The Ultimate Answer to Kings

I want my beautiful weather back! It’s been such a seemingly endless stream of golden days in the 70’s, that a rainy/cold April day feels like a personal insult.

I’m sitting in the Lair bundled in my thickest hoodie, rubbing my hands and whinging because it’s coooold. So far I haven’t been seriously tempted to do something proactive about it, because seriously, you kids today. Why, in my day we prayed for days with interior temps in the sixties! Had to struggle toward them through the snow every day! Uphill, both ways! It seems really sinful to spend expensive propane on such a small problem, but by tomorrow morning I’ll probably be happy I kept the firewood dry.

And check out how great my new/old expanded battery bank handles heavy overcast!

That has really been a learning experience. I’ve made allowances and excuses for my little free sample of a battery bank since 2012, knowing its limitations but never seeing that doubling its size would more than double its usefulness. All these years I’ve been forcing my electrical system to work with one hand tied behind its back. Okay if necessary, but these batteries aren’t that expensive. And they’re common, because of the application. What a great accidental upgrade.

Cory Doctorow

[T]hose are the elements that make it a thought experiment, the parts that are… kind of metaphoric, or read as analogy. “Assume you can do these obviously impossible things—what would fall out of it?” … And then that allows us to think about what more stripped-down versions of that might be possible in a more imperfect world where the condition can’t be realized but some pale shadow of it could be.

It struck me several years ago that that’s sort of what we did at the Gulch, except for the part about it being a mind experiment – we did it in meatspace. (“meatspace” isn’t still all cool and edgy, is it? Well, hell. Neither am I.)

The point is, we took L. Neil Smith’s utopia based on decentralized infrastructure and thought, “Yeah, it would be cool to have a vestpocket fusion power plant in the shed, but that’s not going to happen in my lifetime or price range. How far could I go in that direction with existing technology?” And then like a pack of idiots we went out and did that.

I looked it up on Forgotten Weapons later, and it’s confirmed: The Last T-Rex did not in fact serve in WWI.

Mesdames, Messieurs, bonsoir! Our entrée for today is…

Now, I’ll be totally honest with you – I don’t even know what Shrimp Creole is. So I looked it up…

Shrimp creole is a dish of Louisiana Creole origin, consisting of cooked shrimp in a mixture of whole or diced tomatoes, the Holy trinity of onion, celery and bell pepper, spiced with hot pepper sauce and/or cayenne-based seasoning, and served over steamed or boiled white rice

Okay, so this stuff is eaten with rice. Makes sense, anybody interested in storing long-term food will certainly have a sack of rice or ten.

The can was very sparsely flecked with rust and – like both its predecessors, clearly inflated with some internal pressure. That’s just as it should be, it says right on the can that it’s packed in nitrogen. Cut open the top…

And we see that things have ossified into chunks, just like the spaghetti and the stew did. It just wants some manual breaking up of the chunks before you measure it out.

During which process you learn that Mountain House Shrimp Creole really does contain tiny mummified shrimp, and not just a few.

…which is kind of off-putting under the circumstances. I don’t mind trying 40-year-old freeze-dried beef. But seafood? Hm.

This is already-cooked and freeze-dried quicky food, so the “recipe” is simple: One cup hot water to 1.25 cups dry mix. The result is soupy at first…

Between five and ten minutes later…

And we dig in. Rather gingerly at first.

Honestly, this stuff is delicious! Once I grow to trust its effect on my digestion – and the jury’s still out on that – I might go so far as delightful. As with the vegetable stew, whatever process they used for preservation left the flavor in the mix. I don’t know how vivid the tastes would have been if the cans were only, say, a decade old but it’s quite acceptable as it is. I really can see eating this over rice, though you might want to spice it up a bit.

I only ate about 3/4 of a bowl and gave the rest to LB, because even though there was no “off” taste or immediate bad result and I’m only being excessively cautious, I still don’t entirely trust the shrimp. But once I’ve settled my mind about that, Shrimp Creole is going to be a favorite while it lasts. It’s better than the vegetable stew (which suffers from all that corn starch really not aging all that gracefully) and way better than the spaghetti.

LB gives it two paws up.

Then you need Carrier Shield!

Yes, Carrier Shield! It’s a patent-pending sticker for the rear window of your car, to inform that cop who just pulled you over for your broken tail light that he’s dealing with an armed idiot! Yeah, that’ll calm him down.

Actually I suppose there is a sort of logic to it…

Bruno said the shooting-death of Philando Castile last year in Minnesota prompted him to designed (sic) the sticker.

A police officer shot and killed Castile during a traffic stop, after Castile told him had a legally-owned gun in his pocket.

