Age Christianity with Up With People.

It is too easy to mock this stuff. Steve Chapman talking about sodding time machines! "Would we really want to use it?" Yes, Steve, I want to use it! I want to go back in time and kick the first recording engineer that thought pop songs should have those cheesy repeating backing vocals, square in the...

Tonight I'm going to be grilling cajun-style pork sausages over apple wood. Woohoo! I've got my Zatarain's cajun mustard at the ready! I also have to find a good recipe to do some roasted potatoes with a spicy cajun kick.

FPU!

Despite that sounding vaguely like either an acronymous insult or a 1970's disco/funk outfit (Funkity Parliament Unicycle), I refer instead to Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University, which my wife and I started (along with others at Midtown) on Sunday. As Debra alludes to on her new blog, we are mourning the loss of the Sunday afternoon nap, but the Ramsey video was actually quite funny and entertaining. My boredom threshold is higher than others (I read books on 19th century colonialism for crying out loud), and while I think the video was done in a style to make it palatable to the Easily Bored, I found it rollicking good entertainment, for a financial education video, at least.

Now from the senseless, wanton slaughter of migrating chichimurra penguins we turn to my usual blog cop-out; instead of exploring deep thoughts, portentous observations, and meaningful concepts on spiritual, philosophical, logical, or even political topics, I delve into the happy and meaningless realm of my hobbies.

First off, I should have linked this earlier, but check out Bram Wijnands, one of the highlights of our local KC jazz scene (not that I know anything of said scene):

http://www.bwjazz.com

His audio section has some great downloadable tracks, check out "Darn That Dream", "Black Orpheus", and well, pretty much all of them:

http://www.bwjazz.com/Audio-.htm

From jazz gurus we turn to the shooting sports. Debra and I trotted down to Morgan County this weekend, visiting her parents. Of course, there were two suitcases: one of clothes and other travel necessities, and one packed to the brim with ammunition. I didn't quite achieve my goal of emptying that suitcase to lighten the load for the return journey, but I did manage to release enough carbon dioxide via the combustion of Cordite and other smokeless powders to make Al Gore shed a single, solitary tear like the Crying Indian of those commercials from the 1970s. Ah, what fun. Highlights:

• The Saiga 12 is, as already known, a very, very fun gun to shoot. Very painful afterward, especially when using no method of recoil reduction and shooting 10 round magazines of magnum slugs and buckshot in rapid fire. It certainly moves a lot of lead down range in an awful hurry, but it brings to mind (or rather, to shoulder) Newton's Third Law (equal and opposite reaction).
  
• The Bersa Thunder 380 remains one of the best compromises in small handguns, with minimal recoil, easy trigger action, and overall fun-to-shoot-ness. Accurate, reliable, and just a good buy, if one can accept the slightly underpowered round it is chambered for.
• The Kel-Tec P3-AT is sort of the opposite...rather like touching off rounds in your hand, it is tricky to control but much more easy to control with repeated practice. It isn't a range gun by any stretch, but its small form factor is impressive. Less than 10oz loaded, and extremely thin and small.
• The Kel-Tec PF-9 had some strange malfunctions on its first range outing since returning from factory repair, but they were worn through as I put somewhere around 150 rounds through it; just some teething to get done, and its pretty smooth now.
• My Enfield did not in fact blow my face off, and did not even rupture a case, so I'm fairly confident it is officially safe to shoot. I didn't have the right range to sight it in properly though, so I'll do that some other time at Lake City.
• My 1967 Smith and Wesson Model 12 got a celebratory 40th birthday shoot, even if only 24 rounds or so. I added an aluminum T-grip grip extension from Tyler Manufacturing to it this time, and it really helped with the grip ergonomics, and made the trigger vastly more controllable. I'd highly recommend that to anyone shooting a stock K-frame that dislikes the grip feel. As expected, it ate every single 158gr semi-wadcutter without a hiccup. That's the nice thing about wheel guns...
• I also plinked around with my father-in-law's Ruger Single Six, and shot some .22 Short out of it. Didn't even need hearing protection shooting those things, they were practically caps, and probably were moving at BB gun velocities.

And for those still wondering:

Do Battleships Move Sideways When They Fire?

The Answer

Cleaning up some loose ends...

Seven Samurai was indeed as good as I anticipated. Not a movie for the impatient or easily bored, but highly entertaining to the patient and interested sorts, of which for the moment I was. Kyuzu was of course the admirable warrior, the ultimate expression of self-denial, self-control, and martial skill, and I found myself a little embarrassed as the young Katsushiro dives down at his feet in pathetic, dog-like worship...I thought the Kyuzu guy was pretty admirable, too! Anyway, an excellent movie. I was a little disinclined to like it at first, because it is one of those movies that borders on an "art film". Whenever you hear movies referenced by their director's name, be wary of that. Kurosawa's "Seven Samurai", etc. When people reference a director like he is an artist and the film is his artwork (Michaelangelo's David, for example) you run the high risk of subjecting yourself to poncey, heart-stoppingly dull art films. But this movie is not rife with "art" for art's sake, it is a good movie, and whatever artistic beauty or virtue it may possess were not a result of it being designed as an "art film".

Not all art movies suck, of course, but I've seen enough that do to adopt a "caveat emptor" attitude towards movies openly broadcast as principally "art" and secondarily entertainment. This movie on the other hand is highly entertaining, and has none of the pretense of a self-aware art film...you know, those films that seem to exult and rejoice in how artsy and inaccessible they are...damn the viewers, full abstraction ahead!

Still, best war movie of all time belongs to Zulu, 1964.

More mesquite experimentation in progress...so far, steaks, burgers, and jerked pork have all benefited from pure wood grilling. The jerked pork, well, I'm getting a little bored of it, and I may try a good BBQ sauce on it next time, or perhaps the salt/pepper/red pepper dry rub I've been using lately. Hot dogs tonight! All this on a $20 grill! Muahahahahaha!

Me Gusta Mesquita!
-Chapter Two-

So last night a couple 1/2lb K.C. strips met their demise on my grill. Not an entirely uncommon occurrence, but last night things were a bit more unique.

Charcoal? What charcoal? Not even all-natural lump charcoal or "charwood". No, I grilled over hefty chunks of mesquite. The smoke was awesome, let me tell you. The steak didn't magically become otherwordly in comparison (charcoal grills a mighty fine steak) but it was very good. And the fire, well, it just smelled right. I like a mildly charred steak so the high heat and flame from the mesquite worked well, and it could be regulated by closing the lid...which had the side benefit of producing a thick, aromatic smoke, much thicker than the smoke provided by my previous method (soaked mesquite chips on charcoal).

Yes, it was hot enough to boil a monkey's bum last night, and I'm sure it will be tonight, but I've got 1lb of 100% Angus ground sirloin begging to be transformed into that most classic of American dishes (ironically named for the principle port city in Germany) and no amount of heat will stop me.

On a side note, I can hardly make a review or recommendation yet, but I'm halfway through watching Kurosawa's "The Seven Samurai" and it is quite an enjoyable movie. Even though I have heard Kurosawa described as one of the most Western of Japanese directors, I find it interesting that this was a Japanese film written for Japanese audiences, at a time when world cultures were more distinct and unique than they are in the modern age of communication. So it feels a bit more authentic than a modern samurai movie might feel; the perspective is authentically Japanese and not an Americanized version. Very interesting, and well-accompanied by a glass of nigori, though you may feel a bit like a bastard with such indulgence as you watch peasants weep over the loss of a small quantity of life-giving rice.

