Red or Green?

That’s the official New Mexico State Question:

The official State Question refers to a question commonly heard at restaurants, where waiters will ask customers "red or green?" in reference to which kind of chile pepper or "Chile sauce" the customers want served with their meal. This type of "chile" is usually distinct from Salsa, as the Chile sauce is much finer and thicker and more commonly served with meals. Natives are more likely to refer to the Chile sauce put on their meal as just plain "Chile", and not as any form of "salsa" (which is usually reserved by natives in English for the salsa served with chips; everything else is just "Chile"). If the diner wants both they can answer with, "Christmas" (or "Navidad" in Spanish), in reference to the two traditional colors of Christmas - Red and Green. However, most natives simply say, "both".

At the risk of offending Californians, Arizonans, and Texans (not to mention Thais and Hunan Chinese), I’ll submit that New Mexico has the finest chile in the world, bar none. I’ve been around the block a few times and have eaten virtually every spicy cuisine known to man…and MY verdict is in: There’s no better chile to be found in the world. And the best chile I’ve eaten in New Mexico? The green chile at El Farolito restaurant in El Rito, NM. That’s me in the pic above, standing outside El Farolito, in June of 2004. Second-best chile I’ve eaten in New Mexico? My daughter-in-law Erma’s green chile stew, which is simply amazing.

An article in the July, 2000 edition of Sunset Magazine has a wonderful write up on the importance of chile to New Mexicans, followed by some great restaurant recommendations:

"Red or green?" That's the official state question, asked and answered thousands of times a day in New Mexico's restaurants and cafes. New Mexicans take the preparation of their state vegetable, the chili pepper, very seriously; they are prone to discussions both lengthy and fierce on the subject. How important is this sauce natives call chile? You can live without sex, many would say but live without chile? Impossible!

…

EL RITO: El Farolito. Located on Main Street across from the general store in the village of El Rito, a center of northern New Mexico Rio Grande weaving, this charming cafe with eight picnic tables has taken home International Chile Society trophies (ed: three, to be exact) for its well-seasoned, piquant green chile. 1212 Main St.; 581-9509.

And here’s a review of El Farolito at “RoadFood.com:” (emphasis is from the original article)

El Rito is a long way from almost everywhere, but the trip to get there is stunning. It is a drive through pure New Mexico, with a landscape of awesome rock formations, sagebrush, and grazing cows. The town is little more than a single street with a general store on one side and El Farolito on the other. It’s a small place, hardly bigger than a house trailer, with seven picnic tables up front and the kitchen in back.

For native New Mexican food, you won’t find a better place at a better price. Chilies rellenos, tacos, enchiladas, and green chile cheeseburgers are featured on the menu (which also offers ordinary hamburgers and hot dogs for chilephobes). The green chili is especially excellent: a luxurious stew of bite-size pieces of pork, tomato, and slivers of ultrahot green chile. Red chile is more a sauce, nothing but pureed chilies and spice; and it is used on burritos and enchiladas. But if you’d like a “bowl of red” as a meal, the Trujillos will add beef and/or beans to create a thick, powerhouse stew.

El Rito is out of the way, in spades. But if you’re ever in New Mexico…El Rito is worth the trip, for both the scenery and the food!

Happy Easter

Reason Number 14...

…to leave Portales: Girl Watching. Or rather, the lack of same. “Girl Watching in Portales” is a contradiction in terms. If I had to rate the girl watching opportunities in Portales they’d be only slightly better than what was available in Kabul under the Taliban. The greatest part of the problem is population; when you live in a town of only 12,000 souls your opportunities are limited, by definition.

Hang on to your hats, I’m about to say something good about San Francisco.

Oh my, but the girl watching was good in SFO. Especially in late Spring when the rains came to an end and the weather warmed up, or warmed up as much as it ever does in SFO. My daily vantage point was right outside my workplace at 44 Montgomery, just up the street from the intersection of Market and Montgomery, in the heart of the Financial District. As might be expected, the majority of the women walking by were dressed in immaculately tailored business suits. But SFO is a very cosmopolitan city. In addition to the business-suited women I’d see women in saris, tourist women in tank tops and shorts, black-clad Goth Girls, and the occasional oh-so-stylish woman who just had to be a model. Oh, yeah, it was good!

As good as the girl watching was in San Francisco, it pales beside the opportunities available in almost any major European city. And the prevalence of sidewalk cafés is the primary reason for these great opportunities. Case in point: here are three photos I took in Prague, during the Great Divorce Tour of 1999.

Sidewalk cafés do exist in America, I’m not denying that. But they are fairly rare, and our mindset isn’t quite the same as that found in Europe, where girl watching could best be described as a minor sport. Girl watching in America is something done on the sly, out of the corner of one’s eye, never obvious, never blatant…at least among those with manners. I’m exempting college kids during spring break and drunks of all stripes. It’s attitude. And here’s an example of European “attitude:”

You simply don’t see that kind of blatant “sexist” pandering to males in the American press any longer…it’s been bred right out of the culture, and mores the pity. It wasn’t always so, of course.

Don’t you miss it? Just a little bit?

Good Friday

So. I finally got off the dime yesterday, drove over to the Big(ger) City^TM and signed up with Sprint. In other words, I have a new phone (and new phone number) now. My last tie to SFO has been severed (my old phone number was in the 415 Area Code); I’m now tied to New Mexico and its 505 Area Code for at least two years, no matter where I go.

