California Ballot Initiatives- You Have To Be High...

California has two ballot initiatives, in addition to the usual one letting the State horn in on the weed business.

They are Propositions 67  and 60.

67 outlaws the practice of offering plastic bags to store shoppers at the point of sale.

60 requires the wearing of a plastic bag while filming pornographic movies.

The first has no special monitoring mechanism, but the second will be enforced by  California Occupational Safety and Health inspectors.

The jokes write themselves.

If I could go back in time and show my grandmother a newspaper from today, she'd say

"That H. G. Wells has gone mad. The time machine and invasion from space were believable but this is just crazy."

"Take Care of (Name Redacted)" - I know who it is!

It's Dowb!

The Creepiest Thing Ever Sold...

I used to think the safety plug for Little Boy was the creepiest thing I'd ever sold at auction. No more.

And it's not this, either. Although it's creepier than the plug.

No, it's this





humble desk blotter, a 1941 Christmas present from a loving wife to her devoted husband.  It still has his signatures all over the blotting paper. He liked the pretty blue ink, who knew?

 If you hold it up to the mirror you could probably read them.

Reinhard Heydrich, Reinhard Heydrich, Reinhard Heydrich...

I would not have it in my house, thank you.

This explains EVERYTHING!!!

The Washington Post's aggressive investigative team has broken it all out into the open!

"When Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia died 12 days ago at a West Texas ranch, he was among high-ranking members of an exclusive fraternity for hunters called the International Order of St. Hubertus, an Austrian society that dates back to the 1600s."

By burrowing deeply into such obscure, concealed places as websites, newspapers, police reports, and party invitations, they have ferreted out the International Order of St. Hubertus! All that J-school training paid off.

What the Post fails to mention- probably out of fear of retribution- is the real power behind what appears to be a friendly group of like- minded men. * It's there though- right in the ninth paragraph-

"In 1695, Count Franz Anton von Sporck founded the society in Bohemia..."

This explains EVERYTHING!! Clearly, Justice Scalia was a plant all along. People have often been confused by his rulings, but now we know what was behind them. The Washington Post may be afraid to say it out loud, but I'm not.

Justice Scalia was a tool of Big Spork.  Upholding flight restrictions, so no proper forks on airplanes in the cheap seats. What do you think the Guantanamo prisoners eat with? He ruled for Monsanto in Bowman- and what is the favored tool for creamed corn? How many times could his otherwise inexplicable decisions in favor of fast food giants be understood now that his loyalty to the two tines and a bowl is known?

Perhaps the clearest, almost explicit, demonstration is in his opinion in Thomas v Chicago Park District.   Scalia, despite his own disgust, had found burning a flag to be free speech. Yet in Thomas, he ruled AGAINST a marijuana  advocacy group which had appealed the denial of a park permit for a rally. Why? "The picnicker and soccer player, no less than the political activist or parade marshal, must apply for a permit if the 50-person limit is to be exceeded."

And who uses sporks? Picnickers and soccer players. Not weed, they eat the doritos right out of the bag. 

And of course he held against Marriage Equality. Can you imagine a fabulous wedding with sporks? I thought not.

Alas, we found out too late. 










*"They have capes! What is this men only stuff, I want to join!"- TheGirl

That day again...

Not Lunatics, Heroes...

After Paris, so many people calling the killers crazy.

"The real limiting factor is finding about a dozen psychos who are so mentally whacked that they think that this is a good idea, but are still composed enough that they can work together effectively."

    What nonsense.

    The limiting factor is finding about a dozen heroes who are so dedicated to the cause that they are willing to strike a serious blow for God.
  
   These people are mission-identical with the Dam Busters, FTP,  or the Doolittle raiders. The ideology is different, and the social infrastructure a lot weaker, and you don't like seeing what they do on the news, but they aren't crazy spree killers. They are soldiers, they think of themselves as soldiers. Their friends, families, teachers,  and millions of people think of them as soldiers.

