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

OK, just a brief quote...basically I was doing the wikipedia crawl thing and I came on Mark Driscoll's page. From the previous page I was under the impression that he was an Emergie bigwig, which apparently is no longer the case, judging from this attributed quote:

"The Emerging Church movement is a bunch of disgruntled liberal evangelicals who gather together to complain about the megachurches of their parents."

I'm sorry, but that just gave me a little chuckle there. Cheers, right-wing orthodox cranks and hippie emergie nutters alike! Eb-oh-nee...and ahhhh-vo-ree...living in perfect har-mo-neeeee....

Now I don't want you to start doubting the existence of universal order and all that, but I'm about to do the unthinkable...blog about sports.

Yeah, the American sport (there is only one, after all) has ensnared me. The Bears v Saints game was a bit disappointing, as I was rooting for the Saints despite their unrepentant and unbridled Frenchitude, but the Bears, well I'm happy they won. I like the Bears...something very 1960s about them, very "old time football team"...not like the flashy franchises that came later, they just have a simple mascot and they are a simple, respectable team with a lot of history. Go Bears!

I only caught the tail end of the other game...but it was the best part, seeing the final bit of the comeback as the Colts inched slightly over the Patriots. I really didn't want the Patriots to win...perhaps they just seem like a bunch of Northeastern blue-bloods. Peyton Manning (who I must interject looks uncannily like an overgrown baby) is actually pretty well-known for a modern quarterback...it seems like the QBs aren't quite the celebrities they used to be back in the Joe Montana days. That guy was a legend. Then he came to KC, but he left his game in San Francisco.

So yeah, I like the Colts and Bears...it'll be a good matchup, and I'll be pleased either way, though I'm rooting for the Bears!

It is funny, I have to admit, to witness myself try to write about sports. I know so little about it. It would be like if I started to write about cars. "Yeah, the camshaft has a sprunion that needs torque'ing before I'm ready to gusset the breach valve...but it shouldn't take much more than putting on one of those dual socketed hydraulic flanges I've got in the parts bin."

Cosmoleniac - A person who takes a crazed interest in the act of disassembling, cleaning, finishing, and reassembling old military rifles.

Yes, I had already done found myself jonesin' for another rifle to work my magic on...the Mauser nicely polished and clean, all I can do with it is shoot it and maybe scrub the bore some more, until it starts to need a serious cleaning again. The call of the Enfield No4MkI was strong (fortunately not as strong as the lack of expendable income), but then it struck me...up on my wall, my first gun, the gun that stood at the ready to defend my household in the early years of my marriage (I suppose I'm still in the early years, as we enter our fifth year!), my beloved 1918 Lee Enfield SMLE No1MkIII*. A beautiful piece, with a unique bulldog-like snubby nose. It may lack a bit of the aesthetic elegance of the Mauser, but its bolt is smooth and fast, and it is built like a freaking tank. And aside from needing special tools for disassembly (I borrowed an extra long screwdriver, and I've got the special bolt/firing pin disassembly tool on order) it is fairly simple to dismantle...particularly the stock/barrel band that just swings open, instead of the Mauser ones you have to bang on and off with a mallet. I know .303 British isn't the best caliber in the world, but I'm not a hunter, and I've never had a problem with some sort of rim-based magazine jam, so I don't care.

So yes, I've got it partially disassembled. I'm thinking of baking (yes, baking) the stock in the oven to leach out any more cosmolene. The trigger assembly will be fun. There's a certain joy in cleaning these old machines. Not only the sort of therapeutic pleasure from stripping away the grime, grease, dirt, and (of course) cosmolene from the old rifles, but also in dismantling and rebuilding them from each and every pin, screw, and component...it gives an understanding I used to lack. I know now exactly how a Mauser trigger works (it's a terribly simple sort of thing). I don't do the same with my pistols because especially the small ones (like the Bersa) are so fine-tuned only a master gunsmith should muck about with them. Military rifles have a bit of leeway, and besides, I'm not depending on them as a matter of life and death.

How about, just for grins, I list out some military rifles I'd be interested in owning. Not even own, I guess...if you have one of these that hasn't been properly cleaned and degunked, I'll volunteer!

• Lee Enfield No4MkI. The classic WWII era Enfield, and main armament of the British infantry. I'm keen to snag one of these as a foil to my WWI SMLE Enfield, and to have as a shooter to use up .303, with its nicer aperture sight.