Buying the phone and signing up for service was a minor joy, as far as service experiences go. The folks at the local Sprint store were competent, polite, and cheerful. I find it semi-amazing that one can just walk into a cell phone store, buy a phone, sign a contract and have instant phone service…all in about a half an hour. T’wasn’t always so in the phone biz.

Back in the ‘50s when my father was stationed in Paris, our family was on the French PTT (Post, Telephone & Telegraph, an old acronym) waiting list for a phone for three years. We never did get a phone. And then my Dad got transferred to Ankara, Turkey, where we went on another waiting list, this time for two years. The outcome was the same: we never did get a phone. I think you had to be able to prove direct lineage to The Prophet (pbuh, or something like that) in order to get a phone in Ankara back in the day. I have no explanation as to why we never got a phone in France, other than the fact we were dealing with the French. 'Nuff said, there.

While things were a lot better in the US in the recent past, you still had to endure some sort of lag. One of the ordeals of moving to a new city is signing up and making appointments for utilities such as electricity, cable, and land-line phones. And then spending all day waiting for the installer to arrive at the appointed time (ha ha), who may or may not show up. But cell phones? Instant gratification. How very American, no?

Did my bit to encourage the Rain Gods while I was in the Big(ger) City^TM yesterday, too. Which is to say I got the car washed. And although the skies have clouded over right on cue, there is no rain in the forecast. It will be hot, though. 92. Let’s bypass Spring and go directly to Summer; Do Not Pass Go.

Miscellaneous Bitches, Moans, Groans, and Complaints Dept:

(1) While watching a program on the History Channel last evening I noticed the narrator kept referring to dates in the past as “in 1296 of the Current Era” or “1492 in the Current Era.” Every single time. How very PC. It’s no longer “1296 A.D.” The actual numbers remain the same, of course, we’ve just removed all references to Christ. And the point is? One wonders how the numbering system is explained in secular-humanist households when a child asks the question something like “How did the dates of our years get established, Mommy?” “Well, Dear, we figure time based on the birthday of some Middle Eastern carpenter who was born in the year Zero.” “A carpenter, Mommy?” “Yes, Dear. Now be a good girl and go play.” Sheesh.

(2) Over the last couple of days I’ve gotten a dozen or so visits from EDS employees googling “EDS,” while at work. Get back to work!! Google on your own time! If the EDS pension plan goes into default because of your slacker behavior I’ll hunt you down and kill you. And I know where you live…or at least I know where you work. Just sayin’.

Bad news if you’re still running Windows 98, 98SE, or ME. Upgrading your OS is a major or minor pain, depending on the age of your ‘puter. I don’t envy you if you’re in this situation…better to buy a new computer.

The Week's Nearly Done...

Yesterday was the 25^th anniversary of the launching of STS-1, the first Space Shuttle mission. The official NASA STS-1 home page has video and interviews with mission commander John Young and pilot Robert Crippen. The initial flight of Columbia was delayed so many times that a joke began circulating that by the time the shuttle actually made it into space the crew would have to be renamed from Young and Crippen to “Old and Crippled.”

Interestingly, April 12^th is the date Yuri Gagarin became the first man in space, exactly 20 years to the day before STS-1 roared into space. I remember both events vividly, Gagarin’s flight more so than the initial flight of the Space Shuttle. In 1961, Khrushchev was in the Kremlin, Gagarin was in space, and the whole of the USA panicked: we just knew the end was nigh. Six weeks later President Kennedy announced the Apollo program to a joint session of Congress, and as they say…“the rest is history.”

In a comment to this post, Lou said “Why is it that when a man turns gray, it looks sophisticated, but when women go gray it looks like the tabby cat?” and inadvertently hit one of my hot buttons. Personally, I find much beauty in the older woman…more beauty, actually, than in those “artfully” manipulated, air-brushed images of impossibly thin (anorexic, even) young(er) women we’re bombarded with every time we turn around. Maybe it’s a function of my age, maybe it isn’t. Many years ago, when Son Number One was around 19 or 20 years old, he scored big points with TSMP and a couple of her friends when he declared he was gonna found a “Society for the Appreciation of Mature Women.” Of course, “mature” to a 20 year-old meant a woman around 35 or so. Nonetheless, SN1 hit the nail on the head. I find beauty in the confidence an older woman has, the fact she’s “been there, done that,” the wisdom in her eyes, the fine lines of experience, the grace and elegance that comes only with age. And yes, the gray, silver, or white, too.

When it comes to trees we celebrate the blossoms of spring, the full leafy green of summer, and the wondrous, brilliant golds, reds, and yellows of autumn…with no implication that one season is better than the other. We seem to be locked into eternal spring where people are concerned, however. One of the better fall-out effects of aging Baby Boomers will be an increasing appreciation for the beauties of age, if only among the self-absorbed members of that generation. Hopefully, the appreciation will spread across all generations. But I kinda doubt it.

She’s Baaaack… She Who Will Not Be Named returns to Crawford. So what? I predict she’ll get a lot less, much less, press this time around. Your 15 minutes are up, SWWNBN.

OK, so which is it? Years, as the analysts quoted in the NYT seem to be saying, or less…much less, as Captain Ed speculates? Whether it’s years, months, or whatever, the Iranians have openly stated they will press on, and the West can just pound sand. Pound sand, or pound Natanz. I prefer the latter. Sooner rather than later.