   The Aurora slug and the Chattanooga murderer illustrate the difference. Aurora was a nutjob, but the Chattanooga one was a functioning, job-holding, friend-having, electrical engineer with a serious ideology for which he was willing to die. FFS, he went after the entire U. S. Marine Corps and the Chattanooga Police Department on his own. If he'd been a German in 1940 there would be statues and street signs all over Europe.

   And like it or not, pretend otherwise or not, stadia, bars, malls, supermarkets, grade schools, hospitals, nursing homes, and $%^&* pet dogs are all legitimate military targets, at least they are since the Allies found a way to attack them in 1943. They remain, in this day of perfect targeting, legitimate military targets for us  when there's an important, or unimportant, or possible enemy in them.  Certainly they are in an insurrection, where the goal is to make the State look helpless to protect its own, frighten the government, weaken its resources, and impress the wavering with the insurgents' power, determination, and ferocity. What do you think this is, Chancellorsville?

   This isn't a mental heath problem any more than it's a criminal justice problem.  It's Algeria. It's Béziers.

Two hours from Bataclan...

     All set for a perfect St. Hubert tomorrow, but I expect there might be a change of plan. We're in Coucy-le-Chateau, a good seventy miles from Paris, behind the walls of a massive fortress built by Crusaders.

      It's strange to think that when this place was built, the rulers of Jerusalem and  the armies in the Levant and Syria were French. They built other Coucys which still stand lonely sentinel, silent witnesses in what is now the Daesh.

      The people who built these places, here and in Syria- the knights, the magnates, the stonecutters, cooks, prostitutes, and grooms- were serious people. These places are as permanent as they could make them. They BELIEVED. 

       We look at these witnesses, these artefacts, differently. To the Faithful, they aremarkers of triumph. The infidel Kafir came to stay, they built for the ages, and our ancestors threw them out like the Godless trash they are. The young people who look up at Krak know who Saladin and Abd el Kadr were, and they think of themselves as their heirs. They long to extend their victory. They are no more terrorists than George McGovern or Jimmy Stewart were.

        To us, the Crusader castles are pretty curiosities, relics of an embarrassing aggression we have fortunately outgrown.  Charles Martel is a figure of shame, Roland is forgotten, and Richard Coeur de Lion is the co-star of Robin Hood movies.

      You can't beat something with nothing.

     In the darkness a couple of hours to the south,  arrogant rich men who have forgotten real life are gathered to presume to create a new world, one they will mold and control to meet their fantasy crisis with greater power over their subjects. I'm sure they delude themselves into thinking that they and their puny agenda are the targets. They wish they were so important.

      Islam's counterattack stretches to Paris again. It's past midnight, and the village inside the fort is quiet.

Sometimes her visits are unexpected, but Clio is always near at hand.
.

The Parable of Twister

      Often I see people in my profession who become upset about what they see as the failure of other people in the system. It's easy to do this, and it's only a short step to trying to control outside actors, and then only a shorter step to blaming ourselves for failing in that impossible task.

     I use the Parable of Twister.

     You know the game, Twister. Not Mazola Twister or Strip Twister, but regular old wholesome Twister.

     What's the objective? To not fall down.

     Why do you fall down? Because you try to cover too many spots too far apart. Left hand blue, left foot red, can't quite reach green, boom. On the floor.

     What if you could just start on the blue spot and stay there, all your weight centered?

     You'd never fall down.

     The Courthouse is like a giant  Twister board.  As soon as you try to cover a second spot- the Judge, the Police,  witnesses, defence lawyers, Jurors- you're at risk. The more spots you try to cover, the more people you don't control, the tippier you are and the less weight you put on your own spot.

     Stand on your spot. Be the prosecutor (or cop, or probation officer, whatever you are) and if other people don't do what you think they ought, that's their line to hunt. You hunt yours.

     Cover your spot.

     It's a nice way to reaffirm the serenity prayer. Forgetting the difference between what we can change and what we can't makes us crazy sometimes.

RACIST Washington Post!!!! AGAIN!!! THE SAME RACE!!!!

