So Trivial It Hurts

Dang, but it takes me a long time to make the rounds these days. There just might come a time when ALL I do is read blogs. Nah. Real Life has its appeal, too. But the fact remains that there is simply SO much good stuff out there. Everyone has a story to tell and with the advent of the ‘net and blogs many more than a few people are taking the time to tell those stories. I think they’re fascinating, to say the VERY least.

It was cold when I woke up this morning…something like 43 degrees outside. OK, that’s not really cold, it’s just chilly. Chilly enough for me to drag out the ol’ auxiliary heater from its summer storage place and fire it up. I love that lil electric heater…it puts out just the right amount of warmth (when strategically placed near the ol’ tootsies) and saves on the propane consumption. I’m thinking I just might grit my teeth and have Cortez Gas set me a large propane tank this fall. When it gets really cold… a relative thing, ya know… I fill El Casa Móvil De Pennington’s ridiculously small tank about once a week. The convenience of a large tank is certainly alluring, offset only by the necessity of dropping a couple of Franklins (or more) to actually get the job done. I hear tell propane is gonna go up by about six or seven percent this year. It’s always sumthin’.

Now that the weather is turning chilly the frickin’ flies seem to be swarming, and they’re doing their damnedest to get into the house. Seeking warmth, and all that. There must have been two dozen of the nasty lil buggers hanging out on my screen door last evening when I began to button up. And I exaggerate not a whit, Gentle Reader.

I’ve developed a fun new game to deal with ‘em, though. Involves a can of Raid and said screen door, with me standing on the inside of El Casa Móvil and the flies on the outside of the screen. I think my record, so far, is about ten kills with a single burst. I derive a great deal of satisfaction from killing the nasty things and the Raid drives off the survivors just long enough for me to open the screen, reattach it to the main entry door, and shut the assembled contraption…all without allowing the flies entry into the house. Good fun, it is, but it’s a lot like spitting in the ocean. There are more flies in P-Ville than in any Middle Eastern souk I ever walked into, and that’s sayin’ something, believe me.

What a remarkable illustration of how absolutely mundane my life has become…

Today’s Pic: SN3 in his highchair, circa Fall of 1997, when he was about six or seven months old. This is a scanned photo from back in the days before I got my first digicam. The interesting thing about this pic is the good folks at our local Wegmans (where we got our film processing done) asked for and received our permission to use this photo in their advertising. The photo was still on the wall at their photo kiosk/counter when I left Rochester back in ’99. It may still be there today…who knows?

More Interesting Than Most

So, I was perusing Phlegmmy’s back pages and came across this… the only quiz I’ve ever taken with a question where "Richard Brautigan" is a possible answer… and here's the proof:

Who writes the most interesting stuff?
Danielle Steel
Walt Whitman
Stephen King
Richard Brautigan
It's a tie between Nietzche and myself.

If you’ve looked at my profile, Gentle Reader, you know Brautigan is one of my faves. (I’m not alone in this regard, either. Surprised?) Oh, that quiz would be this one:

You Are Fool In The Rain

You are a very bizarre person, to say the least. You don't think the way most other people do. And you probably don't really care.

You defy convention, and probably really like burritos. And you're very content with your life. You're a ray of sunshine. Piercing, bizarre end-of-the-world sunshine, but sunshine nonetheless. While most people are going to college to be lawyers or accountants or something, you'd be just as happy working at Tippy's Taco Stand in San Dimas, CA.

You probably have a really interesting car. You definitely do not drive a Honda Civic. There's a good chance that you smoke weed. There's a good chance you sell it.

Everybody worth anything likes you a lot.

Take the Which Led Zeppelin Song Are You? Quiz

Well, now. Ahem. NO comment. Just a grin and a giggle manly laugh. Or three.

Chirps

The title of this post is an obscure reference to the way Joni Mitchell referred to herself (“…and me, the chirp…”) while making band introductions on her 1974 live album, “Miles of Aisles.” I’ve always had a thing for Chirps, beginning waaay back in 1956 when I was mesmerized by Gogi Grant singing “Wayward Wind.” I get a lot of this “thing” from my Mom who idolized, among others, Kay Starr, Peggy Lee, The Andrews Sisters, Rosemary Clooney, Billie Holliday…and on, and on. These days I’m taken with Norah Jones, Lucinda Williams, and Mrs. Elvis Costello (Diana Krall…who does a fine cover of Joni’s “A Case of You”), just to name three. Not to mention the women blues singers like Etta James…and the immortal Aretha. And Joni, of course, who still is my favorite after all these years. In between my 11-year old “then” and my 62-year old “now” a lot of women on vinyl and that other, shiny form of plastic have made their way into my life, always enriching me way beyond the pittance I’ve given up in return for their music.