Just Another Day...

Pic Number One: No, it’s not impending disaster. This wasn’t taken the instant before I was rammed broadside by a huge-ass truck. Rather, it’s a truck being used by tree trimmers that are working on the tree that arches gracefully over El Casa Móvil de Pennington, as we speak. And they’ve been 24 inches from my open window for the past two hours. The truck is running at about a jillion rpm, to power the bucket being used to access the tree being trimmed. It’s frickin’ LOUD! And it’s hot. I wanna turn on the AC but can’t until such time as the trimmers are done. {sigh} It’s always sumthin’, ain’t it?

Pic Number Two: That’s a close-up of the dust on my window sill after the last dust storm. Gives you an idea of what it’s like. Nothing unusual…just dust. “Life is messy…clean it up!” (she said)

Military Matters

Perhaps you encounter the “classic” myths about the US military offered up by the Left in discussions about the war in Iraq, or when discussing the American military, in general. I know I do, and all too often, at that. Well, here’s some help. W. Thomas Smith, Jr., in an article at Townhall.com tackles five of these persistent myths and offers up facts that will bolster your case.

Anyone – white, black, male, female – wearing the uniform of the United States armed forces, whether they are serving in a support capacity or as a member of a combat arms unit, is first and foremost a soldier, sailor, airman, or Marine. They are serving honorably, in a noble cause. They deserve the unwavering respect, gratitude, and support of the American people. And they are all at risk in a war with few discernible front lines.

That’s the prelude…the oft-cited myths and counter-arguments follow.

Protesters 1, Recruiters 0. At UC Santa Cruz, two different accounts of the same event; first, from the San Francisco Chronicle:

Four military recruiters hastily fled a job fair Tuesday morning at UC Santa Cruz after a raucous crowd of student protesters blocked an entrance to the building where the Army and National Guard had set up information tables.

Members of Students Against War, who organized the counter-recruiting protest, loudly chanted "Don't come back. Don't come back" as the recruiters left the hilltop campus, escorted by several university police officers.

"The situation had degraded to the point where there was a possibility of injury to either a student or law enforcement officer. We certainly didn't want that to happen,'' said Capt. Will Griffin, one of the Army recruiters.

And from the group that organized the “event:”

The action stressed the importance of connecting the complexities of the “War on Terror,” continued military occupations, and government neglect of communities at home. Students also emphasized solidarity with labor struggles, immigrants’ rights, the fight against the privatization of education, and numerous other movements. In order to directly highlight the sexism inherent in the military, a group of female students directly confronted the recruiters. This was a result of consistent student-initiated negotiations with administrators. The action proved to be a key moment, as military recruiters left quickly after the women entered.

In response to the victory, SAW member Sam Aranke responded, “Our demonstration today is a clear example of how tangible success can be when we take strategic actions against the war at a local level. It’s not just about the action today, it’s about creating sustained movements that directly resist the militarization of our communities.”

“Solidarity with labor struggles, immigrants’ rights, the fight against the privatization of education, and numerous other movements.” Right. And I just love the “sexism inherent in the military” bit, too. Know-nothings, intent on preventing continued military occupations. Mike at Cold Fury has some rather pointed and pertinent observations on this event, to wit:

In better, more civilized times, this sort of thing was known as “sedition,” a quaint, obsolete term that no longer has any meaning whatsoever — and won’t until every last one of these treasonous “student” thugs is rounded up and tried for it according to the pertinent laws against it.

Of course, It’s far more likely that I’d be arrested for a “hate crime” for being so insensitive as to suggest that these vile worms are in any way unpatriotic. They really hate when you do that, you know (first person to come along and suggest that this post in any way expresses opposition to LEGITIMATE dissent gets viciously, profanely mocked, by the way).

Outside the Beltway has much, much more in the same vein.

Rematch to follow, I’m sure. Accompanied by arrests, trials, and convictions, hopefully.

And finally, Hugh Hewitt takes on arguments against striking Iran. Lots of linky goodness here, particularly a Brookings Institution assessment of the military’s performance in the combat phases of OIF and Rumsfeld’s transformation of the American military. But, as the saying foes: “there’s more…much more.”

In Its Entirety

I took this, including the cartoon above, from Cox and Forkum:

From TIA Daily's Robert Tracinski: America's Real 'Assimilation' Dilemma.

I agree that the phenomenon of "political correctness" and the attacks on American history -- most notably, the attempt to portray slavery and racism, not the fight for liberty, as the essence of our history -- are real threats to the process of assimilation. And this paves the way for anti-American leftist groups, like ANSWER, to sponsor pro-immigration rallies at which some illegal immigrants have waved the flags of their home countries -- an odd way to make the case for becoming a citizen of this country.

But the argument about political correctness and multiculturalism is not really an argument against immigration. In fact, it only connects to immigration very incidentally. If the ability of our culture to induct people into the values of our civilization is in doubt, then what happens to 11 million illegal immigrants is a relatively small problem. What we really ought to be worried about is a group of 75 million people who desperately need to be assimilated into America's culture of individualism, taught the essential facts about America's history, and encouraged to appreciate the virtues of our political system.

I am talking about 75 million people who are, you might say, on an automatic track to citizenship, and all of whom will become newly eligible to vote in the next two decades.