Prosecutors said Castile never reached for the gun and was shot as he reached for his wallet.

I’m not convinced a window sticker would have defused that situation, honestly the sight of that badge will only antagonize a cop. They’ll be happy to inform you that they’re the only ones who get to wave steenking badges. Also I’m pretty sure that if I were looking for a gun to steal and saw that sticker, there’d be one busted window in that car’s immediate future. Lots of people leave their gun in their car.

h/t to Bear, who wondered how you get a patent on a window sticker.

—
*Actual claim on the Facebook page. He made it up, I didn’t.

…is my little juniper grove.

That’s all one tree. It’s very old. Junipers live a long time by dying in spots and growing new spots, and when I first came to the hollow this was all a big tangle of mostly dead wood. I gradually got it cleaned up, and now I think it’s kinda pretty.

But there was one big trunk that would be directly in my way if I plan to bring the addition out the full length of the cabin, which I plan to do. So, very carefully, it had to go.

It’ll take a couple of years for the scar to go gray like all the other dead stumps, but in the end this won’t hurt the tree. This stuff is pretty hardy, as I suppose it would have to be.

I kind of pondered how to cut it. I could bring out the Husqvarna, but it would take longer to service the saw out of mothballs than it would to cut the trunk. I know it’s too much for the electric chainsaw. Finally I went with the go-to Sawzall.

It empties batteries fast when you make it work, but damn this thing is handy to have around. With an assortment of blades, it can do pretty much anything but hammer nails. And it uses free fuel!

I also got the post holes dug for the new pole shed, but that’s when I ran out of steam. I didn’t really expect to finish the holes because I ran into packed clay. My shoulder has good days and bad days, and this is not a good day. I really wasn’t up to swinging the mattock. But we kind of wore through the clay deposit with a shovel, and eventually finished.

After all I’ve only known them for six or eight years. No point rushing into these things.

Not counting Landlady and Ian who are kind of special cases, D&L are my closest friends in the gulch. They gave me keys to their place once before, when they were having troubles and needed somebody to come in and take care of things while they were off taking care of other things. But that was a specific case; when it was over, I gave the keys back. I didn’t need to have keys to their place, and they were more comfortable with my not having keys to their place. It’s not distrust, it’s just…privacy.

But life goes on, and we all get older and it’s best to plan ahead. And today, apropos of no particular emergency, they asked if I wouldn’t hang on to this set of keys to their place. Just in case.

I’ve got keys to several other places, because sometimes things need maintenance. But D&L never wanted to go there. This is trust. Trust is earned. I thought it was kind of cool, that’s all.

Knowing you just paid $130 for a shovel.

But wait! There’s more! This isn’t just any shovel, you mall ninjas. This is the tacticalest shovel in the entire physical universe.

Includes Over 12 tools & carry bag:
Shovel
Axe
Hammer
Saw
Hoe
Utility Knife
Phillips & Flat-head Screwdriver
Ferrocerium Rod (Fire Starter)
Compass
Whistle
Bottle Opener
Hex Bolt Wrenches
Wire Cutter
Rechargeable Tactical Light & Mount
First Aid Kit

It actually comes with a mountable flashlight. A tactical one. I didn’t look to see where they stuck the whistle and the compass.

This is…seriously the greatest thing ever. I recommend that everyone who ever slapped down $40 for a concealed carry permit badge purchase at least two of these immediately. Two is one! Because one is none, and that’s tactical.

h/t

ETA: I just went back to the linked site (Yeah. I’m bored. It’s raining.) and found that I hadn’t given this shovel nearly enough credit for tacticalness. I should be sued by its marketers for not pointing out that the handle is not only hollow, but also comes apart in 3! Yes, 3! Pieces, for extra super-tactical fragility!

Order yours today!

We had an impressive windstorm yesterday afternoon, gusting to a full gale on the ridgetops. Often an afternoon windstorm means a change of weather, but April windstorms generally just mean it’s April. I didn’t give it much thought.

So naturally overnight we had a big change in the weather. Woke up wondering what happened to the sun – we had heavy overcast and the smell of rain. Bottom dropped out of the temperature. Looked like a nasty day ahead. I tagged along with D&L to get glaucoma meds and some lumber for the new woodshed.

Good thing I decided not to stock up on concrete – I still have to make that phone call – because on the way home the sky opened. S had a tarp stashed under the truck seat, so I didn’t ruin $12 bucks worth of concrete I need for setting the poles.