 

So…I read in my travels around the ‘net that Annie Lennox released a new album recently. (Apropos of nothing: Isn't she a hottie?) I was browsing the CD racks at the BX yesterday while running my errands and saw an unfamiliar Annie Lennox album and (wrongfully) assumed it was her new one. Well, it wasn’t. “Bare,” the album I picked up, is from 2003. Her new one is called “Songs of Mass Destruction,” and I’ll pick that up shortly… more than likely from Amazon…because the BX’s music selection sucks, to be blunt about it. But I digress. I auditioned “Bare” this morning while taking my morning coffee on the verandah on what is (or can be described as) a brilliant late summer’s day. Like all albums, I’ll have to give it three or four more listenings before I render final judgment…like, does it go in the car? Or not? Right off the top of my head, though, there isn’t one single song that jumps out at me…not like on “Medusa,” which had several. Not the least of which was this one:

And yet another digression: “the language” isn’t “leaving me.” It left. A little over nine years ago.

Chirps. Gotta love ‘em!

(photo: nemahziz)

Yesterday...

Well, Dang. Just Dang!! Yesterday was yet another banner day for college football…and a great day to be a fan. I can’t remember another year, another season, where the games have been so close (the ones that matter, anyway), and where there have been so many upsets. It’s just wild!

The hunt is open to more than a dozen teams. Instead of whittling down the list of contenders, we're expanding it.

We're at the point of talking about South Florida and Boston College as national title contenders -- with a straight face. We're at a point when Ohio State can lose the national title game by a million points and lose its Heisman Trophy-winning quarterback among eight NFL draft picks -- and probably now be ranked No. 1, thanks to the LSU loss and California's home loss to Oregon State.

We're at a point when lordly USC is defrocked by Stanford, which finished 82nd when an ESPN.com panel ranked all 119 Division I-A teams over the past decade. Then, the next week, powerful LSU is taken down by Kentucky, which ranked 73rd in the same poll.

Today, UK's ranking in the AP and coaches' polls should be rocketing back toward the top 10 after a remarkable show of poise and fortitude. Ten days earlier, a lot of people figured the Wildcats were exposed as impostors when they lost at South Carolina. Saturday night, they had their credentials re-established.

I’m talking in generalities, the linked article is specifically about the LSU – Kentucky game. That game was the best I saw yesterday, and that's serious understatement. I’m done saying “best ever,” coz I’ve used that phrase for the past three weeks running. But, word choice aside, it’s nonetheless true. What else can you say about a game that goes to triple overtime…a game where the nation’s number one-ranked team goes for a 57-yard field goal…and the win… with two seconds left in the fourth quarter and misses it, a game where that same team which was something like eight-for-eight on fourth down conversions…failed on a fourth and two situation in the third overtime and loses the game. Wow. Just WOW! It just don’t get no better than that, Gentle Reader. And Kentucky simply played their collective hearts out. This game is a sterling example of why I LOVE the college game, and why I watch religiously.

One more thing. The SEC is the best conference in college ball. Period. And I can say that without being accused of being some sort of “homer,” as I’m an ND fan…and my team doesn’t belong to any conference. Yeah, I also root for Big Blue and Air Force, but the Big Ten just ain’t that big any longer, not compared to the SEC. And the WAC? Yeahrightsure. Nope, it’s the SEC, hands down. It may not stay that way, but it’s certainly true this year. Last year, too.

(AP Photo/Ed Reinke)

Saturday Sunrise

Today’s Pics: An interesting sunrise this morning, but not all that photogenic. We had extremely low scudding clouds today, almost like fog but not quite at ground level. And these clouds were moving quite fast, as well. It was interesting to watch but I’ve seen much better sunrises.

The first photo is looking almost due east from the northeast corner of the wall that surrounds Beautiful La Hacienda Trailer Park. The second photo is looking northeast from approximately the same vantage point and highlights the low scudding clouds. The third photo is a crop of the second…which looks almost like a train heading right towards you. In reality it’s simply the lights atop the largest grain elevator in P-Ville. As always, click for larger.

And now I have some errands to attend to before the games begin…

More Gore

As if we needed it. But, Gentle Reader, I'm sure you'll like this:

Gore Wins Nobel Prize, High Court Gives It to Bush
by Scott Ott

(2007-10-12) — Although former Vice President Al Gore won the Nobel Peace Prize this week for his work as a global-warming performance artist, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled early today that President George Bush would receive the gold medal, the diploma and the $750,000.

Mr. Bush, who was narrowly defeated by Mr. Gore in the 2000 presidential election, thanked Justices John Roberts and Samuel Alito “for swinging the vote my way, and helping me to join the pantheon of great Nobel laureates like Jimmy Carter and the late Yassir Arafat who together brought peace to the middle east.”

Mr. Gore could not be reached for comment as he was returning from Oslo, Norway, in a private jet. However, his spokesman said that his efforts to bring peace on earth speak for themselves.