• Mosin Nagant M91/30 and M44. These were the rifles that drove the Nazis back on the Eastern front, a crude bolt-action that is a bit homely, yet still not without a bit of aesthetic charm. Chambered for the potent 7.62x54R, a rimmed round similar in ballistics to the 30-06, 8mm Mauser, and .303 British used by contemporary armies. These are cheap with a capital CHEA.

• M1 Garand. The first prominent semi-automatic battle rifle. Note I said prominent, as I'm sure there were a number of other semi-autos, but the Garand was basically the first big one. A beautiful, well balanced rifle, with an internal mag of 8 rounds of 30-06. These are NOT cheap, I assure you.
  

• M1 Carbine. An interesting "in between" weapon. Firing an almost absurdly unique cartridge (the .30 Carbine) that lands somewhere between pistol and rifle round, this is a fun gun to shoot; my father-in-law has one. It is a definite cobbling of compromises, with a moderate blend of power and light weight. Oh, and its got aperture sights! Also not cheap though.
  

• Lee Enfield Jungle Carbine. Nice little .303 gun that costs far too much, I used to really want to snag one, but collectors' prices have really driven the cost up on these. Short barrel, large flash hider, basically a miniaturized shoulder cannon. Requisite accessory, Aussie bush hat. On second thought, maybe its best I not own one of these.

Couple not-so-important things of which I will choose to blog. First off, last night I experimented with pepper vodka for the first, and in all likelihood last, time. Allow me to explain. A particular beer I was brewing utilised an experimental new hop variety...one that I discovered, too late, gave a distinct green onion aroma. While that scratched my plans to turn the beer into an Apricot IPA, I was unwilling to sacrifice the batch, and surmised it was a fine time to experiment with a pepper beer, at last. Green onions may not work well with apricots, but they'll go fine with peppers!

So off I went to the imported foods store, and I purchased a couple bags of dried chipotle chilies. I put 20 of these peppers in a container and soaked them in about 300ml of vodka, which took on a distinct orange-brown hue after several days. I then took the peppers and vodka and added them to the beer...reserving about 40-50ml of the infused vodka.

Last night, I thought, let's give that a try. So I cut a strip of celery, stuck it in a glass with ice cubes, poured the 1.5oz of pepper vodka on top, and then poured in about 5-6 oz of Spicy Hot V-8. Stirred it up. Smelled it...chipotle tomato, not bad...interesting. Took a sip. MADRE DE DIOS! GOTT IN HIMMEL! APEKATTDRITT! Yes, it was that hot. I can handle a lot of heat, but this, this was pure capsaicin leached out into that drink. Way too much heat to be bearable, my face was on fire. I don't normally admit defeat so easily, but I dumped it all out without subjecting myself to a second sip.

Which leads me to believe...this Chipotle IPA is going to be a bit of flamethrower! I must say, pardon the schadenfreude but I'm keenly looking forward to inflicting this on my fellow St. Crispin's members.

Moving on, my foolish heart, smitten at first, then slowly resigned to reality, is recovering. Yes, last Thursday was the SHOT Show for 2007, where all the firearms industry companies get together to show off their products to distributors. And what should happen, but Kel-Tec, the gun company of whom I am a most devoted fan, decides to come out with a 7.62 NATO bullpup design. An unprecedented design, it is too...forward tube ejection, improved trigger design, all kinds of goodies that make this the perfected bullpup. And at 7.62 NATO! I would have been giggly excited over 5.56mm, but they up the ante with a .308! Needless to say I was quite giddy about it...until I saw the MSRP. $2K for the 18" carbine, $2.5K for the 24" battle rifle, and $3K for the 32" target model. In order to purchase one next year when they become available I would have to put aside $40 a WEEK. While I struggled for a while with that, I came to the decision that no, there is no practical reason I need a .308 tactical rifle, and that is a lot of money for a range toy. For $700 I could get a nice FAL anyway, a proven design...not that I need it! Who knows if they keep making them, I could get one 5-10 years from now perhaps, no need to get one right away.

Here are some pics of that lovely new rifle:

http://www.ktog.org/cgi-bin/yabb/YaBB.cgi?board=499;action=display;num=1168577349