Once again, the official thought leaders and professionally trained diversicrats expose their inherent institutionalized racism.

First, it was "chink" security consultants.

Now, it's poets.  Out of all the words in the English language, THAT had to be the last one in the article?

Sheesh. Rehab, privilege walks,  and sensitivity training for Sarah Kaplan.

In The Navy, 2005...

Where can you be helpless
When you get in a mess

If a murderer attacks?
Where can you begin to learn you that had best  not
Watch out for your ship mate's backs?
Where can you learn to hide
Out behind a closed blind
Hoping that no one will see?
Duck and run for cover
If bullets fly over
Or run out the back to flee...

In the navy
You had better not shoot back
In the navy
You'll get your ass in a crack
In the navy
Come on now, people, don't you stand
In the navy, in the navy
You had best not raise a hand!
In the navy
You can protect the mother land
In the navy
But just not your fellow man!
In the navy
Never never make a  stand!

In the navy, in the navy, in the navy (in the navy)

They want you, they want you
They want you to keep your head down!

If you're down for shaheed
AK up and proceed
To a recruiting office fast
Don't you hesitate
There is no need to wait
Just shoot at all the seamen fast
Maybe you are too young
To join up today
Bout don't you worry 'bout a thing
For I'm sure there will be
Always a good navy
targets on the  land you see.

In the navy
Yes, you can grovel on the floor
In the navy
Yes, you can hope they shoot no more
In the navy
Call the cops, don't make a stand
In the navy, in the navy
We'll make sure  you need a hand
In the navy
Don't dare protect the motherland
In the navy
Hide out with your fellow man
In the navy
Don't dare be bold or make a stand
In the navy, in the navy, in the navy (in the navy)

They want you, they want you
They want you as a new recruit!

Who me?

They want you, they want you
Just as long as you dare not shoot!

But, but, but, I have a gun permit.
Hey, hey look
Man, I don't want to be executed!

They want you, they want you in the navy

Oh my goodness.
What am I gonna do when the jihad comes?

They want you, they want you in the navy


In the navy
you damned well better not shoot back
In the navy
you'll get your ass in a crack
In the navy
Come take cover, don't you stand
In the navy, in the navy
You had best not raise a hand!
In the navy
You can protect the mother land
In the navy
But not your fellow man!
In the navy
Never never make a  stand!

The Japanese Have Really Learned Something Since 1945...

 I absolutely kid you not- Japanese Foreign Minister Fumio Kishida on Japan's response to "Islamic  terrorism"-

 "...We will continue our efforts to deepen relations with the Middle East, building on coexistence, co-prosperity and collaboration."

In tomorrow's issue, Chancellor Merkel reveals her plan for a final solution to Greek debt.

Speaking of which, courtesy of TheGirl, and also not made up-

 http://finalsolutionpestcontrol.com/

"We utilize chemicals, heat, exclusion, and cryogenics to eliminate pests. "

Exclusion... like you put them into a little area all their own?  

And I do NOT want to know which chemicals.





(For those who don't understand why this is hilarious,  The Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere (大東亞共榮圏 Dai-tō-a Kyōeiken) was an imperial propaganda concept created and promulgated for occupied Asian populations during the first third of the Shōwa era by the government and military of the Empire of Japan. It extended greater than East Asia and promoted the cultural and economic unity of Northeast Asians, Southeast Asians, and Oceanians. It also declared the intention to create a self-sufficient "bloc of Asian nations led by the Japanese and free of Western powers". It was announced in a radio address entitled "The International Situation and Japan's Position" by Foreign Minister Hachirō Arita on June 29, 1940.[1] An Investigation of Global Policy with the Yamato Race as Nucleus—a secret document completed in 1943 for high-ranking government use—laid out the superior position of Japan in the Greater Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere, showing the subordination of other nations was part of explicit policy and not forced by the war.[2] It explicitly states the superiority of the Japanese over other Asian races and provides evidence that the Sphere was inherently hierarchical, including the Japanese Empire's true intention of domination over the Asian continent.[3])

That day again...