The rest of the review will follow when I finish the movie! It is a long one, that is for sure.

The Four Commandments of Gun Safety (Again)

I. All guns are always loaded.
While this is a bit of an exaggerated rule, in that it is not always literally correct, the attitude and principle are essential. Firearms accidents are all too often connected with a naïve neglect of this rule. The famous and tragic last words: "it's not loaded". It is best to assume at any given point that a gun is loaded, and this informs later rules involving gun handling. Especially with autoloaders (semi-automatics) it is very simple for a beginner to neglect this rule. For example, if a beginner has a semi-automatic pistol, he or she can remove the loaded magazine, and it is common to then assume the pistol is unloaded. It is essential to rack the slide or bolt (preferably multiple times, with visual and tactile confirmation) to ensure there is no round in the chamber, ready to fire. So this is one of the big rules, no matter what sort of gun it is: treat all guns as if they were loaded. Resist the temptation to assume a gun has been made safe; unless you can clearly determine it at the moment, and you understand the gun enough to properly make it safe and fully unload it, assume the gun is loaded and ready to fire, and this will help keep you and those that are around you safe.

II. Do not allow your muzzle to cover anything you do not wish to destroy.
"Muzzle Control" is essential. On a range, keep the barrels pointed down range. No one likes having a gun pointed at them, and if you have a gun pointed at someone and they register displeasure, DO NOT respond with the typical "but it's not loaded" line. We don't care. No one cares that you have assumed the gun not to be loaded. We assume it is loaded (see the First Commandment) and we do not like seeing the business end of your firearm. Whether in a gun shop, or a range, keep that gun pointed in a safe direction and do not point it at people, accidentally or otherwise. Don't take a casual attitude towards muzzle control, or you will end up at best pissing off more safety-conscious shooters, and at worst accidentally discharging your gun, possibly killing someone.

III. Keep your finger off the trigger until ready to fire.
When you handle, draw, or aim a gun, the proper place for your trigger finger is NOT in the trigger guard resting on the trigger. The proper place for your finger is straight, alongside the edge of the frame, above the trigger guard. I made this mistake regularly when I first started and luckily I didn't have any negligent discharges as a lesson. Keep your trigger finger out of the trigger guard until you have your firearm trained on the target and you are ready to fire. The two times when this is the biggest problem is when handling guns in a store or elsewhere, and when drawing or reholstering a pistol. In the first situation, the gun store attendant and other customers do not at all feel at ease when you're swinging a handgun around with your finger on the trigger. If you need to feel the trigger pull, first ask permission of the owner as many people (myself included) would not want someone to be dry-firing without the use of a snap-cap. Then clear the gun and check, doublecheck, and triplecheck the gun to make sure it is unloaded, and dry fire the gun in a relatively safe direction. Don't do this if you don't really know what you are doing, because if you don't understand the design of a gun you might not clear it correctly and you really are going to prefer a click over a bang in that situation when the hammer falls. And if you try to holster or draw a pistol with your finger in the trigger guard, you may end up shooting yourself in the leg. Particularly on reholstering; I've read about a number of instances where that has happened to cops and other relatively experienced shooters, so be careful!

IV. Be sure of your target and what is beyond it.
Modern pistol and rifle cartridges are very, very powerful. You would be surprised at how many walls a pistol rounds can knife through, and still have enough velocity to severely injure or kill someone. Drywall will not stop anything larger than BBs or birdshot (if that!). Even a solid core door would be hardpressed to stop any of the major centerfire handgun and rifle cartridges. Therefore, you need to know what is beyond any target you fire upon, because you cannot assume a bullet will stop until it hits a reinforced brick wall or an earth berm. And of course, you need to be entirely certain of your target. There was a tragic case in Oregon recently where a young teen was shot by his brother when they were out target shooting, and the older brother shot at what he thought was an inanimate object, and turned out to be his brother. I know the EMT that had the unfortunate duty to respond to this accident onsite. While the tragically preventable nature of this goes without saying, it is worth mentioning to drive home the importance of this fourth rule.

So there you have it. I know I've probably mentioned the Big Four before on here but for those out there that may ever purchase or handle a firearm, it's good to remember these...assume its loaded, keep it pointed in a safe direction, keep your finger off the trigger, and be sure of your target.

That said, I can't speak highly enough of the shooting sports as recreational fun. Once safety rules are trained and ingrained, it is a lot less stressful than maybe I have given the impression of. A Ruger 10/22 makes a great plinker rifle with low recoil, minimal noise, and cheap cost of ammo...an easy recommendation for someone interested in a good target gun.

"Now take Berwhale the Avenger and go upstairs and wash your hands for lunch."

A Bit of Fry and Laurie seasons 3 and 4 are out!

In other news, there is a bit of melodrama surrounding my quest for a decent condition, shootable Lee Enfield No4. I bought one a while ago and found it to be sorely lacking. The headspace was dangerously out of spec, meaning the gun could cause severe injury to the shooter if a failure occured, and the metal finish was pretty nasty, composed mostly of a protective layer of rust. It looked like some poor Tommy on a troop ship to North Africa had accidentally dropped it over the side ("Whoopsies! Oh, Butterfingers!") and then they fished it out a half-century later.

But I gave it another shot, and this time I got a much, much better looking rifle. It is a 1943 No4MkI that was built at the Birmingham Small Arms factory (as in, BSA motorcycles), like my 1918 No1MkIII* model. It is gorgeous, with a very nice metal finish still, and a well fitted stock with a lustrous, beautiful boiled linseed oil finish. Only trouble? I had this one checked out as well, and guess what, mateys. Too much headspace! Luckily though this one has a bolt head clearly marked "0" which means it can be swapped out for a "1", "2", or "3" bolt head to decrease excess headspace. I have "1" and "2" bolt heads on order now. Once that is cleared up, I'm of the belief this will make an excellent mid-range precision rifle. Well, as excellent as a 65 year old war-horse is going to get...especially with me behind the sights.

I'm getting closer to converting my Saiga Fun-Machine (the magazine fed semi-auto 12-gauge shotgun built on a Kalashnikov pattern) to a pistol grip/folding stock layout. I have to say, I have some fun guns (the Kel-Tec PLR-16 springs to mind) but this shotgun is way too much fun to shoot. Extremely fast cycling and a nice balance. Not a gun for traditionalists and those used to the feel of a traditional shotgun, but it feels perfect to me. Here's about what I'm after:

I'm rooting for the underdog, now. Heretofore I had largely scoffed at the Republican presidential candidate Ron Paul, the dreamboat of angry libertarians, and considered him with sympathy but with realistic doubt. But now, reading more on his views, I figure if there is any time a pragmatic conservative can afford the luxury of rooting for the unwinnable ideal, it is a year before the primaries. So, I'm officially a Ron Paul backer. Here is the Wikipedia spiel about his views:

Ron Paul's political positions are largely in line with his stance as a libertarian. He claims to be a Constitutionalist and a non-interventionist. He is an advocate of free trade, fewer taxes, smaller government, and strong national sovereignty.

Paul supports reduced government spending and reduced taxes. As congressman, he has never voted to raise taxes or to approve an unbalanced budget and has also called for the abolishment of the Internal Revenue Service (IRS) and the federal income tax. Paul has been named "The Taxpayer's Best Friend" by the National Taxpayers Union every year he has been in Congress.