I am speaking of the 75 million Americans under the age of 18.

Is that true, or what?

Tuesday Wrap, Early Wednesday

Well, I’m still startling myself every time I walk into the bathroom and catch my reflection in the mirror. I performed radical surgery on the beard this morning, which is to say: it’s gone. Beards come, beards go. I’ve been wearing one off and on since around 1992, the (approximate) year Electronic Data Systems relaxed its dress code and finally allowed men to wear beards. I could go off on a long tangent here, but won’t. I’ll give you the Readers Digest version, instead.

Beards are a no-no in the military; you just don’t do that. And since I was in the AF from ’63 until ’85 I never got the chance to flaunt my facial hair until I retired, other than growing a beard while on leave. Which I did…every time I took leave that lasted longer than, say, a week. My beard used to be flaming red back in the day, and Boy! did I ever love myself in a beard (and yeah, that is narcissistic). Predictably, one of the first things I did when I retired from the AF in March of 1985 was to grow a full set. And then you know what happened? I fly up to Detroit six months later, interview with EDS, and was offered the job...on the condition the beard goes, coz, you know, we have this dress code. Arrgh! I took the job. I lost the beard. By the time EDS relaxed the dress code and allowed beards, the red was gone…replaced by what I’ll call euphemistically “light blond.” No matter. I grew a beard, and like I said in the beginning, have worn one ever since off and on, but mostly on. These days it’s nearly all white, so losing it is probably an improvement.

Too much info? Probably!

Today was a good day, weather wise. Air conditioning season is back, and it’s back a bit earlier than usual. I ran the AC yesterday when it got to 85 degrees, ran it again today, and will run it tomorrow. We’ll be in the 80s and 90s all week. If That Ol’ Debbil Wind ever subsides I won’t have to run the AC, I’ll be able to open the windows and revel in the warmth! Which is my wont…unless there’s dust.

Lou posted her Tailhook story today, and it’s a good one. She also posted a pic of her Tailhook souvenir, a tee shirt with a cool photo and legend printed on the back of the shirt. Go see!

And that brings us to…The Song of the Day!

Song of the Day

Song: Don’t Try to Lay No Boogie Woogie on the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll! (mp3)
Artist: Long John Baldry
Album: It Ain’t Easy
Year: 1971
Source: My Stuff (and the wonderful world wide web!)

Makes Me Think of & etc.: Today: Lou’s Tailhook story. In the past: Lots and LOTS of stuff. I first heard LJB on Alexis Korner’s (bio here and here) Sunday evening BBC radio show sometime in 1981 or 1982. I bought It Ain’t Easy on my lunch break the following day and the album has remained a fave ever since. I don’t know just what it is about Brit White Boys singing the blues, but Thank God for them! Sometimes I think if it wasn’t for those guys, and by “those guys” I mean people like Alexis Korner, LJB, John Mayall, Clapton, the Stones, Savoy Brown, Fleetwood Mac (in their original incarnation), and so on, I’d never have gotten into the blues. That statement is probably hyperbolic because I would have come around eventually, but much later rather than sooner. By the way…be sure to listen to the mp3 of “It Ain’t Easy” at the album link, above. Great stuff. I bought a Maggie Bell album or two because of that song…

Lyrics:

Don't you tell me n-n-n-no lies woman 'cause all you know I've told
Don't sell me no alibi sister 'cause all you've got I've sold
You better leave that midnight sneakin' to the one who worked it out
I don't wanna hear no back talk speakin' go on and shut yer mouth
And everything's gonna work out tight if you act like you been told
So don't try to lay no boogie woogie on the king of rock and roll.

Don't you feed me no TV dinners when you know I'm used to steak
I don't need no rank beginners when it's time to shake that shake
You better pull your Thing together, reach in and dust it out
And if ya feel that yer ass can't dig it then I guess you know the route
It ain't a matter of pork 'n beans gonna justify your soul
Just don't try to lay no boogie woogie on the king of rock and roll.

You weren't alive when I started to drive, so don't put none on me
You didn't arrive 'til late '45 but your head's in '53.
You got what it takes to keep the heads a-spinnin' down by the old rim shack
And you come across just like a fool grinnin' in the back of a red Cadillac.
You can't come across the astral bridge until you pay the toll
So don't try to lay no boogie woogie on the king of rock and roll.

Tuesday, It Is...

My buddy Dan in Florida turned 63 yesterday. I shared a couple of fingers of single-malt with him on the phone last evening…Glenfiddich for him, Oban for me. Dan and I have known each other for nearly 40 years and spent quality time together in garden spots like Wakkanai, Japan and Sinop, Turkey. A lot of that quality time was wild beyond belief, but those stories are more appropriately told in the bar… (insert big-ass grinning smiley here)

Rape allegations against the Duke University lacrosse team appear to be false, if one believes the results of DNA analysis cited by defense attorneys yesterday. The Raleigh district attorney plans to “move forward” with the case, however, and forensic samples are supposedly being sent to another lab to be analyzed, for reasons that are unclear. WRAL has a good summary of the issue here. There’s lots of comment all over the blogosphere today…LaShawn Barber asks if the accuser is channeling Tawana Brawley, Powerline weighs in, and so does TalkLeft. There are just so many ugly aspects of this case it’s hard to know where to begin…sex, race, “privilege,” town vs. gown, and so on. It does appear to me, however, that there was an unseemly rush to convict before any of the evidence was in. It certainly looks like the allegations are false. So, what happens to the accuser, then? Little or nothing, I submit.