Colt Will Reintroduce the 1903 Pocket Hammerless Automatic...

You saw it here first. After having done the single action army, percussion revolvers,  civil war rifle, Gatling gun and semi auto BAR, the little automatic Colt is next. I suppose the constant noise about it, and the current pocket gun craze, made them decide to try.

Well, maybe they will.  You'd think they wouldn't have had someone tool up unless they meant to sell them. I suppose the cost savings in current manufacturing techniques makes the project viable.

At any rate, all this is extrapolation from a prototype I've handled, and it's pretty indistinguishable from a standard Parkerized military issue example. There's nothing that I could see that's updated or improved, that is to say, cheapened. Just a straight 1903, markings and all. Didn't get to strip it, though

You read it here first.

Charlie Hebdo Murderers...

The dead Charlie Hebdo artists and I disagree about almost everything, and they are heroes who put their lives on the line. R.I.P.

Sony Pictures Press Release about "The Interview"-

"Our experts and  lawyers tell us that the threats about this movie endanger our customers and that it will cost our stockholders millions if there's an attack on a theater showing it.

We're responsible people, and we won't release it in theaters.

So it's free now. We abandon our copyright.

We'll mail a free DVD to anyone who wants one.

It will stream free on our own web site as long as someone wants to see it.

We'll post it free on YouTube, Netflix, Hulu, Amazon, and anywhere else that will let us.

So there, murdering North Korean tyrant trash."

I wish.

November 11 2014

  

   We went to the terrifying thing a couple of days ago. I had never seen it from a distance, the only other visit was in fog. On a clear day Lutyens' effect is even more aweful. From a distance, it looks tiny and playful, like some sort of chinoiserie folly.  As one drives up it grows and grows, but it still is just a massive, vast ornament without a clear purpose.

   Not until you're within thirty yards or so, when the whole thing is so big the eyes' field can't hold it and its massiveness oppresses, do the names just pop into view.

   Astounding.

   But today, we went to Vauxbuin which is a French  ,  British , and German cemetery.  And although they were removed and buried elsewhere, Americans from Company D were killed right here on July 19, 1918 pushing the Germans- some in this cemetery- off the road we parked on.

   The stones put three thoughts in my head today.

   Mrs. Gartside-Tipping's reminded me that there are all sorts of people who volunteer to help in an emergency, even patrician old widow ladies whose (twenty year over age for service but volunteered anyway at age 67) husbands vanished into the icy sea the year before. And that soldiers losing their minds is not just ripped from the headlines.


  

   The French graves of men from (L-R) Morocco,  Madagascar, and Somalia made me think about how bewildering the European diaspora, and the diasporas it spawned, are.

   And finally I am sure that many of the Jewish tombstones in the German cemetery name fathers, who in their minds served and died to protect their children from a foreign menace.

   How savage we are.

David Weigel, Wrong but Brave Journalist...

     At last, a trained journo chooses to be responsible about a publicity murderer-


"I'm simply not comfortable printing the name of the killer. More than most of his spree-murder peers, he made it very clear that he wanted to be loved and worshiped, saying as much in a self-pitying manifesto and a series of mopey vlogs. Let's forget the guy and leave him for the worms."


     Although we disagree about a lot of things, THANK YOU Mr. Weigel for not printing the killer's name, and adding insult and degradation.  That's the only practical way to deter them.

     Everyone knows the next one is watching, and the way other media outlets  persist in rewarding publicity killers  is so irresponsible that it suggests they want more of them .

     I wish he ran CNN, or at least could convince his employers to stop encouraging these useless losers- because the sidebar to his Slate article is full of killer-building stories.

     One of which is the most next killer encouraging story I have ever seen, from the New York Post-  a cover and skimpy clothing pictures of a woman the trash loser blamed for his acts. Not only is her life wrecked, but copiers will see their power to use our trained, expert journos'  "news"  "judgement" to embarrass and injure the targets of their perverse wrath.

     Beyond shameful, if they had the ability to feel shame.

Chipotle? Gun owners used to have some self-respect.