Heh... to quote a rather famous instantaneous-pundit. RTWT, Gentle Reader, RTWT.

War Story

Dunno if you’ve been following it or not, Gentle Reader, but Blog-Buddy Mushy has been posting a series of reminisces about his life as a Security Policeman in the USAF back in The Good Ol’ Days, which would be circa 1964 (or so) and onwards. It’s good stuff, especially if you happened to be in the service during that time…and even if you weren’t.

While Mushy and I have a couple of things in common… to wit, the time period during which we served and Keesler AFB (he was permanent party, I was a student in radar school)… Mushy has a much better memory than I do when it comes to remembering people, places and things in the waaay-back. I’m not sure why my memory is… uh…less than sharp, but I strongly suspect it has something a lot to do with what I will euphemistically describe as “bad habits” in my past lives. Highly entertaining bad habits, but bad nonetheless. But I digress.

I went into the Air Force in 1963, a scant 18 years after the end of Big Bang II. So, it stands to reason there were still more than a few career types on board who had served in WW II. Like every general and colonel in the Air Force at that time, most lieutenant colonels, and quite a few majors as well. Not to mention the guys in the senior NCO ranks. And there was also another phenomenon one ran into once in a while in those days: former officers who had been RIF’ed into the enlisted ranks.

The late 50s and early 60s were hard times, relatively speaking, for the military. The Air Force had gone through some pretty serious personnel Reductions In Force (RIF) prior to the Vietnam build-up. As I recall, officers who were tagged for involuntary separation as a result of a RIF action and had 16 years (or more) service were offered the “option” of enlisting as E4 and continuing on active duty until they reached that magic 20 year point, at which time they could retire at the “highest grade held,” which was usually captain or major. In other cases, officers on the RIF list who had held a prior enlisted grade higher than E4 before being commissioned were allowed to “revert” to that grade and continue on until they hit 20.

The first First Sergeant I ever had was in the last category. He was the First Sergeant of the 3383^rd School Squadron at Keesler AFB and was one of the sharpest looking NCOs I had ever seen, bar none. He was a distinguished looking Master Sergeant with white hair and ramrod straight posture that made him look like he was on the parade ground even while just walking from his car to the squadron orderly room. And I never, ever saw the man in anything but his Class A silver-tans (pic on the left), a uniform that was being phased out but was still “optional” at that time. My First Sergeant also had a chest full of ribbons on his Class As as well, more than any other man in uniform I’d ever seen up close and personal at that point in my very brief career. And that impressive collection of ribbons was topped by something highly unusual for a noncom: command pilot wings.

Keep in mind, Gentle Reader, I was but a jeep airman with one-stripe on my sleeve and all of perhaps three months in the service. But, being fresh out of basic with a head full of force-fed, drilled-in military history, customs, and courtesies (and having acquired some beneficial military knowledge as an Air Force brat), I knew sergeants didn’t fly airplanes. (As a general rule—there were exceptions.) And, believe me, back in that day a one-striper student airman just didn’t walk up to a Master Sergeant and say “Hey Sarge! What’s the story on the wings?” Not if he wanted body and soul to stay joined. Or unless he had some sort of unnatural desire for hours upon hours of extra duty. Nope, you stayed out of those guys’ way, period. You tried your best to be invisible.

Still, I was curious. So I brought it up with my Red Rope…a student leader… who brought it up with the Yellow Rope, and so on. Let’s take a minor digression here. About “Ropes.”

USAF technical schools are also military training environments, with the usual marching, drill, KP, parades, inspections, and the like. Many hundreds of trainees are assigned to individual school squadrons on a given training base, squadrons whose sole purpose in life is to move these students through the “pipeline” as quickly and efficiently as possible, while maintaining military discipline.

The personnel complement in a school squadron is divided between the students (transients) and “permanent party,” guys who are on three year (average) tours at that base. The permanent party organization in a school squadron basically consists of a commander (usually a lieutenant or junior captain), a first sergeant, an admin function, and a Military Training function, staffed by two Military Training Instructors (MTIs— usually staff or technical sergeants)…professional drill sergeants, in other words.

The MTIs are the guys who are actually in charge of the troops, and they have a cadre of student leaders working for them. Each squadron is organized into three shifts…A, B, and C. Each shift is led by a White Rope, and is organized into smaller sub-units of about 40 men, led by a Yellow Rope. And those sub-units go down to the lowest element of about ten men, led by a Red Rope. Ropes were students and were almost always Airmen Second Class, or two-stripers. Their authority was limited, but it was authority…and Ropes had small perks and privileges, one of which was exemption from actual physical labor…they “supervised.” Rather long digression, eh?