Paul also supports the U.S. converting to a free market health care system and increasing competition and thus opposes centralized universal health care. Paul is pro-life, yet most recently got a 65% pro-choice score from NARAL. Paul opposes "federal efforts to redefine marriage as something other than a union between one man and one woman" and has stated that he "would have voted for the Defense of Marriage Act" if he had been in Congress at the time." In addition, Paul has asserted that he does not think there should be any federal control over education and education should be handled at a local and state level. Paul opposes illegal immigration, voted "yes" on the Secure Fence Act of 2006, and opposes amnesty for illegal immigrants.

Paul supports a non-interventionist foreign policy and opposes foreign aid. He is the only 2008 Republican presidential candidate to have voted against the Iraq War Resolution in 2002. Paul voted for the Authorization for Use of Military Force which resulted in the War in Afghanistan in 2001, but suggested alternatives including giving the president authority to grant Letters of Marque and Reprisal.

I probably differ with him on foreign policy in some aspects, but I like his principled adherence to unpopular views. Hillary Clinton voted for the Iraq War and Ron Paul did not. How crazy is that?

Also, has anyone else noticed the bountiful presence of Ron Paul yard signs? It's only because it takes an angry libertarian nutjob to be riled up enough a year and a half before an election to put out a yard sign.

Last point on Ron Paul: I may be the only one that thinks this, but there is a somewhat porn-star like ring to the name. It may be "Ron", which makes me think of "Ron Burgundy", and it might be the first name for a last name. But definitely not as bookish or twerpy as "Newt". Newt used to be my front-runner but his personal history makes me trust him very, very little.

I watched "V for Vendetta" last night, motivated by its inclusion of the comic genius Stephen Fry, who managed not to ratchet up the gayness to Pride Parade level, thankfully. It was an OK movie, but a predictable "comic book" movie. The same cheesy action, dialogue, and stilted acting we expect from comic book movies. And it was quite silly with its over-reaching attempts to repaint "1984" in the context of the Patriot Act, basically manifesting itself as a typical leftist fantasy dreamworld. It had some interesting observations (don't quite remember them, tellingly) but all in all its parables would only have any meaning to those that already were predisposed to their message. So people who believe that Bill Kristol is coming in jackboots tomorrow to kick down the doors of loving, sweet, innocent gay people to cart them off to government camps to be terminated will find this movie to be a moving piece full of truth and wisdom, whereas to me, it's a fantasy designed to cater to activists with overactive imaginations. The final fight scene with the knives...pure dreamworld stuff. The idea that someone would absorb somewhere probably around 50+ full-powered pistol rounds in the torso, no matter with what sort of vest, and still be able to move at all (or even survive) is kind of laughable, and as the case showed the suspect was not stopped by shots to center mass, all trained policemen would know to retrain their aim on the head. The "Mozambique Drill" it is called, and it is commonly practiced: two to COM (center of mass) and one to the head. I know, I know, it's a comic book, and comic book heroes cannot be killed by bullets, they always fight in slow motion, and they die slowly in the arms of the heroine. Sorry, I shouldn't be so nitpicky.

Lastly, I was listening to some music this morning and I remembered the profound influence on me of the track "N.S.U." on the album "Live Cream". Not a great song persay, but as a bassist I remember the moment, listening to the track, that I kind of realized what it was about. Jack Bruce is awesome, and I had forgotten how awesome.

Trivia is dead!

That little chestnut of Neufish wisdom struck me as I was walking in the parking lot at lunch today. Seems like a brilliant little observation of mine. How privileged you must feel to be reading this blog. So of course I google the exact phrase "trivia is dead" and find no less than 1,390 hits online, of people making the same word for word observation a good deal sooner than I did. I think the first was Nietzsche...or wait, that was God. No, not God saying trivia is dead, Nietzsche saying God is dead. Or maybe trivia saying Nietzsche was dead. Anyway, I'm sure if I had a wordier phrase, such as "Google and Wikipedia have jointly forced the obsolescence of trivia as we know it", I could have googled it and found no hits, and laboured on for a few more precious seconds in the glorious yet much-mistaken appreciation and admiration of my own breathtaking genius and insight.

So, yes, there is no new thought under the sun, but that won't prevent me from jabbering on about this unoriginal insight. Google and Wikipedia have made trivia irrelevant and obsolete. A global body of knowledge is now shared and accessible, enormously dwarfing what any one man could know. Motorized transport changed walking and general manual transport from a necessary and normal facet of life into a recreational pastime, exercise, or sport, and even so now trivia is relegated to the Nerd-Squad units of high school academic teams (you can guess what I lettered in)(no, it wasn't football) and classic game shows that fewer and fewer people seem to watch as the attrition of life expectancy takes its toll on our elder generations.

The fastest runner in the world couldn't overtake me on a motorbike. Likewise, the walking brain vaults of trivia that haunt Alex Trebek's dreams could be handily defeated by a kid with a broadband connection, a laptop, and an even remotely passable ability to use search tools.

Don't forget to bring a towel!

(assumes Tennessee accent)


WE'RE DEBT FREE!


...except for the house!

The Common Thread of Jazz, Gin, and Scrambled Eggs

With a title like that it looks like I've dug myself in pretty deep. Should be some crazy fantastic writing to dig myself out of that hole.

Anyways, the Theme today is Things That You Don't Remember How Much You Like Until You Experience Them Again. Jazz is very much like that, a form of music that I find intellectually interesting but generally boring EXCEPT when I am either playing it or listening to it. I find myself avoiding the "low FM" jazz stations when perusing the radio, meekly consenting to be aurally assaulted by another overplayed rock anthem on KY/FOX, but on those times I put in my Hal Melia CD, queue up a Miles Davis MP3, or switch over to crappy low FM jazz stations, I think, wow, this is what I've been missing. You forget the appeal of jazz pretty swiftly after you listen to it. At least I do.

Likewise scrambled eggs. When you've got a freaking carton of eggs in the fridge that will soon go bad, they sound like a practical option of cheap protein that would otherwise be wasted, but not a terrifically appealing dinner. But with a sufficient amount of cracked black pepper and a fiery enough salsa, they aren't bad. Aren't exactly wonderful, so maybe a bad example.

Which brings me to my last example...Tanqueray Rangpur, a new bottling of the famous Tanqueray Gin. This variant is fairly interesting because of the new ingredients it utilises; bay leaves, ginger, and a fruit erroneously called "rangpur lime". The rangpur is a hybrid of mandarin orange and lemon from Asia that offers a lime like flavour and aroma. Tanqueray Rangpur is lower in alcohol than normal Tanqueray, and all in all, it has a very soft and pleasing palate that doesn't need to be buried in a tall glass of tonic water. I'm not an "on the rocks" guy with spirits, usually preferring them served neat at room temperature, but that doesn't extend to white spirits such as gin and vodka...this gin seems to be at its best, in my opinion, with no mixers, no lime juice, no bitters, just on the rocks. Anyway, my point is, it is one of those spirits that is quite complex and rewarding, like jazz. The aroma is subtle and balances the traditional botanicals (read: juniper, juniper, and more juniper) of a London Dry with some more complex elements. The idea of a "lime flavoured gin" could be off-putting to some people, burnt by the nasty flavoured vodkas that are all the rage now, but it should be stressed this is not the same sort of product, a distilled spirit that is then flavoured with additives...on the contrary, the flavourings are added at the traditional times, like the juniper and other botanicals, before the final distillation. So what is bottled is the pure distilled product (probably cut with water to bottle strength, naturally), not a quasi-liqueur made with a base spirit and flavourings. Enough about the process; I just wanted to illustrate that something that does not sound all that great on its face (gin straight up? not too many takers out there, am I right?) can be really surprising. If you are a fan of complex and interesting drinks, I'd recommend picking up a bottle, and pouring a couple ounces over an ice cube or two. Might surprise you, it did me!