We got things transferred to the Jeep trailer between squalls, and I made it home as quickly as I can: Ghost can’t hold it the way he used to be able to, and a trip to the Big Town with him in the cabin is asking for trouble. He was a good boy, but he really needed to go and didn’t much appreciate my suggestion that we wait for the next lull in the rain. Tomorrow might not be too bad, so maybe I can get those poles set, but if the wind keeps blowing I’ve lost my weather window. Figures – over a week of glorious weather goes away the minute I finally score some building materials. Stupid weather.

MJR sent me a link to this, with the note “Look at the money you are saving by doing what you do.”

Swallow any coffee that may be present before clicking that link, you have been warned.

…if it weren’t a gun-free paradise?

I don’t know which is more appalling: The casualty rate so far this year, or the fact that they’re actually a little behind the curve from last year!

The number of people shot in Chicago this year is nearing 1,000 after a violent weekend left seven dead and 31 others wounded, according to data kept by the Tribune.

As of Monday morning, at least 992 people had been shot in Chicago this year. Last year, the city passed the 1,000 mark on April 20 and had reached 1,054 by this time, the Tribune data show.

The pace of homicides is virtually the same as last year. There have been at least 179 homicides so far this year compared with 180 this time last year, according to the data.

Boy, I’ve gotten older in the past eight or ten years.

I have a cache up in canyon country that I haven’t visited in quite a while. It’s a last-ditch emergency cache, having nothing to do with natural emergencies like the cabin burning down – I called it my “on the run” cache, and it’s just a big ammo case containing a backpack filled with food, water and basics. This particular canyon heads for the state line, it’s immune to motor traffic, and there are plenty of places to hide from airborne search. But you’ll die in it without provisions – and maybe with provisions.

If I wanted to keep it useful I should have visited it more often, but that particular level of paranoia has lessened over the years and it was always “But what would I do with Little Bear” or some other excuse. The case is in a cave fairly high in the canyon wall, not easy to get to, paved with cactus spines from many generations of pack rats, unlikely to be stumbled upon accidentally.

But it’s been bugging me, maintenance is important and I’ve neglected this one so long I should either service it or bring it home for other use. Also there’s a problem with caches in the desert: Finding a hiding place is easy, but finding it again can be hard. I chose this particular cave because I was pretty sure I could find it again, but that was years ago.

Well, this morning I had to go to S&L’s to water their plants, and I wouldn’t take the dogs because Ghost would insist on staying and there’d be an argument. So finding myself dogless, I drove up the wash as far as the Jeep could go and then hoofed it into the canyon.

Son of a gun, I was no longer exactly sure where I’d left the cave. And when I found it, I wasn’t sure how I’d ever gotten up there. Finally making it up there, I wondered aloud how I’d ever made the climb while lugging a big metal ammo case.

I’m not as spry as I used to be, even with the prosthetic improvements.

I’ll go back with pads and gloves…and a hundred feet of rope.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, he added hastily. And not that we hear the phrase “free country” much anymore anyway…

It’s a windy season in a windy place. Walking with Little Bear, I’m always looking for blown trash that needs to be carried back to the Lair.

Today on the noontime walkie I saw a bit of blue paper…

Must have come off an ammo case while I was shifting things around in the powershed. I stuffed it in my pocket, thinking at the time that any other place it might be considered a rather exotic bit of litter. Not here, though, and I don’t mean just here at the Lair.

Hoplophobes oxymoronically claim that gun people arm themselves out of some irrational fear of the world, and at the same time they complain that armed people violate their right to “feel safe,” whatever that means. I’m reminded of Heidi Yewman – remember her? She played a stunt for a magazine article: She bought a gun and carried it loaded for a month, refusing to take training or even read the manual, doing the strict minimum it took to get a carry license in her state. Her point, of course, was to “prove” that the very fact that she could do such a silly, stupid thing legally was proof that “we” need stricter laws preventing people from doing what she did. And she wrote this unintentionally revealing snippet about herself:

I thought the gun would make me feel more powerful, more confident, and less fearful. I was wrong. All I felt was fear. Physically taking the gun out of the safe and putting it in a holster on my hip literally reminded me that I was going out into a big bad scary unsafe world. There were days when I put the gun back in the safe and stayed home because it simply took too much energy to be scared. It was easier to be at home without the worry and responsibility of being “the good guy with the gun.”

But there are still some people who are prepared to accept the responsibility of their own protection. We accept that the wolf won’t avoid our door just because we prefer not to think about it. We know that we can be at least as effective at protecting ourselves as a uniformed someone an hour away is at protecting us, and we’ll probably be far more motivated.

I don’t object to Ms. Yewman’s stunt, or her irrational terror which is none of my business. But I reject her demand that because she prefers to live ‘without the worry and responsibility,’ I and others like me must be forced by law to do the same.

Screw that.