So. Back to my First Sergeant. It turned out, the story went, that this guy was indeed a command pilot and a former major who had flown B-17s in WW II. He had been caught up in a RIF action a couple of years before and reverted to his old rank of Master Sergeant, which he had held before being selected for pilot training during WW II. It was said he had one year to go before he retired. We, my Red Rope and myself, had this story passed down to us from the senior Ropes, who got it from the MTIs, who worshipped the First Sergeant. As a matter of fact, the story had it that our First Sergeant wielded more power… not just in our squadron, but on the base itself… and knew more people than any collection of six student squadron commanders. That story wasn’t particularly hard to believe. One would assume “the network” remains intact, even if your status changes. These sorts of bonds are strong, Gentle Reader, in ways you cannot imagine.

I wish I could have gotten to know that First Sergeant, whose name I cannot recall. But times were different then. The military has a strong caste system although it’s gotten kindler and gentler, especially in the Air Force, over the years. Back in 1963 it was unthinkable for a one-striper to engage a senior NCO in casual conversation, especially conversation of a personal nature. And speaking of that caste system… ponder, if you will, Gentle Reader, what it must have meant for my First Sergeant to go to work one day as a major and then go back to work the following day as a Master Sergeant. Granted, one wouldn’t remain in the same unit, or even on the same base. Such a transition in status was always softened by a change in physical assignment. Still and even, it had to be hard. I’ll bet my First Sergeant had some great war stories in that space. Many and varied, too.

Consider also what it must have been like for those other unfortunates who were RIFed and had no higher enlisted rank to return to. Those guys went to being E4s… Airman First Class at the time… a grade that didn’t have NCO status. Now those guys had it hard, comparatively speaking. But in the end they laughed all the way to the bank…their retirement checks contained substantially more money than any sergeant’s. I’m sure it was worth the price they paid.

The Benefits of Insomnia...

...such as they are. Today it’s being among the first to know The Goreacle won shares the Nobel Peace Prize with the U.N.'s Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. From the Nobel web site’s 2007 Nobel Peace Prize announcement:

Al Gore has for a long time been one of the world’s leading environmentalist politicians. He became aware at an early stage of the climatic challenges the world is facing. His strong commitment, reflected in political activity, lectures, films and books, has strengthened the struggle against climate change. He is probably the single individual who has done most to create greater worldwide understanding of the measures that need to be adopted.

By awarding the Nobel Peace Prize for 2007 to the IPCC and Al Gore, the Norwegian Nobel Committee is seeking to contribute to a sharper focus on the processes and decisions that appear to be necessary to protect the world’s future climate, and thereby to reduce the threat to the security of mankind. Action is necessary now, before climate change moves beyond man’s control.

Oslo, 12 October 2007

Well, we knew it was gonna happen, right? Or perhaps “feared” is the better word.

So. The next question: Will he run?

Interesting times, indeed.

Trees, This Time

Well, a lot of this is true and a couple of things…not so much.

You Are A Hazelnut Tree

You're a charmer with a killer sense of humor. You are very demanding, but you can also be very understanding. No matter what, you always make a lasting impression - you're quite popular. Passionate, you are an active fighter for social causes and politics. In general, you are moody, honest, a perfectionist, and very sexual.

What's Your Celtic Horoscope?

Better than most, actually. Except for the fact I hate hazelnuts.

(h/t: FHB)

Gettin' Close to That Time...

From Good Buddy Greg Fry in Indiana, via e-mail. As always, click for larger.

Hiatt ==> Raitt ==> Jagger... Jagger?

Lotsa folks have been posting some of their favorite tunes of late. It seems like every other blog I read has featured some vid or the other…and they’re ALL good, too! So, not being one to (ahem) buck a trend, here are a couple of my faves. Artists, that is. I went looking for a vid of my favorite John Hiatt tune, but alas…I came up empty. Still and even, there may be no such thing as a “bad” John Hiatt song. Here he is doing an acoustic version of Thing Called Love, a tune Bonnie Raitt covered and made into a minor hit in the near-way-back. Hiatt gets a lil bit excessive towards the end, but I forgive him. On the whole, a great performance.

Speaking of Bonnie…and Hiatt was doing that, at some length, even…Here’s Bonnie doing a duet on Thing Called Love with Bruce Hornsby. Dang, but I love the way this woman plays!

And then…from last year, here’s Bonnie doing a duet with Mick on one of Exile on Main Street’s finest songs…Shine A Light.

All that’s missing is Bonnie’s wondrous slide work. One wonders why she’s sans guitar? Was Ronnie afraid he’d get shown up? Or what?

Yet Another Chinese Toy Recalled...

From Good Friend and former co-worker Don Redman in Beautiful Ra-cha-cha, via e-mail.

"Outside of My Lane..."

Marine General Pace, former chairman of the Joint Chiefs, speaking at his retirement ceremony a week ago yesterday. I missed this in real time (which is sorta unusual for me, the C-SPAN junkie) but came across the video while making the rounds this morning. General Pace says some things in his remarks that are highly unusual for any military officer, let alone an officer of his stature and position. But these things NEED to be said and I, for one, am supremely glad he said them.