Yesterday’s other big story was Round Two of massive immigration protests. NYT article here. Michelle Malkin has lots of links and photos. Gasbag Ted Kennedy addressed crowds in Washington; Hillary contradicted herself (see Malkin) in New York. Those despicable idiots/moonbats/(insert other, deserved, vile nouns here) from A.N.S.W.E.R appear to be a prime mover behind these protests. It’s so very difficult for me to express just how much loathing and scorn I have for the ANSWER people. I’ve already given you my opinion on this issue. I won’t repeat myself, except to say politics certainly DOES make strange bedfellows.

Christopher Hitchens has an interesting article in Slate on the Niger/Iraq uranium connection. This is a story that just won’t go away…and Hitchens makes a couple of previously unknown (to me) points that validate the administration’s allegations that Iraq was, indeed, trying to acquire yellowcake from Niger. Michael Ledeen has a related article in National Review Online. Both essays are worth a read.

When the Levee Breaks, Part II: Ahnold declares a State of Emergency in California. Looks pretty bad. I’ll hold the “just desserts” comments. No one, no matter how misguided they may be, deserves a natural disaster.

Slow Day...

Slow day at El Casa Móvil de Pennington. Stayed up late, got up late. Still not done with the coffee and it’s past noon.

Barb, from Bitchin’ and Stuff, forwarded me a great Blue Angels photo set this morning. Not much in life that’s better than plane pr0n! And that e-mail got me to thinking about air shows I’ve been fortunate enough to see over the years. I’ve seen the Thunderbirds so many times I’ve lost count, beginning in the way-way back as a child, up to the recent past. I’ve been fortunate enough to see the T-birds in almost every airframe they’ve flown, from the F-84F (I missed the F-84G, their first fighter) up to and including the F-16, and everything in between. And, in no particular order, I’ve seen the RAF’s Red Arrows (over the Isle of Man, flying the Hawk trainer) , the RCAF’s Snowbirds, the Japanese ASDF’s Blue Impulse (in F-86s), The Republic of China’s Thunder Tigers (also in F-86s), the Italian AF’s Frecce Tricolore (in F-84Fs), and the French team, too. Surprisingly, I was unable to find an image for the French team, nor can I remember their name. And, of course, the Blue Angels, in Cougars, Phantoms, and the F/A-18. I was fortunate enough to be on the water in the SFO Bay when the Angels came to town during Fleet Week of 2000…and was the grateful recipient of a high-speed, low altitude pass while they were practicing over the bay for the week’s air show. Of course, it WAS San Francisco, and not everyone was impressed with the Angels. Assholes (note the TransAmerica tower in the drawing). If you want some good plane pr0n, drop me a line and I’ll forward you Barb’s e-mail.

And finally…From today’s news, according to Scrappleface:

Rep. Cynthia McKinney, who last week struck a Capitol Hill police officer while running a security check point, would be allowed to remain in Congress under the terms of a new immigration reform bill. Even though she entered the Capitol illegally, the bill would treat McKinney as a guest lawmaker until the next Congressional election. Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist defended this latest compromise measure saying, “the state of Georgia needs Cynthia McKinney to do the work that, apparently, no legal American citizen is willing to do.”

Made ME smile, anyway…

Iran, Again

Lots of saber rattling in the Iranian situation this past week. First off, the Iranians conducted large-scale naval exercises in the Gulf from March 30^th until today. The exercise, code named “Great Prophet,” featured the unveiling of new Iranian weapons, including a couple of “radar-evading” missiles, a “sonar-evading” torpedo and an “advanced” stealthy flying boat. People who know aren’t impressed. The WaPo has a front page article in today’s edition discussing the administration’s war planning activities. Seymour Hersh has written a load of tripe in The New Yorker magazine about planning for an upcoming nuclear strike on Iran. The Telegraph (UK) has a news article that picks up on Hersh’s charges, with an interesting graphic on the “nuclear bunker buster” weapon. The Seymour Hersh New Yorker article is here.

Hersh’s article contains the only real “news” in all of this, and his “news” is largely unsubstantiated and relies, as usual, on a plethora of unnamed “senior administration officials,” and unnamed civilian and military sources within DoD. Hersh also throws out the highly emotional charge that Dubya has a “messianic vision,” and that’s guaranteed to get the Left in a lather, each and every time. (Success!)

Of course DoD is updating our war plans – that’s their business and that’s what we pay them to do. It also follows that any war plan considers every possible option, including the use of nuclear weapons by either side. And when it comes to nuclear weapons, note that every article on this subject doesn’t discuss nuking Tehran, Qom, or Shiraz…in other words, we’re not threatening population centers. In fact, the only potential US use of nukes I’ve seen discussed is the use of tactical bunker-busters. I’d say that’s a reasonable approach, given the measures the Iranians have taken to protect their nuclear facilities. All this could be avoided if the Iranians allowed the IAEA full access to implement a comprehensive inspection regime. But they won’t, and we remain at risk. I, for one, take that idiot at his word.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Images of New Mexico

(click for larger…)

The Cumbres & Toltec Scenic Railroad. Photos taken in June, 2004.