Also the White Album. That ranks up there in albums that you start to think aren't as good as they actually are (and subsequently remember on next listening).

Now I'm listening to Paul McCartney in Wings. Yep, I'm captive to my computer...waiting for drives to finish defragging on my servers at work.

Dang it, music has gone downhill. The final outro to McCartney's "Rock Show" has the greatest piano/bass groove. Shame the poor sod is most well known for "Ebony and Ivory", "Silly Love Songs", "Let Em In", and Guns 'N Roses' visceral and grotesque butchering of "Live and Let Die". I would probably rate him as the best musician of the latter 20th Century, and no, it is not just because we Rickenbacker-wielding bassists stick together.

Maybe it is.

The Untimely Demise of "Farfour" - click for a video stream

Yes, the Jihadist Mickey Mouse was violently killed by the Interloping Jew for not selling his land. This would be a lot funnier if it wasn't so scary, that this is what kids are being taught over there. As it is, and it shouldn't be, it still is pretty dang funny.

Farfour was "martyred". A man in a low-rent Mickey Mouse suit squeaking in falsetto Arabic was "martyred" by a Jew. What will the Evil Zionist Oppressor do next? Bulldoze Goofy's doghouse? This shouldn't be funny, I know. It is sad and disturbing. But I'll call it sad, disturbing, and yet funny all the same.

The Unfortunately Necessary Disclaimer for the Irony-Deficient
The following post, like many others of this blog, contains frequent use of a semi-humourous and patently hostile tone with some similarities to the personality of Eric Cartman. Those who are incapable of discerning a mocking, frivolous tone would be advised to seek out alternative reading material, such as the Wikipedia entry on NAFTA. Those who are prone to taking offence would be advised to consult their health insurance representative to determine whether a pine-cone-up-butt-ectomy is covered by their insurance plan.

Georgia Can Stuff a Peach Where the Sun Generally Declines to Radiate

So I spent all of yesterday in Atlanta, Georgia. Got up at 3 sodding AM in the morning, got on a plane that left at 6, and I managed to make it to the convention center around 10:30. Had a boring and fruitless cruise of the competitors' booths, and then had a fruitful and helpful lunch meeting with a software developer and business partner of ours (at a food court, no less). Very nice guy, and it is great to be working with him, so that puts a blemish on an otherwise uniformly rotten day.

Got back to the airport at 4 in the afternoon. Cripes! Not to interrupt my own thought, but my bally ears just popped. Right now. Tuesday afternoon. I really hate flying! But as I was saying, I spent the next, oh, say, 7+ hours at the airport as my flight was incrementally delayed hour by hour. Got home finally at 2AM, meaning the previous 23 hours were all consumed with travel. One more hour and I'd have been awake and on work business for 24 hours straight.

Now on to Atlanta. Or, Craplanta as it will now be known. Perhaps Asslanta if it doesn't offend too many people. Because if New Jersey is the Armpit of America, At-arsing-lanta is the Butthole. It is freaking hot there all the time, they do not believe in air conditioning apparently. It wasn't even that hot outside, but inside the airport and convention center, it was freaking hot.

The hostility I developed towards Craplanta probably had something to do with being marooned there, homesick, missing my wife, and worried that I was going to have my flight canceled while my contact lenses slowly dried up into shriveled little irritants on my corneas. I've heard Craplanta is a “beautiful city”. I suppose if you are comparing one stinking manmade heap of concrete and steel to another stinking manmade heap of concrete and steel, Craplanta is not as big of a festering, pustular eyesore as some. But I just see very little beautiful about most cities, as a personal preference. The simplest and poorest little acre of woods in the country is typically so much more aesthetically appealing than these gargantuan monuments of human tastelessness packed to the brim with churning masses of angry, sweaty pedestrians and reckless, dangerous cab drivers. No thank you! Keep your annoyingly pretentious museums of modern art, keep your music halls, keep your overpriced hipster restaurants, keep your dingy streets, keep your bums, keep your “nightlife”, keep your traffic and its ceaselessly raging din, and just keep your cities. It certainly isn't as cool to do so, but I prefer the country. Good Lord, it makes me seem like one of those shallow materialistic ignorant-drone types (Ed., for sarcasm-blind readers, please note mocking, sarcastic tone) to even suggest this, but I even prefer suburbia.

So, Craplanta, if we had met on better terms and circumstances perhaps I would not be so resentful, but if a man is marooned from his home on even the most utopian paradise of an island, it still will be but a stinking boil on the face of the ocean, compared with his own land. Kansas City, I could kiss you!

Iran's Speedboat-based "Swarm" Naval Tactic

I found this interesting; the Iranians are placing their bets on the ability to "swarm" a larger vessel by deploying large quantities of small speedboats to simultaneously attack larger naval vessels.

Except for some misgivings I have about their use of anti-ship missiles (such as Exocet and others), I think this is a very flawed strategy on the Iranians' part. Torpedo boats were effective in this sort of sense 60 years ago, but nowadays with quality radar available, I can't see that these boats could get within a close enough range to pose any serious threat before being sent to the chilly depths of the sea.

If I were in the Captain's Chair at the Pentagon, this is how I would address this tactic. Develop a naval variant of the AH-64 Longbow Apache. This chopper was designed for tank hunting with the threat of a horde of T-72s pouring across the Iron Curtain into Western Europe. Why not get some use out of it now? An anti-tank helicopter would be ideally suited for "speedboat hunting", with a 30mm cannon, Hellfire guided missiles, and armor against small arms fire. Call it "The Fisherman".

The Iranians have a nice idea in theory, but I doubt it would be successful. Coordination would be too difficult, and it would probably end up being a kamikaze attack, except boats aren't fast enough to pull that off.

The NeufTown Entertainment Review

So, as you expected, I'm not going to blog about high ideals, political ideology, theological or moral concepts, or the great questions and challenges facing our nation and mankind. No! I'm going to blog about recent bits of entertainment that I found suitably amusing...sort of a “Neufertainment Tonight” but in blog format.

First off, Shakespeare in the Park, or "Free Will". We went for the first time last year, to see "Henry V", which is probably my favourite of his works (how can you not love a play that climaxes with plucky, outnumbered English infantry kicking the living snot out of a horde of arrogant French chivalric knights?). This year it was the McDonald's of Shakespeare, the Bud Lite of Shakespeare, the Velveeta of Shakespeare: Romeo and Juliet. We went last night, and it was actually quite good! A bit of a downer in the second half, you might be surprised to hear. But the gentleman who played Romeo was the same guy who played Henry/Harry last year...a role in which he was eminently more likable. Romeo is just an annoying character, a melodramatic teenager with rich parents that would have been better off getting a job, than spending all his days pining, wailing, and gnashing his teeth over whatever female his hormones happen to be targeting at the moment. As my wife points out, he's rather like Wodehouse's “Bingo Little” character, an interminably shifting character apt to profess the most extreme undying, woeful, and unrequited loves for a girl, only to turn on a dime and do likewise for the next thing to cross his path sans a Y chromosome. I rather liked Bingo, because at least he was cheery and we weren't supposed to identify with him, we were supposed to laugh at Bertie's exasperation at dealing with such a vacillating, emotional fellow. I suppose that is Mercutio's role? Speaking of, good lord, you never quite “get” how bawdy these plays are until you see them. Somehow when a lecherous, drunken character delivers a line (to roaring laughter) complete with hip thrusts, it puts a bit more of an off-colour nature to some of the lines!