"armed to the jowls..."

This is seriously funny and NOT anti commentary, in the Guardian forsooth.

"There was no apparently interest in reporting that, while many people say "kill me" after eating Chipotle, most gun deaths are caused by people who do, in fact, kill themselves."

Farmers Giles, Butch and Thom...

Proof that our government is entirely too straight- that this program isn't named the  Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Economic Information and Equality Yokel Outreach.

Mass Murderer Posthumous Endorsements!

So, looking at building a house with TheGirl. She told me about this clever modular design technology, showed me some pictures. Interesting....

Let's check their facebook, shall we?

Look, endorsed by

dead mass murdering terrorists!



I think Speer would have been better, though, what with being a prize winning architect and having at least supervised the construction of modular barracks  housing by slave labourers unskilled labour.

And Stalin, with that White Sea Canal!

That Day, Continuing Last Year's Theme...

Web site of the day....

The NSA should be here any time now-

The Easternmost Explication of the Second Amendment...

     So, a little while ago I went to Eastport, Maine. It bills itself as the first place in the United States to see the sun each day, and it certainly is the closest to where God sets his watch.  Well worth the trip, TheGirl and I made lobster pigs of ourselves at the Eastport Chowder House, which we closed down. Friendly real Yankees.  Then watched a gorgeous Sunrise.

     Eastport is a pretty little town, once a busy port but now they have tourists in the summer and the rest of the year just take in each others' washing. A pleasant, tasty  breakfast at the Liberty Cafe and walking over the town. We  ended up in front of the Peavey Memorial Library.

Before which stands, as one might expect,

a cannon.

     Being from down South and always interested in artillery displayed, I thought I'd wander over to see if it was a trophy from Tredegar, or a Yankee veteran.

     I was surprised to see that it was neither. Aside from a Boston founder's name and an 1836 date, the tube was devoid of any marks of State or National ownership.

     And that got me thinking.  Uh oh...

     Our master's latest push to disarm his subjects concentrates on what he calls "weapons of war",  which have "no business on our streets".  Funny, that "our", coming from a man who will never again walk a street unguarded. And the Government's weapons of war seemed to be perfectly fine on the streets of Ludlow and Detroit, and for special occasions like Katrina and Kent State. Not to mention Libya and Syria. Or just riding around in ordinary police cars.

   But I riot. Back on the line, weapons of war.

     When our Republic was new,  a  bronze muzzle loading cannon was the most deadly weapon there was.  Unlike an infantry musket, cavalry horse, or M-4, there was and is no use for artillery other than killing people and smashing their buildings.

      This six pounder was the cutting edge and definition of a "weapon of war".

     In pretty much every time in every culture with a coast, the ship of war is the most complex, expensive, and deadly thing a society's brains and technology can combine to make. Salaminia, Sao Martinho, Victory, Gloire, Freidrich der Grosse, Nimitz- all embodiments of the top end of an entire country's ability to do violence.

      And in 1836 the killing end of the warship was artillery just like this.

     What does this have to do with the Second Amendment?

     Our Betters assert that the Second Amendment does not apply to "weapons of war" and they always advert to artillery as an example. They read the initial clause to mean that although "weapons of war" are not the arms referred to in the Amendment and are not protected to the people, the Amendment's purpose is to insure that State and Federal reserve forces are able to have, um, "weapons of war". Go figure.

     'Ware riot again. Anyway, in 1836 the Second Amendment was 45 years old. Quite a few of the men who adopted and ratified it were still around. I'll submit that they knew what it meant.

     And in 1836, someone- some private citizen- maybe a few yards away at America's oldest ship chandler-  (still in business today, with a lovely line of yellow leather gloves) laid down gold and bought this pure "weapon of war".

     In fact, anyone with the cash could have gone into any big port in the country and bought just as good a warship as the Navy's best.  The seas were infested with pirates, armed ships were ordinary components of  commercial voyages. You didn't need permission, or registration, or anything else but the money or credit.