I’m sure you’ll agree.

(h/t: Flag Gazer)

Bud

Who is this man?

Steve McQueen, right?

Wrong. But don't feel bad...nearly everyone thinks it's McQueen. And it could have been McQueen, would have been McQueen, had not the producers of “The Great Escape” feared for McQueen's safety and their investment. But that's neither here nor there. The man in the photo is actually Bud Ekins…world famous bike racer, stunt man, all-around great guy and friend of Steve McQueen. Bud died October 6^th at the age of 77. Motor Trend published a tribute to Bud, and The Wiki has a comprehensive article on him.

But about that jump…Bud’s major claim to fame. Here’s an excerpt from a 2005 interview in Dirt Bike magazine:

Bud's claim to fame is that he's the man who performed the stunt that many credit to Steve McQueen in the movie, “The Great Escape.” Yep, the Triumph that sailed over the fence of the German prisoner-of-war camp, was piloted by Bud, not Steve McQueen. We talked with Bud about that incredible jump:

Bud: It was the first thousand dollar stunt ever in the movie industry. It was done in 1962, and that was considered huge money back in those days.
Rick: Who's idea was it to have you do the stunt?
Bud: McQueen. We were friends and he wanted me to do it.
Rick : How long was the actual jump and how high was it?
Bud: It was about 12 feet from the bottom of the wheels to the ground, and about 65 feet long.
Rick: Tell us about the bike.
Bud: It was a '62 Triumph; nothing special. Nothing was done to the suspension.
Rick: You jumped a stocker?
Bud: Yes. Girlings in the back, no sidecars springs in the forks, nothing. It was completely stock other than a lighter earlier model front wheel.
Rick: You jumped over 65 feet on a 400 pound motorcycle! What was the landing like?
Bud: Hard! It just went bang and then it bounced.
Rick: Did you land on a down-hill grade to ease the landing, like a ski jumper?
Bud: Nope. I landed on an uphill. You gotta think about it a bit. I launch off the ground and my bike is 12 feet in the air. By landing on an upgrade, my bike didn't have to fall 12 feet; the actual drop was about six feet, and that's quite a difference. I made the jump on the first pass. I jumped. They filmed it. That was that.
Rick: Actually, you have two of the most famous bike stunts ever done in the movies. You laid that bike down in Bullit, right in front of the sliding truck.
Bud: That was easy. But most people don't know that I did the driving in that Mustang, too.

RIP, Bud.

(h/t: Blog Buddy Lin, via e-mail)

Happy Birthday Sam!

SN2 is 39 today…the beginning of the end of his (official) youth. Chronologically, anyway. And to honor this auspicious occasion (well, sorta), your military is sending the Lieutenant Commander to Hawaii. He should be in the air as we speak, winging his way over to PACOM to deliver some sort of briefing.

I got a ration from Sam last year about the nature of the pics I posted. So I won’t post ‘em again this year. (Insert smiley-face thingie here.)

Treats, Culinary and Otherwise

I read this headline and took it literally…at first, with a HUGE amount of glee, as well: “Hillary Slaps Iowa Voter.” Obviously, I was thinking this was the moment we’ve all been waiting for: Hill finally loses it and thus begins her decline. Alas…too good to be true.

"Why should I support your candidacy if you haven't learned from the past?" Rolph asked, referring to her 2002 vote to authorize the use of military force in Iraq.

Clinton first thanked him and then countered that, "the premise of the question is wrong." So far, so good. But after offering a description of what was in the resolution, Clinton smugly and dismissively accused him of having been fed the information, saying "obviously somebody sent [it] to you."

Rolph didn't let it pass. "I take exception, this is my own research..."

"Well, then let me finish telling you..." Clinton screamed.

"Nobody sent that, and I am offended that you would suggest it," Rolph snapped at her.

[…]

"It was an insult," he fumed following the event. "It was basically calling me stupid. That I can't think on my own. That I don't have the ability to research or come up with a coherent or concrete thought on my own. How dare she!"

He continued, "She never did answer the question. She just, what I say is, bitch-slapped me." (emphasis mine)

What an appropriate turn-of-a-phrase, eh? (Another take on the story here.)

Dang! I’d love to be in attendance at this: “Chopsticks at dawn for a sushi showdown; Seven chefs will compete in London for the highest honour of Japanese cuisine.”

Of all the mysteries of Japanese culture, the art of how to make perfect sushi is the most cherished. Master chefs jealously conceal the secrets of their craft from all but the most faithful of acolytes, and then only spill the beans after years of patient apprenticeship.

But with every other master chef publicly receiving adulation for their culinary skills, from Gordon Ramsay and Marco Pierre White to Nigella Lawson, it was only a matter of time before the hitherto retiring connoisseurs of sushi began to desire their 15 minutes of fame.