On to more specialized (read: less interesting/appealing) bits o' entertainment. First off, and I've been meaning to write copious praise and adulation of this film for several weeks, but the film “Zulu” has skyrocketed to being one of my all-time favourites. It is based in South Africa in 1879, and chronicles the incredible and unlikely defence at the Battle of Rorke's Drift, following on the heels of the tremendous Zulu victory/British defeat at Isandlhwana. This particular film is a thousand times better than the later “Zulu Dawn”. It is silly how many times I have watched this film in the past couple months.

Thomas Pakenham's “The Boer War” is a good volume for history buffs. I've taken a tremendously long time reading it, because I keep it at work and take about 10 minutes at most to read it, on the occasion that I am eating in the lunch room. So it has been a while. It is exhaustive, and quite easy to lose track of names and places, but it remains a very interesting history that puts much-needed context behind my introduction to the Second Boer War, which was the movie “Breaker Morant”.

Anybody have a Martini-Henry taking up space in their attic? I've got $20 and I'll gladly take it off your hands!

Well, it was worth a shot.

Oh, and I found out that the Lee-Enfield No4MkI that I purchased (WWII British rifle) is unsafe to fire. It has an extreme headspace issue, meaning it has too much space between the bolt face and the chambered cartridge when the bolt is closed, which can cause ruptured cases and general bad things for any human faces that might be right there in close proximity to the bolt (such as the face belonging to the individual aiming and firing the rifle). The wonderful historical value notwithstanding, I don't wish to have a bolt implanted into my eye socket, that would just be a bad day. After informing them what my gunsmith told me, the swines that sold it to me insisted it was safe, and that all Lee Enfields were like this. I did my homework, and they were very, very wrong. They offered to take it back, but I decided against it for the following reasons:

1. I would have paid for the rifle ($130), shipping ($15), FFL transfer fee ($25), gunsmith safety check ($25), and return shipping ($15+), and the only thing I would get in return is the rifle cost; I'd have to just eat the rest.

2. I have sort of an adoptive spirit with these guns...even if unsafe as a shooter, they are great pieces of history for a collector, and I felt somewhat attached to this poor, sick rifle.

3. Having this rifle unmodified would give me a standard, stock No4 for collection purposes (I was planning on mounting a scope and using it as a precision rifle).

4. If I returned it, they would just sell it to someone else since they refused to acknowledge there was a problem. I don't want someone blowing their head off with this gun; at least it is safe with me as I know not to shoot it.

There you are, I've justified not returning it. It'll just go into retirement, like a war horse retiring in its later years to green pastures.

GOTCHA

Edwin R. Hall, 26, from Olathe, KS

Hats off to the police for catching this sorry bugger so quickly. We'll see if federal charges ensue.

Do You Know This Scumbag?

Wanted for questioning involving the Kelsey Smith case in Kansas City. He's not officially a suspect yet, but from initial evidence he exhibits suspicious behavior, and he has not come forward yet to turn himself in (unlikely he could still be unaware he is wanted by this time).

Rushed judgments are a poor idea on the battlefield, and an even poorer idea in civilian justice, but if ever there were a proper candidate for Rule Three-Oh-Three, this may indeed be him.


Got a box with your (as yet unknown, but give us time) name on it, buddy!

In more practical terms, if you know this at-best-stupid-prat-at-worst-evil-monster, call the TIPS hotline, 816-474-TIPS (8477).

I am spoiled bloody rotten.

Seriously, I am. Outpourings of benevolent generosity from familial relations on the occasion of my at-long-last graduation have been greatly appreciated, and if you, gentle reader, are one of said familial relations let me apologise for the unforgivable tardiness of a forthcoming note to you of thanks and appreciation.

If you've been following my blog of late, you will have no doubt what I just blew most of this money on.

First off, after a year of waiting, and after 9 months being on a waiting list, I finally purchased the new Kel-Tec PF-9. The handgun of choice for midgets, hobbits, and leprechauns. Now, I know the P3-AT is smaller, but this is a full-power 9x19mm Parabellum cartridge, not the lighter, smaller .380 ACP. I tell you, this is a tiny, tiny pistol. I've got four boxes of ammunition to feed it tomorrow, as my wife (who has taken a keen liking to the dimunitive PF-9) and I venture down to sunny Morgan County, Missouri to visit her parents on a "Guncation".

And next week, once I acquire my second transfer permit from the illustrious and inimitable Sheriff of Jackson County, I'll be back up to Denny's Guns in NKC to pick up a P3-AT, the supremely tiny pocket pistol from Kel-Tec.

And that's not all! I have ordered a 1940s British Lee Enfield SMLE No4Mk1 bolt action military surplus rifle, in .303 British. I'm praying for a nice shiny bore with crisp rifling, and I have a Bushnell 3-9x 40mm variable power scope to mount on it, for some accurate target shooting. I've wanted a No4 for a long time, to round out my Enfield collection (or rather to start it, as I only have one other Enfield, a No1MkIII), so this gives me a chance to 1.) get a good scoped rifle for target practice 2.) own another Enfield because they are so dang cool and 3.) have another milsurp project that will no doubt leave me covered in cosmolene and Hoppes No9.

I've blown my quota for one gun a year wide, wide open. Two (three if you include a gift) last year, and four this year (Saiga 12-gauge, PF-9, P3-AT, Enfield No4). I'm going to slow down, because if I keep acquiring guns I both will not have space to store them, and will not be able to afford to feed them all ammo.

Yep, this is as deep as I'm going in this post. You know, the kind of intellectually stimulating drivel you all know, love, and expect. Cheers all!

There's a particulary smelly bit of comedy in the global-enviro-green-eco-warming movement this week, that Drudge readers will no doubt already be aware of:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/6583067.stm

Essentially, noted climatologist and ecological scientist Sheryl Crow proposes "a limitation be put on how many squares of toilet paper can be used in any one sitting." She stipulates "only one square per restroom visit, except, of course, on those pesky occasions where two to three could be required."

Confound those pesky occasions! Two or three squares might indeed be required, in such a rare pesky occasion!

The Rosie responded with uncharacteristic wit and characteristic candor/grossness:

http://www.tmz.com/2007/04/23/rosie-to-sheryl-crow-have-you-seen-my-ass

I'll let you read that for yourself. I'm definitely no fan of the Rosie but even she can sometimes recognize idiocy when she sees it. Which brings me to my proposition. If Sheryl Crow wants us to, err, wipe out global warming by establishing a legal limitation to TP usage, we must establish how much toilet paper is acceptable. This is the procedure:

1. Feed the Rosie large platters of extra spicy jambalaya, red beans and rice, and andouille sausage, all dosed with unseemly amounts of cayenne or Tabasco.
2. Invite Ms. Crow over the following day.
3. Ask Ms. Crow to personally attend to the...personal sanitation...of the Rosie.
4. Count the number of squares of paper used. This would now be the legal limitation.

Sorry for not posting lately, noble blogreading loyallists.

I was going to post on getting my Saiga last week...which, I'll afford this much, is way cool...but it might seem a tad insensitive at the moment.