     Commercially produced ships of the era were fully war capable. Golden Hind was private property. Before 1600 or so, national navies were largely formed of commandeered private ships and their civilian crews. American, British, and French privateers- privately owned and operated ships of war- were very active in the World Wars of the late 18th and early 19th centuries. On occasion East Indiamen and Mail Packets fought and captured Naval vessels.

     A quarter of a century into this gun's life was the apotheosis of the cash and carry weapon of war. An insurgent organisation used its money and credit to buy high tech ships of war on individual private account, and then  swept the seas clear of the second largest commercial fleet on the planet.

    And when the dust settled, the United States' position was not that  John Laird
shouldn't have sold warships to private individuals, but that the yard shouldn't have sold them to known representatives of active belligerents  knowing that the buyers would use them as "weapons of war" in violation of local neutrality law.

    I don't know when it became unlawful in the United States for an individual to just put down money and buy a navy for himself, if in fact it is. I know the various neutrality acts interfered with the ability of nations to buy warships, and applied the Alabama Claims' rules to sales to those acting for governments.  And I know that British, French, and American shipyards supplied most of the warships, and nearly all the capital warships, to much of the world on a straight up cash and carry basis until after 1914. After 1918,  the cut price sale, loan, or gift of surplus ships in government hands as a tool of policy killed the business.


     Private possession and sale of artillery in the United States wasn't Federally regulated until 1968 (thanks Tam), which means that  when this gun was 131 years old an American could still buy and own a destroyer, battleship, or aircraft carrier for his own use if he could find one for sale.

     And I suspect he still can, if the artillery and torpedoes are properly NFA registered.

     So no matter what the bien pensants assert, there's no indication from our past that the Second Amendment is meant to confine "weapons of war" to government possession.

     This little cannon proves it.

The Funniest Sentence in the News Today...

The agency sent its new marijuana inspectors to recreational shops to monitor sales and make sure sellers understood the state's new marijuana-tracking inventory system meant to keep legal pot out of the black market.

Marijuana tracking system. Forsooth.

"Umm, I think I have some pot, somewhere..."

For serious,

"Medical pot users worried they'd be priced out of the market. Colorado's recreational pot inventory came entirely from the drug's supply for medical uses.
"We hope that the focus on recreational doesn't take the focus away from patients who really need this medicine," said Laura Kriho of the patient advocacy group Cannabis Therapy Institute."

 the FIRST DAY begins agitation for special medical weed subsidies.  Already trying to get some market control and distortion based on the power of guilt.

Also, the Colorado State Marijuana Inspectors- are they subject to Colorado's pre employment drug screening?

And if they test negative after they are hired, is that grounds for termination?

Because how could they be inspecting if they aren't around it?

P.S., can't sell these any more- it's Impersonating an Officer!

Again, economic seriousness. Talking about this with two people who know the economics of marijuana- one a user, one a drug squad officer.  The question, how much would it take to make it worth while to drive to Colorado  and buy for a syndicate? I said your expenses would be about $300, and I'd want to make $1000 profit for the trip. Figure 10 friends- more is risky. An ounce of good weed sells here for about $400, so that's what,  $530 an ounce?

The Colorado price, according to the article? $560. Go, free market. Instant pricing.

I suspect there will be a quick drop though, because of competition. Most people buying illegal things have a single source. 24 legal marijuana shops puts an end to that.

I predict a hotel and gasoline boomlet. And an uptick for Colorado UPS and FEDEX revenues too.

Kubrick's Estate Should Sue....

You know those big stainless steel elevators, um, lifts,   at Heathrow? The ones with the metallic, disembodied voices? And the

big all seeing eyes? What would be a good name for those? Hmmm....

Armistice day 2013...

On 11/11 at 11:00, I found myself at the Oise-Aisne American Cemetery.

A couple of miles away I passed through Fere-en-Tardenois.  Great minds 

 

 think alike, that was the scene in the town square at the memorial. They even had the band.

Even though it's full of places like this

 

most of the names in the visitor's books at U. S. cemeteries now

are French. They remember.