Next week they will have just that at the grand finale of a four-month, nationwide celebration of Japanese food, drink and culture, when top Japanese chefs will put their reputations and honour at stake at the world's only sushi Oscars.

In what is being billed as the ultimate battle between the Seven Sushi Samurai, chefs from across the globe will converge at the Eat-Japan Sushi Awards in London to offer their trademark dish to diners and judges.

The event has generated huge excitement: all 300 tickets, costing £60 each, sold out within two weeks of going on sale, leaving a long waiting list.

One assumes ticket holders will get to sample the wares, but that may or may not be true. Two things here: First, the quality of British food has improved dramatically since I lived in London during the early 80s, when “English Cuisine” was the ultimate oxymoron. At that point in time the only decent meals one could get when eating out were in the numerous, and excellent, Indian and Chinese restaurants…and the fish ‘n’ chips stands, of course. I think there were only two Japanese restaurants in all of London at the time, if memory serves. I know The Second Mrs. Pennington and I had a helluva time finding even one sushi bar to satisfy our cravings. Which leads me to point two: I loves me some sushi!

TSMP and I had our favorite sushi bars when we lived in Tokyo in the mid-70s…two of which were within walking distance of our house. And we patronized them SO often (at least twice a week) that we were on a first-name basis with the chefs. At some point in time I absolutely must retrieve the family photo archive and scan the pics…this being the perfect illustrative point, as there are many more than a few “candid” shots of TSMP and I stuffing our mouths with raw tuna (mmmm!) and washing it down with (lots of…) excellent Sapporo beer. Former Happy Days, those were.

But…Oh! To be in London and at the World Series of Sushi…

In other British Culinary News…this lil article is guaranteed to invoke your “Eww!” response: “I’m not eating that!...Actually, you will. Not only are you all very well travelled, you’re extremely well fed, too.” Case in point:

Some years ago, I regularly travelled to West Africa. The French manager I used to meet in Côte d’Ivoire was always amused by my Anglo-Saxon disgust at some of the things eaten locally. On one occasion he took me to a restaurant that, he claimed, did a very good stew. He was right, it was delicious. Halfway through, however, I got a fright: my fork dredged from the bottom of the bowl what appeared to be a small, pink and perfectly formed baby’s hand. I pushed the plate away and turned white, which amused my companion no end. It transpired that the stew was made with a local delicacy – porcupine. And I can attest that, yes, their feet really do resemble small human... eurgh.

Nick Woodgates, Buckinghamshire

And you know there’s more…

The strangest (or weirdest) thing I’ve ever eaten is “dog on a log” from a street vendor in the Philippines. Which is exactly what it sounds like: bar-b-qued Fido, cooked shish-ke-bob style on a charcoal brazier. It wan’t all that bad, either, if memory serves. But I was two, or perhaps three, sheets in the wind at the time. The strangest thing I’ve refused to eat is rice bugs. You can only imagine, Gentle Reader. Or read about it.

Today’s Pic: Something rarely seen: YrHmblScrb on a Hardly-Ableson, this particular version being SN1’s Night Train on the day he took delivery. I never could get used to the Barca-Liner riding position. You know…feet out front (note the position of the pegs and shifter), lounging rearward, and all that. That’s simply UN-natural…on a mo’sickle. OK for watching football in your den, but not while riding a bike. Your Mileage Most CERTAINLY May Vary.

Valentines Day, 2003.

It's Just Another Brilliant Day...

Via Chap… here’s an especially powerful piece by Christopher Hitchens. The introduction:

I was having an oppressively normal morning a few months ago, flicking through the banality of quotidian e-mail traffic, when I idly clicked on a message from a friend headed "Seen This?" The attached item turned out to be a very well-written story by Teresa Watanabe of the Los Angeles Times. It described the death, in Mosul, Iraq, of a young soldier from Irvine, California, named Mark Jennings Daily, and the unusual degree of emotion that his community was undergoing as a consequence. The emotion derived from a very moving statement that the boy had left behind, stating his reasons for having become a volunteer and bravely facing the prospect that his words might have to be read posthumously. In a way, the story was almost too perfect: this handsome lad had been born on the Fourth of July, was a registered Democrat and self-described agnostic, a U.C.L.A. honors graduate, and during his college days had fairly decided reservations about the war in Iraq. I read on, and actually printed the story out, and was turning a page when I saw the following:

"Somewhere along the way, he changed his mind. His family says there was no epiphany. Writings by author and columnist Christopher Hitchens on the moral case for war deeply influenced him … "

I don't exaggerate by much when I say that I froze.

Mr. Hitchens goes on to describe meeting Lt. Daily’s family and getting to know the young soldier through their eyes, and through Lt. Daily’s writings. To say the piece is moving is understatement of the highest order. Mr. Hitchens gives us yet another story that makes us ask "Where do we get such men?"