But let's get the topics of levity on the table and out of the way. I've rediscovered an appreciation for radio. Not talk radio, mind you, actual music radio. I had long chalked it up as broadcasted bile, but there are three particular programs that o'erflow with excellence. Yes, I am of course referring to "Funk in the Trunk", "Saturday Night Groove Party", and "Nights with Alice Cooper". The two former are on 107.3, which...how can I put this delicately...is a Radio Station of Colour. Which is how I like my radio stations. Seriously, if you're going with pop music, I'm defecting. My urban brothers have it going on in the music department.

And Alice, he has two things in his favour. Firstly, he is a genuinely funny guy. I feel like this is one of those statements that will be vigorously contested by sundry persons, but there, I said it, he amuses me greatly. Secondly, the man knows rock music. He was there. And he plays rock music. He doesn't just queue up the same inane hits we've been tired of for decades now, he plays ALBUM ROCK. He plays songs that haven't been on the radio for years (if ever). And I haven't heard him (yet) play any 80s spandex rock. Other than some of the accepted ones, like Van Halen and the Oz.

On to more serious topics. Yesterday was a rather horrific day to watch the news. What a terrible tragedy. You know, that sounds a bit fake, doesn't it? At least to me...its one of those cookie-cutter statements everyone makes in these times...I'll be a bit more genuine, and just say, what a damn shame.

Lesson Number One. This is not meant as a criticism of any of the victims, so please do not interpret it as such; it is an exhortation that maybe some people will learn from this. If you are being lined up against a wall by a man with a gun that is not a police officer, you are likely dead. With that accepted, you now have a choice: how do you want to die? Running, fighting, or on your knees in a line? Please, please, people, be ready to pick one of the first two choices. And I do mean be ready, because it is a mindset issue. If you are not mentally prepared, you will be frozen in shock. I mean no contempt at all for the poor victims, and who knows, there may have been some heroism involved that we will learn about later, but it is so tragic that these students (if the reports are true) meekly submitted to being martyrs of this man's indiscriminate, random insanity. Be ready to react. I'm not necessarily talking about armed response, but be ready to meet this sort of thing with a violent, rapid, determined escape. Tooth and claw.

Lesson Number Two. "Gun free zones" would be a punchline to a joke if it wasn't so tragic. As another person put it, they are essentially "human hunting preserves", or "no-risk crime zones". People will not learn from this though. They will simply call for more "gun free zones" like Virginia Tech, basically expanding the safe base of operations for people who want to kill as many unarmed people as possible before being accosted. Murderers do not turn around and leave if they see a "no guns permitted" sign. It is a freaking welcome mat for them, essentially a
"no armed citizens in here, come on in, crazy person, and enjoy your risk-free murder spree!" sign.

Lesson Number Three. Stalin got it wrong, with the "single death is a tragedy, a million deaths is a statistic" line. In this case it seems a bit of the reverse. I looked up the US murder rate, filtered it to include only murders committed with guns, and in 2004 (last year I found data on) there was, on average, 30 murders by gun every day in the United States. Meaning, the same amount of people murdered at VA Tech yesterday will be murdered today. And likewise tomorrow. And the next day. On and on it goes, and when they are spread evenly across the nation, no one notices. But confine them to a square mile or so, and it is an unthinkable tragedy. I'm not saying it isn't an unthinkable tragedy. I'm just pointing out an interesting thing about our psychology. It is more the circumstances of the deaths yesterday that bothered us, not the number, because as mentioned, that many people are shot and killed almost daily. OK, so this isn't so much a "Lesson" but I am just keeping with the whole Lesson Number 1-2-3 theme. Give me a break.

Lesson Number Four. Despite the lack of any logical link or reasoning that further laws regarding guns will somehow make these things impossible, now is the time to buy your Glock 20-rounders to get them grandfathered in.

Lesson Number Five. Clips and magazines are NOT interchangeable. Examples of clips include stripper clips that hold rifle rounds for top-loading rifles like the Russian SKS, or moon clips that hold rimless rounds for revolvers. Magazines are the long boxes that hold stacked ammunition for auto-loading pistols and rifles. If you are a reporter and you erroneously refer to magazines as clips on the air, expect me to yell ineffectually at the TV. You have been warned.

Lesson Number Six. Any radio station that has the cojones to name their drive-home-from-work show "Funk in the Trunk" is A-OK with me.

Pardon my schoolgirl giddiness.

But I've been frenetically tracking a certain UPS shipment, originating from a dealer in Pennsylvania and destined for my trusty local FFL. It should arrive tomorrow, and I'm a bit miffed that I have to go straight on to school afterwards. Ummm yeah we'll see. But as to what it is:

SAIGA 12. Russia's finest, made in Izhevsk: the finest armory in the Soviet bloc, known for its Mosin Nagant rifles used in the Great Patriotic War as well as for being the birthplace of the Avtomat Kalashnikova (AK-47). So the Saiga 12-gauge is a semi-automatic, gas-operated shotgun using what is essentially the Kalashnikov system, a very durable and reliable piston based action. This will be a fun gun to shoot! Buckshot, birdshot, slugs...woowee! I know this is silly...but I may have to buy a watermelon just to see what a 1oz slug or 00 Buck would do to it.

I haven't posted any more drivel on here in a while, mainly because I've been slammed at work. "What a shame", you say. Lives put on standby, the eager masses were ceaselessly quaking with anticipation for the next masterful blog entry, I'm certain! Be that as it may, I cannot keep pace with keeping the incalculably large readership of this blog satisfied, and so you'll have to satiate your frenzied thirst for Neufish wisdom with the occasional half-hearted post on the latest silly hobby with which I've distracted myself.

My inner Englishman has made a bit of a leap. I grilled steaks last night! No, I didn't broil, braise, boil, or bake them, I grilled them, over charcoal. I know the Brit reputation for meat preparation is pretty low, but man, that steak was good. I thought about how viciously anti-green my cooking was last night, as I poured fossil fuel into my grill and lit it up, expelling vast quantities of sweet-smelling carbon dioxide into our fragile atmosphere. Al Gore can go suck an organic egg. But yeah, all hail the well charred Kansas City strip cooked over charcoal and mesquite chunks. I think peer pressure kicked in from the homebrew forums...brewers tend to be cooks, and these guys were all about good meat cooked very well. So for the moment, I'm giving meat pies and stir fries a hiatus and I'll be concentrating on honing my grilling skills. Or at least getting them up to that of the average American male...its kind of sad being a cook but not knowing how to grill properly.

And with that incredibly worthwhile paragraph I'll conclude now. Be still, breathless blogreaders, and await the next disposition of Neufish grace.

VH2 Presents
Behind the Pants: The Story of FLASHPANTS

Flashpants. The very sound of the word conjures up visceral images of the heady days of arena rock, the boisterous era of glamrock and heavy metal. It embodies the glitz and glory of those early years with a fusion of power, grace, and allure that has never been equalled or challenged by any other Scottish metal band here in the Cleveland metropolitan area. Tonight we examine the myth, the legend, the history of this seminal and influential ensemble of top rate musicians. We see them at their most glamourous as they dominate the stage, but we also go behind the scenes to examine up close and personal the horrific demons they faced as a band, and how they were able to conquer them.

It was in 1981 in the dingy urban core of Glasgow that Nigel Van Neuffison had a chance meeting with Dugald McCormick. Nigel, a promising young musician studying the ukelele at the local university, had been intrigued by the previous decade of guitar rock that had emanated from their English neighbors to the south.