It was as pretty a day as you could hope for- cool and clear.  As usual, the cemetery was immaculate. I hope it is a long time until we abandon these places.

     The capitals on the columns were planned by men who lived the war:

 

     Only  some Doughboy would have thought to include a can of corned Bill in this monument for Posterity.

     Alas I did not have my camera, just a telephone one so none of my tombstone pictures came out. A few things struck me as I strolled the lanes.

     A lot of the death dates are in 1919. The war ended on the 11th, but peritonitis, burn infection,  ordnance disposal, truck wrecks, and the 'flu kept going.

     There are several civilians, probably YMCA workers or some such.

     Interesting to see so many now obsolete ranks. I saw stevedore, bugler, wagoner, chauffeur, field clerk, and some others.

       We forget the uniting force of the War. This  cemetery holds mainly draftees.  Everyone got drafted- white and black, English speaker and Bohunk. Americans still practiced all sorts of segregation and all sorts of prejudice were standard. The foul creature Wilson led the way, racially segregating the Civil Service to please his Democratic Party base in the Solid South.  Yankee aristocrats and West Virginia miners and Mississippi sharecroppers would have never met in ordinary 1914 life.

     Here they are together, indiscriminately. It took a while to live up to it, but our country looks like this graveyard now.

     The names were interesting. Only about half had middle names or initials. Lots of Williams and Johns and Roberts, of course. My companion and I remarked on the names one never hears now, redolent of obscure Bible stories and the mountains of Bohemia.  And there were several short versions- I saw Charley, Mike, and Jack. And Joyce, too.

     Which led  me to a new sad thought.

     Of course all these men had stories that they never got to finish. Every one of them had a goal, a plan. Start a business.  Go back to the mill and work up to foreman. Teach at the school. Build up the family farm.  Take a correspondence course. Marry the girl. Play catch with the boy.  Go fishing with the Old Man or eat Mother's peach cobbler.  Shoot craps with the fellows on the corner. Sit under a tree on a hot day and chew on a blade of grass.

     Not one of those dreams happened.

     Every one of these men started a telegram, and with it a new batch of stories. Every one of those telegrams had one of these names on it.

      Where did they get Charley and Giovanni and Asa? The same way we get our Jamal and Chip. 

      Every one of those names was chosen carefully by proud parents for their perfect little son, their hope.

      Let's use uncle's name.  Daniel is fine, a brave Prophet.  Alright, we'll call him after YOUR father. Jövünk Magyarországról, de mi hívjuk George Washington elnök után.  You're my best pal, will you stand up at the christening?

     And all those mothers and fathers saw all those names on all those telegrams.

     Everyone who votes for a war, everyone who cheerleads for one, should have to do it from a place like this.

     Oh, and one more thing. We were there for an hour and a half.

          Had the place to ourselves.

        

Back to France! Day one at Cheverny...

 

That's right...

 

France!

 

Today, at Cheverny. This is a small forest, near the house of the same name in the Loire valley. Unexpected pleasure, a joint meet with the lovely Rivecourt!

 

A cheval!

 

Not everyone gets to go...

I am ready!

 

First draw...

 

Hounds found quickly, and pushed a Dague (I think) to the right...

 

Alas wrong stag, so a gather up and recast.

 

Hounds found again, and out of the drawn quarter came a fox!

 

(Clicquez on the picture, he's in the left center.)

 

Une biche aussi...

 

At which point I became even more confused. Plenty of bicycle

and car hunters were trying to figure it out...

 

And then hounds got loud inside the forest. Out of sight, but not far, and lovely back and forth music.

 

Eventually they faded away, and off we went.

 

The day turned pretty, dappled with light in the forest.

Turns out they had put him into water-that first bay was what we heard- then he ran again, and was killed. We went back for the curee.

Trotteur wanted to help wash the antlers...

 

Attention photographers, a new use for a crutch..

 

This Master is always careful of her hounds.

 

And ils l'aiment right back.

 

        Remember, friend, as you pass by,

                  As you are now so once was I.