That bit of wind-blown blue litter probably came from me, but it might not have. It might have come from any number of neighbors, just as well armed and just as willing to use their arms for defense as I am. I am blessed with neighbors not afraid of their own shadows – and you know what? That makes me “feel safer.” 🙂

What a beautiful day. By nine it was t-shirt weather, which meant let’s do a couple of laundry loads…

It takes a restful hour to go through a couple of buckets of laundry, and this will probably be the first week I tell Former Weekender Neighbor L I have none to bring her when she makes the invitation. It’s just too nice outside not to do outside chores.

I’ve still got this absurd tarp that used to cover the hoopshed, and the wind keeps knocking it off the woodpile. I really should be working on the new woodshed and bedroom piers, but there’s a snag: I hate talking to strangers on the telephone, and getting the building materials I need will involve doing a lot of that. Wasted a week procrastinating, but tomorrow really truly needs to be the day.

And I may have made another big mistake with the ladies in the Fortress of Attitude. Normally only the Big Chickenhouse gets sunflower seeds, but when I recently bought a new sack I filled a tub and left it at the Fortress. And now the ladies are complete shameless addicts. They keep trying to tell me about this new federal law that forbids entering the Fortress without an offering of sunflower seeds. I ask them how they know about this law. Did they get a visit from a social worker? Is there a secret radio receiver in the coop? What? They’re protecting their sources.

Also – I know I’ve asked this before, but it torments me – how do they even know they like sunflower seeds so much? They swallow them whole, just like pellets. I’ve slaughtered chickens that had undigested sunflower seeds still in their crops. So how can they even taste them?

Bread I kind of understand. (They love bread, too.) Bread would at least come apart on their tongues, right? But why prefer seeds to pellets, when they’re both just hard objects swallowed whole?

Ah, well. I’ve made a cup of tea, and now I’m gonna enjoy a book and a warm breeze for a while.

How did Cuomo make $783,000 on memoir that sold 3,200 copies?

In all, Cuomo has made $783,000 from HarperCollins for his book. The book sold 3,200 copies since it was published in the fall of 2014, according to tracking company NPD BookScan.

That works out to royalty payments to Cuomo of $245 per book.

Gaw Damn, that must be a helluva book. I don’t know what writing class he attended, but I want a reservation to the next one NOW.

Let’s turn this over to our Poet Laureate…

“I’m getting tired of that shit. Tired of that shit. I’m tired of f*cking Earth Day, I’m tired of these self-righteous environmentalists, these white, bourgeois liberals who think the only thing wrong with this country is there aren’t enough bicycle paths. People trying to make the world safe for their Volvos. Besides, environmentalists don’t give a shit about the planet. They don’t care about the planet. Not in the abstract they don’t. You know what they’re interested in? A clean place to live. Their own habitat. They’re worried that some day in the future, they might be personally inconvenienced. Narrow, unenlightened self-interest doesn’t impress me.”

This is the third time it’s happened in April alone; it’s a traveling month for S&L and every time they load up the car Ghost gets relegated to Uncle Joel’s Cabin. Which he has decided he hates, at least relative to his normal paradise.

So I showed up at the appointed time and L was trying to convince Ghost to walk out the door. And Ghost was having none of it. He knew why Uncle Joel was there – no doubt L had been sending “packing to leave” signals all morning – and he was not amused.

Fortunately I had anticipated an attitude issue, so I brought LB’s leash. Ghost loaded into the Jeep with scant grace and refused to even enjoy the ride as we stopped off to visit chickens and then came back to the Lair.

And he accepted a treat in the name of noblesse oblige, and then he demanded that I move over because he was appropriating the kneehole for the duration. Which will be through Wednesday this time.

L has promised that May will be a travel-free month. Ghost isn’t a problem – hell, we lived together for eight years – but this business of being judged and found wanting by a dog over and over becomes wearing after a while.

I don’t remember where I found this. For the record I believe this tactic is illegal in Alberta so don’t get caught.

Bill O’Reilly Paid Up to $25 Million in Fox News Exit Deal

That is equivalent to one year of a rich new four-year deal that O’Reilly finalized earlier this year. The network and its parent company, 21st Century Fox, completed the deal with knowledge that a New York Times story would reveal settlements with women who accused The O’Reilly Factor host of harassment after the ouster last summer of founding CEO Roger Ailes amid his own sexual harassment scandal.

Ailes left last July with a $40 million payout, the remainder owed on his contract.

I was in the wrong business. As a contractor I got fired a lot – it was routine – and the nicest anybody ever was about it was to give me a month’s warning. Mostly it was just “thank you and goodbye.” Hell, I’d have settled for a single million. Just one lousy million. But no.

Maybe I should have hit on the women in the office. Maybe that was my mistake.