Nigel Van Neuffison

Nigel Van Neuffison: Hawaiian music was my first love, admittedly. I've never quite given up on it, I always retreat to it, kind of a happy little oasis in a raging sandstorm of rock. So in a way I'm a something of a dromedary camel. And FLASHPANTS is the little Arabian fellow that I carry around on my back. So
sometimes it was nice to strum my ukelele under the palms at the oasis, but other times it was great to carry me little Arabian mate out into the endless dunes of heavy metal.

Dugald, a prize-winning Alpine yodelling champion, was working as an apprentice at a local toy shoppe, and made his paltry earnings glueing the beards onto imported Chinese nutcracker dolls.

Dugald McCormick

Dugald McCormick: Well, the toy shoppe was quite formative for me...it was my life at the time! Several of the songs I wrote were inspired by it. For example, "Nutcrackers and Ballbreakers", that was mostly drawn from my toy
shoppe days. Mostly.

They met to discuss their joint musical vision in a local watering hole outside the city limits. Dugald had actually meant that they meet in the local pub, but Nigel, always the literalist, assumed he meant a real watering hole, so they sat in a meadow near a large metal water trough discussing their goals. Soon enough the local farmer chased them off with a blunderbuss, but not before Dugald had convinced Nigel to abandon his dreams of stardom on the Hawaiian music circuit and unite to conquer the world of rock. Soon after, Angus MacPhadden, the son of the noted botanist and art critic Adolphus MacPhadden, responded to an advert in the local paper to audition for the budding group, known at that time as "The Enchanted Visigoths". His skilled bass guitar chops as well as his thorough knowledge of the entire Barbra Streisand catalog were quickly noticed by Nigel and Dugald, and he was swiftly hired on as bassist. He had auditioned to play hammered dulcimer, and it is significant to note that his failure to gain that position would become a wellspring of intense bitterness and resentment in the years to come.

Angus MacPhadden

Angus MacPhadden: When I firs' met the other lads, I thought to meself, oy, here's a right pair of manky gollywobbler nancies! But I got over that, and we got on like ol' wockety chums from the bally harper brineys! Methinks, crikey!
Wot, ho, spiffy!

And yet one more piece of the puzzle was requisite to complete the picture. The group auditioned for a drummer with little success, as all the talented percussionists were being snapped up by bagpipe ensembles. However, when the three members were returning from performing for a traditional Hawaiian Bar Mitzvah in the highlands, they found a curious man loping along the side of the road. His name was Quentin Walpole. He adamantly claimed to be a retired Army colonel who had fought the Nazis in the Ardennes in 1944 despite his being visibly under the age of 20. While the rest of the band seemed content to dump the confused young vagrant at the next petrol stop, Angus took a liking to him and took him home as a sort of adopted pet.

Quentin Walpole

Quentin Walpole: Right, Angus is me mate. Good lad there, solid backbone, heart of gold. The sort of lad that you'd want in your foxhole when the Gerries would come over the ridge. Salt of the earth.

Angus taught Quentin the ins and outs of rock drumming and soon Quentin was revered widely for his percussion prowess. He was courted by the likes of Pete Townshend and Elton John for studio work, but his loyalty to Angus was unquenchable. Nigel and Dugald were amazed at his improvement and quickly moved to accept him into the band. A new name was thought to be appropriate, and though no one truly recalls whose idea it was, the name FLASHPANTS was immediately accepted.

Nigel Van Neuffison: Well, Flashpants sort of encompasses all that we are, really. We've got the flash, you have to admit. With the noted exception of
Henry Kissinger, can you think of anyone flashier than us? And as far as pants
are concerned, we all are very keen wearers of pants. Except for Dugald...he
tends to wear kilts. It became a bit of a problem in the early years, when he
would go...well...unencumbered. We had to remove high kicks from his repertoire
of stage antics in the interest of public decency.

After recieving some atrociously bad financial advice and signing an aggressively high-interest mortgage on a llama ranch in Naples, the band decided to move to Cleveland, Ohio for tax shelter purposes. There they found their niche and began a steadily rising phenomenom on the local scene. Soon the streets were abuzz with the word "FLASHPANTS". They released their first album, "Not Another Flash In The Pants" in 1982. Unfortunately Nigel, who authored a majority of the songs, had unwittingly rewritten a half-dozen AC/DC songs with only very minor changes, for example, "For Those About To Flash" and "Thunderskunk". The resulting legal setbacks hampered their financial success but their popularity grew despite the bad publicity.

Angus MacPhadden: Those were the good years, says me wop-haired dingo
bat knockwally! All day long the squiffy'd be chiming like a knobby-kneed wimshaw, mate!

Dugald McCormick: Aye, inn't that the truth!

The band's second album, "Back In A FLASHPANTS", was released in 1982 to tepid critical reception. It was around this period under the growing stress of touring the Cleveland club circuit that Quentin, feeling overlooked and overworked, turned to croquet. His first games took place over the summer at various lawn parties in the suburbs.

Nigel Van Neuffison: Well, it was about that time...I think Quentin just felt a bit outside the circle, right, and a bit lonesome. Croquet was innocent
at first, we all experimented with it, just a bit o' fun. I don't think any of
us had any idea what it was capable of. We don't often speak of it these
days.

Dugald even gave Quentin a travel croquet set as gift, hoping to reach out to their disillusioned drummer. It was a move that he would regret for years to come. A seed had been planted that would bear the fruit of tragedy. In 1984 the band released their third album, which was erroneously labelled "FLASHPANTS XII" due to the band's failure to properly comprehend the Roman numeral system. The haunting ukelele-driven ballad "Smell The Worcestershire" was a big hit locally and gained considerable airplay despite its condiment-inspired lyrics. It was at this point that in a dramatic misunderstanding they hired Don King as their band manager. He and the band quickly agreed to part ways after a tragic incident in which Nigel was given a concussion in a boxing ring. Ever since that time he has found it difficult to say the word "cheadle" which unfortunately meant that he could never, ever again sing the backing vocals to "Another One Flashes The Pants".

Dugald McCormick: You've done got it this time, Nig'.

Nigel Van Neuffison: (singing into studio mic): We're gonna take
you to Cheady...choddle...chuddy...chhh...chhh...oh BOLLOCKS!

Also in 1984, they released their first and only Christmas album, "FLASHPANTS For The Holidays", which was panned viciously by the critics and largely ignored by fans. Although mostly a collection of heavy metal interpretations of Christmas classics, it had one original composition, a disturbingly lewd number entitled "Pull On A Warm Pair Of Festive FLASHPANTS".

Quentin Walpole: I think a great many people misunderstood our Christmas album. It was chock full of holiday cheer, packed to the brim. I mean, honestly,who says whips and leather can't be cheery?

The next year things started to go awry. Quentin's growing obsession with croquet had started to concern the band. His every waking moment was spent in pursuit of croquet...when he couldn't play, he drew diagrams of croquet fields, plotted croquet strategies, and even wrote a book entitled "Quentin's Winning Croquet Methodologies". It was never published. Finally, the band members' growing concerns culminated when Quentin showed up for a gig wearing nothing but a suit woven entirely of croquet hoops. It was the last straw. With great sadness, Angus checked Quentin into the obscure sports wing of Ohio's preeminent substance abuse clinic.

Angus MacPhadden: Aye, twas a great pity. I'd never been more down on the crock, if you follow, than when the chogged-up pommy wagged the starboard hives, by Saint Mary! Twas a pity, truly.