                         As I am now you soon will be,

                                Prepare each day to follow me.

Rappelez-vous, mon ami, que vous passez devant,

 
Comme vous êtes maintenant donc une fois c'était moi.

 
Comme je suis en train de vous le seront bientôt,

Préparer chaque jour pour me suivre.

More of our Cold Hearted Staff...

So we have someone new in the office. She came back from her D. A. R. luncheon, and asked if we had received the video of a jail riotette which we are prosecuting. Staghounds: "Not here yet." New Employee: "I want to see it." Sh: "You certainly are bloodthirsty." N.E.: "Yes, I am." She will work out fine...

Just for Roberta..

The National Electronics Museum, who knew?  Bonus, one can see it from a Booz Allen Hamilton building!

Our Illiterate Journalists...

Gell- Mann effect in effect... "Each side has 10 preemptory challenges..." No, it's PEREMPTORY, expert with layers of oversight.

Jay Hileman Coward,I Am Embarrassed For My Profession...

So the news tells us that coward Jay Hileman has been frightened away from prosecuting a case.

SHAMEFUL.

Every day we ask victims and ordinary citizens to come to court and testify. The criminals know who the witnesses against them are and where they live. They don't have special protection. Many live in violent slums, gang ridden housing projects or out in the country far from help.

We expect out Police Officers to go out day after day on predictable patrol routes, wearing uniforms.

For a prosecutor to give in to the fear from which victims, witnesses, and Police Officers CANNOT "withdraw"  is shameful.

" Security concerns"? Every old lady in every bad neighbourhood in the country has "security concerns" you cannot imagine, Mr. $100, 000 man in a suit.

This is almost worse than Nifong.

Ah, that day....

Who knew that all you needed was a hawk to put the little b*stard out of commission?

Thirty...

So off for a day in the Great Plains. Started the day with a brief training draw with a visiting farmer pack. Good looking hounds, and they worked a little line but we had to go. (Emo note, dined last night with, among others, the visitors' whipper-in and his wife. They were so cute, he was like a sixteen year old with his first date. Just charming.) Unboxed on the windy steppe. A small field and fourteen and a half couple.

The huntsman had very generously shown me his pack and pointed out two in particular. "Pickle" here is ten years old and, he told me, is still keen as mustard and does not miss a day. You can see that she is as fit as a flea.

This hound is nearly blind, can still get around but no foggy days!

They aren't running Greenwich Hospital, the rest of the hounds looked fast and healthy. They just love their hounds!

So away we went. This was my first visit to the Great American Desert, and desolate is the word.

It's like Exmoor, but much flatter and without all the green. The poor graziers here have been in drought for two years, and it shows. Even I can see the low water table, trickling streams, and dried ponds. I hope this year is better for them, who'd be a farmer?

The country is still good to hunt over. There were two brothers whipping-in in trucks, they put me with the elder and drew. We saw a coyote sneaking away across a field, but about that time hounds struck to our south and it was on! The pack split, driving one east into a river bottom and another south. The huntsman saw houns run into the eastbound one, so he decided to chase the other and let the other hounds come on. We barreled around south, to come upon...

Younger brother mounted our truck, and away we bounced. The pace was too good to enquire...

No pictures, because we were travelling at speed. Saw a total of three coyotes ourselves, two hunted ones, and the field saw two more. Add the one a whipper-in saw, and six afoot in a three hour period. Not bad. They called it a day and headed back north. A bit of vehicle salvage...

But we were still four couple short. As the returning hounds neared the river bank, we found them...

About fifteen feet below us in the watercourse! They had followed that coyote up under a washed out tree root,

And were marking like crazy! They were snarled up in those roots so tight that they had to be dragged out, hounds were falling from the sky! And who was the last one hauled out, the one closest to the coyote? You guessed it, Pickle. So they gave him best, a sporting ending to an interesting, fun, educational, and surprising day. Plus, truck tipover!

This was my thirtieth pack of hounds to watch this season. Hunt ho, indeed. Thank you for the opportunity, HotGirl!