I toyed with the idea of titling this post “Gratuitous Train Pictures,” but decided against it. Why? Because of the comments to this post. Misunderstood, I was…

"It's for a Metaphor"

I’ve said it before: I really like Lileks. I admire bloggers, and writers in general, who can turn a phrase. James always writes with flair and élan… in other words: great wordsmithing. Here are a few paragraphs that particularly rang my bell this week:

As for Katie Couric taking over the CBS news: if you spot me a whoop, I could probably muster a de-do, but I’d have to borrow the de, and I’m not putting down a deposit. My paper has the story on the front page, above the fold, with a big photo of La Femme Perqui; the headline reads NEW ANCHOR, NEW ERA.

And this:

Homemade bumpersticker of the day, observed in the grocery store pick-up lane:

(photo of the rear of a minivan with home made lettering on the bumper that reads: "veteran against the war n this fascist regime" - all caps)

The car was incinerated by orbital lasers a few blocks down the street. I don’t know what was worse – the screams of the passengers, or the hoots and laughter of the thick-browed brownshirted onlookers. Ghastly times, these.

The white bumpersticker says – really - “Preserve Minnesota’s Quality of Life – Raise Taxes.” What, and give the fascists more money?

And lastly, this:

It does come down to that, eh? I’ve been telling myself that all day. One of the longer days on memory, since I got up too early: either I dreamed that someone outside the house had an alarm clock, or one of the 183 small clocks in the house was inadvertently set into alarm mode. Then the dog barked. Fine; I get the point. Up after 5 and a half hours of sleep. My fault; I’d tossed and turned for an hour before sleeping, and that’s rare. Usually I drop off like a bank vault pushed out a window – no, that’s wrong; that sounds like it takes effort. Someone has to push the safe to the window. You’d need help. You’d have to explain why you’re doing this. (“It’s for a metaphor.”) And then you’d have to deal with the legal ramifications. So scratch that.

“It’s for a metaphor.” I literally laughed out loud. You DO read him, don’t you?

A Music Video and Some Light Reading...

I posted yesterday’s “song of the day” way too early. Much later that same day, I came upon this ultra-cool rock ‘n’ roll video. It’s my new favorite song. (h/t: Instapundit)

Last month I posted about a South Park episode entitled “Smug Alert.” Well, it’s come to my attention that Wikipedia has a series of pages devoted to South Park…and you can see the whole Smug Alert plot, in great detail, including a bit of dialog, here. (via Opinion Journal…South Park Republicans, indeed!)

Victor Davis Hanson weighs in on the Cynthia McKinney brouhaha.

After witnesses related that McKinney was asked to stop three times - and replied with some sort of shove - she went public at a press conference. There she resorted to the now all too familiar fallback positions unavailable to Naughton. Surrounded by celebrities like Harry Belafonte and Danny Glover, McKinney said, "This whole incident was instigated by the inappropriate touching and stopping of me, a female, black congresswoman."

Note how she covered all the bases to preempt a possible indictment, putting the onus on the aggrieved. Plus, in our star-struck culture, we equate celebrity with gravitas. And so we are supposed to believe that an otherwise clueless Calypso singer or action-hero actor lend credence to McKinney's wild charges.

McKinney not only played the race and celebrity cards, but the feminist one as well - as if the dutiful policemen had kept his job this long by allowing unrecognized white male elected officials to enter checkpoints without showing identification.

And if race and gender were not enough, McKinney evoked the standard sexual harassment code words "inappropriate touching" - as if a randy guard were trying to grope the defenseless congresswoman. (Ed: As if! Gah! Ms. McKinney might be in front of Helen Thomas, however slightly, on the “women I’d like to grope” list…)

McKinney realizes that claims of victimization are the keys to conning our system - and that the more accusations of racism, sexism and harassment the better for turning the cowardly aggressor into the heroically aggrieved.

And is he spot-on, or what? (via Real Clear Politics)

Charles Krauthammer on the immigration problem:

The irony of this whole debate, which is bitterly splitting the country along partisan, geographic and ethnic lines, is that there is a silver bullet that would not just solve the problem but also create a national consensus behind it.

My proposition is the following: a vast number of Americans who oppose legalization and fear new waves of immigration would change their minds if we could radically reduce new -- i.e., future -- illegal immigration.

Forget employer sanctions. Build a barrier. It is simply ridiculous to say it cannot be done. If one fence won't do it, then build a second 100 yards behind it. And then build a road for patrols in between. Put cameras. Put sensors. Put out lots of patrols.

Can't be done? Israel's border fence has been extraordinarily successful in keeping out potential infiltrators who are far more determined than mere immigrants. Nor have very many North Koreans crossed into South Korea in the last 50 years.

Of course it will be ugly. So are the concrete barriers to keep truck bombs from driving into the White House. But sometimes necessity trumps aesthetics. And don't tell me that this is our Berlin Wall. When you build a wall to keep people in, that's a prison. When you build a wall to keep people out, that's an expression of sovereignty. The fence around your house is a perfectly legitimate expression of your desire to control who comes into your house to eat, sleep and use the facilities. It imprisons no one.