The band members recognized they could never replace Quentin, and they decided to go ahead and finish the rest of the record in progress with a drum machine. The resultant album, "Flash Flood", was universally dismissed as utter tripe.

Dugald McCormick: I found the reviews in 85 to be a bit cruel. Tripe I could handle, it was a bit harsh, but fair. Once we were called "audible cancer", that smarted a bit but turned out to be a smashing title for our boxed set. But when the critics started to publicly burn effigies, we knew it was time to do a bit of self-reflection.

The band, despondent at the loss of their drummer and their success, officially called it quits in January 1986.

Nigel Van Neuffison: Well, naturally, I wouldn't want Quentin to think that the downfall of the band was his fault. It would be unfair for me to say that no one else contributed to it, and that if he hadn't had that stupid little
obsession with lawn darts or whatever it was we'd all be very rich and popular
still. I don't think I'd want him to think that he is responsible for all that,
no, that just wouldn't be very fair.

After the breakup, Dugald went back to Glasgow to humbly ask for his job back at the toy shoppe. Unfortunately the shopmaster had found a new apprentice as well as a Chinese supplier of pre-bearded nutcrackers, so Dugald went into commercial real estate, and was quite successful in procuring lots for strip-mining. Nigel fulfilled his life-long dream in releasing the solo album "Odes To Maggie", a collection of traditional Hawaiian love songs dedicated to Margaret Thatcher. Angus, being free to pursue his own musical ambitions, formed the group "The New Visigoths" in which he played lead dulcimer. They released one album, "Advanced Metallurgy", had a brief chart hit with their remix of "The Way We Were", and subsequently disbanded. He went on to become a Daoist accountant. Quentin, meanwhile, slowly came to grips with his addiction, and began the healing process. In 1992 he suffered a relapse when he took up crochet, which turned out to sound too much like "croquet" for Quentin to be able to handle. However, after a few more years of therapy, Quentin was released, 100% croquet free, in 1997.

My proposed new Mac vs. PC advert:

[In walk a middle-aged businessman in a shirt and tie and a sloppily dressed "creative-type"]

Businessman: I'm a PC...

Creative-Type: and I'm a Mac. [broad, simpleton grin]

PC: Well, Mac, how was your day?

Mac: Oh, PC, it was so cool! I made a collage in iPhoto!

PC: Aw, that's really good, there Mac! Very...abstract.

Mac: It's an elephant. With wings!

PC: I see!

Mac: It would have been more fun if you had been here, PC.

PC: I'm sorry, Mac, I was at work. Someone has to pay the bills you know...how about I help you with your colouring books tonight?

Mac: Wow, terrific! And maybe I can help you with your...umm...netbook...defibrilation?

PC: You mean network administration? Sure thing buddy. I'll even let you do the ping requests!

Mac: [claps excitedly] PING! PING! PING!

PC: Great job buddy! Now let's go get that colouring book. You get started, I'll go do some management of the company CRM infrastructure.

Mac: [walking off to find his crayons] PING! PING! PING!

This is a caption from a silly article on global warming:

"At a protest near the U.S. embassy in London in November 2006 asking world leaders to act urgently to cap global warming at 2^oC or less."

OK, does anyone else consider this as ludicrous as I do? Asking politicians to act to set a cap on global warming at no more than 2 degrees Centigrade? What are they going to do, pass a law? The Earth then is contractually bound to keep it global warming below that "cap"? Otherwise, I tell you what, we'll sue the Earth's pants off. We passed a LAW! Suck on that, Sitwell!

I know what they are saying. Act now, sign Kyoto, install a catalytic converter on Al Gore's mouth, and somehow magically that will cap the warming to 2 degrees. I get it. But it is so, so dumb. Why are these silly sods so wrapped up in the belief that government will save them? I mean, even taking all the religious tenets of the Church of Warmingism for granted, still, the idea that some law, even adherence to that law, will "cap" warming is silly.

Moving on!

I just outted myself as a firearms enthusiast (we prefer that to the pejorative "gun legume") to a University English writing class...well, perhaps I didn't come out and say as much, but when a guy starts answering technical questions posed by the professor ("who invented the AK-47?"), and starts nitpicking technical details central to his argument that the AK-47 is evil whereas somehow bolt-action rifles are good, you're marked. Oh well! Let them dismiss the shooting sports, leaves more ammunition for me!

Not to delve into the delights of analyzing hippie Christian movements, but sometimes, upon reflecting on the vast waves of postmodern horsedump relentlessly pounding away at the shores of reason, I can understand the sentiment behind Cartman's prayer to the Sea People:

"Only three more hours, sea people. Only three more hours and you can take me away from this crappy goddamn planet full of hippies."

It is sad and silly how much I love guns. I was gazing lovingly at my Mauser 24/47 and realized I have the same silly fondness for these machines of accurized lead projection that I used to have moreso for my guitars. Men and their toys, I guess.

But throwing deep introspection and all that to the wind, let's dive right in the shallow end...I went to the range on Saturday and got to shot my little Yugoslavian arm cannon. I was using Greek surplus ammo, 180gr FMJ, non-corrosive primers. It was an accurate little SOB, despite the freaking cold harming my ability to shoot and the horrendously designed sights. Now...full disclosure...I'm not an experienced rifle shooter. So it pains me a bit to say it, but I started out at only 60 feet. That's 20 yards...pistol range, really. But at 60 feet I was getting 1" groups, and most people would be hardpressed to even see a 1" group at 60 feet. I'll try longer range shooting once I get out in warmer weather again. I really need a scope to do that sort of shooting, and that would necessitate a different gun. Maybe a Mosin Nagant...they are cheap enough! A good set of modern optics on a Mosin M91/30 would satisfy my nerdy military surplus obsession while also giving me a "reach out and touch someone" sort of rifle. Ahhh, what fun.

I am so sick of this global warming garbage. It is BS.

I'm not going to play scientist and start citing figures...there are enough actual scientists who do that on both sides, not to mention scores of ignorant propogandists who pretend they know what they are talking about. The large amounts of evidence refuting the mainstream theory of global warming are out there, no need for me to regurgitate them to you.

But on this issue of consensus. This is what drives me nuts! They say "the debate is over" because a CONSENSUS of scientists agree on something. What is scientific about that? What is this, science by democracy? Everyone gets a vote and majority rules?

Our history is full of scientific consensus. Science has historically been the story of skeptics in the minority challenging the conventional wisdom, or consensus, with new ideas, testing them, and proving them. We didn't take a vote on whether the world was round. Even if we had done so, a majority of scientists voting for "flat" does not change anything...the Earth is still round.

And furthermore, how do the science guys like this one...a majority of people on the Earth believe in the existence of God. So that makes the existence of God a "consensus", and atheists are deniers that should be expelled from public debate. They were probably bought off by Big Oil! Those batty atheists.

Consensus means nothing, affects nothing, does nothing. We don't care about consensus in science any more than people care about consensus in the existence of God. It's just irrelevant! In science, truth matters. Not polling of opinion.

Anticipating some responses, people will say that my opinion doesn't count since I am not a "scientist". Kind of a silly position to take with Algore at the head of the global warming army.

Yes, I'm a skeptic, a denier, a dissident. Unfortunately this does not give me the same orgiastic gratification that it gives the left wing nutters, who pee their pants with glee when they hear the word "dissent".

Here's a good article:

http://www.canadafreepress.com/2007/global-warming020507.htm