From the sublime to the ridiculous football… It was good yesterday, wasn’t it? Better than good, actually: it was frickin’ GREAT. I watched three games yesterday, and they just kept getting better and better as the day went on, beginning with Illinois’ upset of Number 5 Wisconsin, to the Red River Shoot-Out, and finally with LSU’s triumph over Florida.

Playing as a top-ranked team in the AP Top 25 for the first time since 1959, LSU was in serious trouble much of the game. Their top-rated defense was shredded by Florida's double-threat quarterback, Tim Tebow, who led the Gators to a trio of 10-point leads.

But they couldn't hold off the Tigers.

No, they couldn’t. But they sure as Hell gave it their best shot. This game simply has to rank up there among the best I’ve ever seen. Both teams played with an intensity seldom seen in any game, and not just for a quarter, or a half…but for the entire game. As I said in the comments to the post below following the game: This was more like a knife fight than a football game. You really missed something if you missed this one.

Footnote: It’s ironic (for me…the die-hard ND fan) no one televised, at least in my viewing area, what could be Notre Dame’s sole win this year. And they won convincingly over UCLA by a score of 20-6, aided by the fact UCLA’s starting QB went out with an injury in the first quarter. I caught Charlie’s comments on SportsCenter last evening talking about the win:

Coach Charlie Weis obviously was relieved.

"When you're 0-5, everyone in the country is laughing at you," Weis said. "The only thing you can do is do something about it on the field. I'm really happy for the kids.

"We never had a better week of practice since I've been here. I said good things will happen, and it happened."

But Charlie was all I saw. Too bad, that.

In other sports news… the Wings lost last night to Chicago in their second straight shoot-out. Two games, two shoot-outs. I don’t like the way the season is beginning…but it’s only the beginning, nu?

It’s dead calm outside this morning, which is a welcome relief from the past two days of unrelenting wind. While the wind hasn’t been destructive in nature, it’s certainly been annoying. And hot, too. Not to mention dusty, which is always the corollary to wind here on The High Plains. But today looks like it’s gonna be perfect for a ride out to parts unknown. After the coffee’s been consumed, of course.

Today’s Pic: Something similar (but not identical) to a pic previously posted…SN3 and me just before we took off on a jaunt into the foothills of the Front Range near Fort Collins, CO.

Late May, this year.

Change of Plan

OK...that's it. I hope Florida kicks LSU's ass. Hard. Florida is ahead 10 - 0 at the very beginning of the second, and just scored on a brilliant play by Tebow...after a great drive. And how does the crowd respond? A chant of...

F!uck You, Tebow! F!uck You, Tebow!

Clearly audible on the network feed. How boorish.

Go Gators!

Another Fall Saturday...

Here are a couple of things from yesterday and the day before that I never quite got around to mentioning, being ate-up with all things moto as I was for the last few. First, via Lex, an innovative bit of tactics being implemented in both Afghanistan and Iraq: “Army Enlists Anthropology in War Zones.” This is mostly a good news story, and appears to be quite a success. But every silver lining is wrapped in a dark cloud:

Hugh Gusterson, an anthropology professor at George Mason University, and 10 other anthropologists are circulating an online pledge calling for anthropologists to boycott the teams, particularly in Iraq.

“While often presented by its proponents as work that builds a more secure world,” the pledge says, “at base, it contributes instead to a brutal war of occupation which has entailed massive casualties.”

Ah, but there’s more, much more than that, in the “pledge:”

US military and intelligence agencies and military contractors have identified “cultural knowledge,” “ethnographic intelligence,” and “human terrain mapping” as essential to US-led military intervention in Iraq and other parts of the Middle East. Consequently, these agencies have mounted a drive to recruit professional anthropologists as employees and consultants. While often presented by its proponents as work that builds a more secure world, protects US soldiers on the battlefield, or promotes cross-cultural understanding, at base it contributes instead to a brutal war of occupation which has entailed massive casualties. By so doing, such work breaches relations of openness and trust with the people anthropologists work with around the world and, directly or indirectly, enables the occupation of one country by another. In addition, much of this work is covert. Anthropological support for such an enterprise is at odds with the humane ideals of our discipline as well as professional standards.

“Brutal war of occupation,” indeed. And God Forbid some well-meaning anthropologist would want to actually minimize casualties, as noted in the Times article, and contribute to something as arcane and passé as “victory,” eh? Retired blogger turned commenter Cassie hits the nail dead on the head when she says:

What a bunch of poseurs. I suspect their real problem with all of this is that they have committed the cardinal sin of leaving the realm of the abstract and theoretical for the applied.

Scary place, that real world.

*sigh*

What she said. Dang, but I loves me some pithiness.