Makes damned good sense to me. That’s Part One…there’s more. (via Real Clear Politics)

And last, but not least…I’m gonna link to a column by Ann Coulter. This is the first, and might be the last, time I do this. Why? Because I consider Coulter to be an embarrassment to conservatives. I don’t like her style, and she’s often waaay over the top. That said…the woman, like her or not, is quick on her feet, smart, and like Maureen Dowd, her political antithesis, Ms. Coulter can definitely craft a well-turned phrase or three. And when she has a point to make, she drives the point home relentlessly. Consider:

Joe McCarthy, Richard Nixon, Ronald Reagan, Ed Meese, Oliver North, Clarence Pendleton, Newt Gingrich, Karl Rove, Tom DeLay -- all these men saw their names used as curse words.

Only one of them was ever indicted. To wit, the comical indictment of DeLay recently brought by political hack Ronnie Earle. To finally get some grand jury to hand up an indictment, Earle had to empanel six grand juries in Austin, Texas, which is like the Upper West Side with more attractive people. In addition, DeLay knows Republican and gambling lobbyist Jack Abramoff and his associates, who have recently pleaded guilty to various other incomprehensible charges.

Liberals spit out all these names with more venom than they've ever been able to muster for names like "Saddam Hussein" and "Abu Musab al-Zarqawi."

She’s right, ya know. There’s more, and it ain’t bad. (via Real Clear Politics)

Almost Forgot!

Son Number One phoned last night to tell me about his day. He’s attending an advanced logistics officer course at Sheppard AFB this week and next, and the curriculum includes a field trip to Lockheed-Martin’s manufacturing facility in Fort Worth. Fort Worth is where Lockheed is putting together the F-35, better known as the Joint Strike Fighter. My son was stoked, as we used to say. Excited. And with good reason. The F-35 has some awesome capabilities (all the following is unclassified). To wit: the sensors are so good that the pilot can read the lettering on the side of the MGM Grand Hotel in Las Vegas from 45 miles out. That’s 45 miles away from the target, assuming we’d want to blow up The Grand. The sensor suite also includes a “virtual capability” to look down and through the air frame while airborne; the way Buck described it was “it’s like flying Wonder Woman’s invisible airplane.” And finally, of great interest to a maintainer…the maintenance guys can do a full engine swap in about two hours. An F-16 engine swap takes about eight to ten hours, on a good day.

It looks like the flying services (and that’s everyone except the Army and the Coast Guard) are gonna get a helluva aircraft. Conversations like the one I had last night with Buck make me very nostalgic for my AF days…

Something You Should Read...

Over at Lou's place... a column about an American Hero, Rick Rescorla. The immortal quote "Where do we get such men?*" comes immediately to mind.

* That's the closing line in the movie, The Bridges of Toko-ri, made from the novel of the same name by James Michener. A senior naval officer says it in wonder at the self-sacrificial heroism of several naval aviators, killed fighting in rice paddies of Korea after their aircraft went down. (Thanks to Donald Sensing for the summary quote and reference.)

That Ol' Debbil Wind and Stuff

Had to go out to the airplane patch base this morning and feed the vampires again. One of the tests for my biennial physical requires me to fast before blood is drawn; on my previous visit I didn’t fast and wasn’t smart enough (or dumb enough…you decide) to lie about the fact. I was instructed by the med tech to come back later in the week and “we’ll do it again.” OK, you’re the boss. So, up at the crack of mid-morning, stumble to the shower, complete the rest of my ablutions, get in the car and motor on out to the base. The motoring public had NO idea what sort of menace was on the roads… I never do anything, and I mean anything, before I’ve had my morning coffee. Conversation is damned near impossible, thought is difficult, and here I was: driving with zero caffeine content. There must be a law against this sort of behavior.

First stop after leaving the hospital clinic: The Casa de Café at the Base Exchange. Extra-large mocha with a double shot of espresso. I could literally feel myself getting back to normal as I drank the coffee. How strange.

Anyway. I should have taken the camera with me. We’re under another “wind advisory” today and Boy, is it ever brutal out there! How bad is it? See for yourself:

If I’d taken the camera, I would have posted some interesting shots. There are HUGE dust clouds on the horizon, assuming one can actually see the horizon. The air is a dirty tan color. The dust is so bad in places visibility drops to a couple of hundred feet or less. It’s difficult to walk in the wind. All the jets at Cannon are in the hangars; the flight line is empty. I’ll be inside the rest of the day, for sure. It’s not fit for man or beast outside. And Thank God it’s not hot, as I absolutely must keep all the windows and vents closed. Even so, the dust still manages to get in through the cracks. OK, I’m done “observing.”

Haven’t posted a song of the day for a while, and it’s not because I haven’t been listening, it’s more like I’ve just been ultra-lazy about noting songs that make the cut. I listened to a Stones compilation while going to and fro this morning, and this song sounded particularly good…good enough to be a song of the day!

Song of the Day

Song: Beast of Burden
Artist: Rolling Stones
Album: Some Girls
Year: 1978
Source: My Stuff

Makes Me Think of & etc.: The year I got married for the second and last time, it was. It was also the year I played the bachelor card for all it was worth, almost had my Air Force career terminated abruptly (names and situations are withheld to protect the guilty), made friends and influenced people (hah!), and just generally had the literal time-of-my-life…it don’t get no better than that. (PS: Be sure to read the “Some Girls” link, above. Some great gossipy notes in that write-up!)