The other thing worth mentioning? Just a follow-up from my rant the other day wherein I noted the supremely orchestrated Democrat “outrage” against Mr. Limbaugh was but another ploy to facilitate the re-implementation of the Fairness Doctrine. From the October 3 edition of The Hill:

House Republicans are threatening to launch a discharge petition on legislation that would ensure the future prosperity of conservative radio talk-show hosts but is expected to face opposition from Democratic leaders. On Monday evening, Republicans filed a rule with the House Rules Committee laying the groundwork for a petition that would force action on protecting radio from government regulation later this fall.

The move comes at a time when Democrats have launched a coordinated attack on conservative radio host Rush Limbaugh, accusing him of disparaging American troops critical of the Iraq war as “phony soldiers.”

Senate Majority Whip Dick Durbin (D-Ill.) has said broadcasters should be required to give listeners both sides of political issues so voters can make informed decisions.

Conservatives fear that forcing stations to make equal time for liberal talk radio would cut into profits so severely that radio executives would choose to scale back on conservative programming to avoid rising costs and interference from the government.

The Democrats are serious about this…the re-enactment of the Fairness Doctrine. Talk radio, specifically right-wing talk radio, has been a thorn in their collective sides for years. The failure of Air America and other Lefty outlets to generate the kind of following Mr. Limbaugh has just pisses them off to no end. And it appears they have absolutely no qualms about limiting free speech through legislation in order to even things up…the market be damned. It’s not about what you want, Gentle Reader, it’s what they want.

Today’s Pic: Another shot from that series of sunrise pics I took yesterday morning. Yesterday you got #23, today you get #25. The two photos were taken but seconds apart; the difference lies in the exposure - today's pic is at 1/500th of a second, yesterday's was 1/1600th of a second. Both photos were shot at f 4.5.

And now, Gentle Reader, it’s Saturday, so it just HAS to be football. And lots of it. I don’t have a dog in any of today’s fights, but that’s never stopped me from enjoying the games. But…just for Becky’s sake: “Hook ‘Em Horns!!” and something to the effect of “Go Tigers!” Or whatever those Coon-Asses say. (Sorry, Pat… I just can’t bring myself to the point of cheering for the Buckeyes. I’m sure you understand.)

Off on a Tangent. A Fast Tangent...

So. It was just too nice a day to simply sit inside and make the rounds and then…post again. I did make most of my rounds, but there are still a few blogs that remain unread. I’ll catch up on those right after I put this post up. But…the usual and customary blogs have all been hit, save for one…

No, Gentle Reader, I hit the shower about an hour after posting the sunrise pic, saddled up Miss Zukiko, and headed out to put another 50 miles or so (70, actually) on the clock before returning to the task(s) at hand. In the course of the ride the flashing fuel light came on at 175 miles, indicated. Which brings us to the first, and only, nit about Miss Zukiko…so far. She doesn’t have a fuel gauge like the late (un)lamented ‘Zuki did. I like fuel gauges, and I think it’s semi-criminal most motorcycle manufacturers don’t include them on their bikes. It ain’t that hard to do, and a gauge is much better than a flashing fuel light that comes on with a gallon left in the tank. Now a gallon of fuel will take you about 55 miles on Miss Zukiko (55.98 miles, actually, since I checked the mileage when I filled up this morning), but on some bikes one has a lot less miles left in the tank until you run dry once that light comes on…

Just sayin’.

Back to the ride. Miss Zukiko has potential…serious potential…of becoming one of my favorite mo’sickles of all time. She’s nicely balanced, has adequate power (fully unexplored as of yet, due to break-in limitations), and she isn’t all that uncomfortable for a sport bike. And she is beautiful beyond description, especially her color. There are blues, and then there are blues. Miss Zukiko sports about the best looking blue I’ve ever seen, running a close second to this blue. But, apples and oranges, and all that.

Just in case you’re wondering, Gentle Reader, I’ve owned about 20 or so mo’sickles during my life. My favorites are…

1. My old RD-400. Dang but she was quick. And fun. And she’s still in the family.
2. The RD-350LC. The pic is of a 250, but the 350s/250s were identical, save for displacement. This bike took me all over England…not to mention over the top of Mt. Snaefell on Mad Sunday.
3. Any one of perhaps four 250cc motocrossers I owned in the way-back.

Speaking of Mad Sunday… I was gonna post the link to this but decided to embed it, instead.

Keep in mind, Gentle Reader, this guy isn’t doing anything illegal. There are no speed limits on Mad Sunday and traffic is one-way across the mountain. The guy in the video is seriously fast… much faster than me. But note that he does get passed…once…and rather convincingly, at that. Our rider never caught up with the guy that passed him, but there are some pretty cool wheelies at what looks like speeds well and truly over “the ton.” Amazing, that.

Just another day at the TT.

{sigh} Makes me wanna go back, it does.