Lyrics:

I’ll never be your beast of burden
My back is broad but it’s a hurting
All I want is for you to make love to me
I’ll never be your beast of burden
I’ve walked for miles my feet are hurting
All I want is for you to make love to me

Am I hard enough
Am I rough enough
Am I rich enough
I’m not too blind to see

I’ll never be your beast of burden
So let’s go home and draw the curtains
Music on the radio
Come on baby make sweet love to me

Am I hard enough
Am I rough enough
Am I rich enough
I’m not too blind to see

Oh little sister
Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, girl
You’re a pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty girl
Pretty, pretty
Such a pretty, pretty, pretty girl
Come on baby please, please, please

I’ll tell ya
You can put me out
On the street
Put me out
With no shoes on my feet
But, put me out, put me out
Put me out of misery

Yeah, all your sickness
I can suck it up
Throw it all at me
I can shrug it off
There’s one thing baby
That I don’t understand
You keep on telling me
I ain’t your kind of man

Ain’t I rough enough, ooh baby
Ain’t I tough enough
Ain’t I rich enough, in love enough
Ooh! ooh! please

I’ll never be your beast of burden
I’ll never be your beast of burden
Never, never, never, never, never, never, never be

I don’t need no beast of burden
I need no fussing
I need no nursing
Never, never, never, never, never, never, never be

Cell Phone

To Whom It May Concern:

Just in case you read this blog: STOP leaving messages on my cell phone. If you MUST get in touch with me, hang up and dial again like the message on my NON-FUNCTIONAL voice mail says. I cannot retrieve voice mail and it irritates the Hell out of me to receive a voice mail notification.

So, once again: Hang up and re-dial. Or send me an e-mail.

Thank you.

Read This

I post a lot of links. I say "read this" a lot. But THIS... This is quite possibly the most profound and scary thing I've read in the past year. Here's an extended excerpt:

I tried to relax. “What do you want to talk about?” I said.

“The Century War,” said the Time Traveler.

I blinked and tried to remember some history. “You mean the Hundred Year War? Fifteenth Century? Fourteenth? Sometime around there. Between . . . France and England? Henry V? Kenneth Branagh? Or was it . . .”

“I mean the Century War with Islam,” interrupted the Time Traveler. “Your future. Everyone’s.” He was no longer smiling. Without asking, or offering to pour me any, he stood, refilled his Scotch glass, and sat again. He said, “It was important to me to come back to this time early on in the struggle. Even if only to remind myself of how unspeakably blind you all were.”

“You mean the War on Terrorism,” I said.

“I mean the Long War with Islam,” he said. “The Century War. And it’s not over yet where I come from. Not close to being over.”

“You can’t have a war with Islam,” I said. “You can’t go to war against a religion. Radical Islam, maybe. Jihadism. Some extremists. But not a . . . the . . . religion itself. The vast majority of Muslims in the world are peaceloving people who wish us no harm. I mean . . . I mean . . . the very word ‘Islam’ means ‘Peace.’”

“So you kept telling yourselves,” said the Time Traveler. His voice was very low but there was a strange and almost frightening edge to it. “But the ‘peace’ in ‘Islam’ means ‘Submission.’ You’ll find that out soon enough”

Great, I was thinking. Of all the time travelers in all the gin joints in all the world, I get this racist, xenophobic, right-wing asshole.

“After Nine-eleven, we’re fighting terrorism,” I began, “not . . .”

He waved me into silence.

“You were a philosophy major or minor at that podunk little college you went to long ago,” said the Time Traveler. “Do you remember what Category Error is?”

It rang a bell. But I was too irritated at hearing my alma mater being called a “podunk little college” to be able to concentrate fully.

“I’ll tell you what it is,” said the Time Traveler. “In philosophy and formal logic, and it has its equivalents in science and business management, Category Error is the term for having stated or defined a problem so poorly that it becomes impossible to solve that problem, through dialectic or any other means.”

I waited. Finally I said firmly, “You can’t go to war with a religion. Or, I mean . . . sure, you could . . . the Crusades and all that . . . but it would be wrong.”

The Time Traveler sipped his Scotch and looked at me. He said, “Let me give you an analogy . . .”

God, I hated and distrusted analogies. I said nothing.

“Let’s imagine,” said the Time Traveler, “that on December eighth, Nineteen forty-one, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt spoke before a joint session of Congress and asked them to declare war on aviation.”

“That’s absurd,” I said.

“Is it?” asked the Time Traveler. “The American battleships, cruisers, harbor installations, Army barracks, and airfields at Pearl Harbor and elsewhere in Hawaii were all struck by Japanese aircraft. Imagine if the next day Roosevelt had declared war on aviation . . . threatening to wipe it out wherever we found it. Committing all the resources of the United States of America to defeating aviation, so help us God.”

“That’s just stupid,” I said. If I’d ever been afraid of this Time Traveler, I wasn’t now. He was obviously a mental defective.“The planes, the Japanese planes,” I said, “were just a method of attack . . . a means . . . it wasn’t aviation that attacked us at Pearl Harbor, but the Empire of Japan. We declared war on Japan and a few days later its ally, Germany, lived up to its treaty with the Japanese and declared war on us. If we’d declared war on aviation, on goddamned airplanes rather than the empire and ideology that launched them, we’d never have . . .”

I stopped. What had he called it? Category Error. Making the problem unsolvable through your inability – or fear – of defining it correctly.

Please read the whole thing. And spread the word.

h/t: Vanderleun

Update 4/4/2006: The link to Dan Simmons's site appears to be broken in this post. Try this link.