It is, duh, Tuesday as I post this. This piece was written over the weekend, mere hours after the incident took place. As you read it, bear this in mind - it is a commentary on a breaking news piece and less of a commentary (but still relevant) on later news coverage.
Didja hear a 9 year old girl was killed and a federal judge were killed in a shooting Arizona? If you listened to and read the same news accounts I ingested, you'd maybe find that information down in the story.
Why? Why were these names buried in the news that a Congressman was shot in the head, and expected to recover as I type this? Two days after the shooting, we started getting stories about the other victims.
Do you know the Congressman's name?
Warning: What follows is not a fair series of questions. Is the life of a child worth less than the health of a member of Congress? Really? What was the child's name?
Oooooo. Tolja it wasn't fair.
How many children are killed annually in the United States by violence?
There are 435 members of the US House of Representatives. There are millions of children in the US.
I'll bet there's a fair chance you know who the Congressman was married to. That was certainly mentioned over and over.
Do you know if the dead judge was married? The media accounts I got over the weekend did not say.
Four other people died in the shooting. Wotta ya know about them?
Didja know a bunch of other people were wounded in the shooting? Didja know the shooter still had ammo in his gun when he was tackled? Didja know the Congressman is a gun owner and supports, mostly, the right to keep and bear arms?
What was the little girl's name?
The sound you hear is me shifting gears on you. What is the purpose of the media?
To make money.
How does the media do this?
By providing YOU information you are interested in knowing.
Just because you have the right to know does not mean you want to know. The media is here to serve you a meal of knowledge. It's a buffet. Who is at fault is everyone goes to the dessert bar, eschewing the fresh veggies?
Hope your transmission can handle this gear grinder. Ready to shoot the messenger? I put here the thoughts that are running through the minds of many people in this nation as they consider the shooting in Arizona. "Hey. She's a congressman. Being shot in the head will certainly improve her ability to serve in that office."
As you line me up in your sights, I remind you I only put down what many people are thinking. You ain't gotta like it. You ain't gotta agree with it. I do not give you my thoughts about the sentiment so expressed. G'head and shoot. The mirror will only shatter.
So can you remember the Congressman's name now? I'll give you a hint: Years ago she was a 9 year old girl.
Reality is harsh.
The views in this blog are not those of people who can't think for themselves and rely on others to think for them. For that matter, the views expressed here may not be those of people who CAN think for themselves, but it comes extremely close.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
Can you handle parity?
My recent piece on the use of the word nigger drew some response from people saying I had no right to use such a word. The complainers said that they are able to use the word is of no matter to me.
Really.
Why?
Why should you be are allowed the use of certain words, and I am not, because of perceived differences in you see in our backgrounds?
Then I ask too, how can you sit and judge me, having no knowledge of my background or anything else aside from what I post here? Is it possible I have MORE right, under the rules you set down, to use such a word than you do?
Bah. Sophomoric arguments.
Lemme instead ask you this:
Are you interested in parity? In other words, do you wanna be fair?
Careful how you answer that because your answer may be used to beat upon you.
If you say No, then I can do as I wish as long as I can get away with it. If you can’t stop me, then I can do it. Ethics be damned. Fair is what the strongest decides when fairness is not equitable. Don’t think so? Then keep living in your fantasy world while I conduct business in this place I call reality.
And neener, neener, neener, since I am being sophomoric.
If you say Yes, then what do you mean by that? Eh? Careful with that axe Eugene! That way lies solipsism.
Lemme simplify. In order to get something written today, let’s say this is fair: The concept that certain people can do certain things and others can’t because of accidents of ancestry, heritage and etc.
Even simpler. You are allowed a cultural activity because of your ancestry and the culture with which you identify.
Then, extending this doctrine of fairness, I am allowed a cultural activity because of my ancestry and the culture with which I identify.
Fair? If not, see above statements regarding fairness. If this is fair, we shall continue.
Posit: I am not allowed to participate in OR criticize your use of your cultural activity, because I lack the “background” to fully appreciate it.
Extension: You are not allowed to participate in OR criticize my use of my cultural activity, because you lack the “background” to fully appreciate it.
This being the case when parts of the nation, and the readers who say I cannot use the n-word (as you have estoppled me from spelling it out), celebrate Martin Luther King Day, I have the right to celebrate Robert E. Lee Day and recount and recall the ideals for which the Confederacy stood, including the use of the n-word in the cultural context of that celebration.
Parity is all I’m asking for. You can make the rules. I’m going to make sure they are equally enforced even if your rules are Might Makes Right.
Really.
Why?
Why should you be are allowed the use of certain words, and I am not, because of perceived differences in you see in our backgrounds?
Then I ask too, how can you sit and judge me, having no knowledge of my background or anything else aside from what I post here? Is it possible I have MORE right, under the rules you set down, to use such a word than you do?
Bah. Sophomoric arguments.
Lemme instead ask you this:
Are you interested in parity? In other words, do you wanna be fair?
Careful how you answer that because your answer may be used to beat upon you.
If you say No, then I can do as I wish as long as I can get away with it. If you can’t stop me, then I can do it. Ethics be damned. Fair is what the strongest decides when fairness is not equitable. Don’t think so? Then keep living in your fantasy world while I conduct business in this place I call reality.
And neener, neener, neener, since I am being sophomoric.
If you say Yes, then what do you mean by that? Eh? Careful with that axe Eugene! That way lies solipsism.
Lemme simplify. In order to get something written today, let’s say this is fair: The concept that certain people can do certain things and others can’t because of accidents of ancestry, heritage and etc.
Even simpler. You are allowed a cultural activity because of your ancestry and the culture with which you identify.
Then, extending this doctrine of fairness, I am allowed a cultural activity because of my ancestry and the culture with which I identify.
Fair? If not, see above statements regarding fairness. If this is fair, we shall continue.
Posit: I am not allowed to participate in OR criticize your use of your cultural activity, because I lack the “background” to fully appreciate it.
Extension: You are not allowed to participate in OR criticize my use of my cultural activity, because you lack the “background” to fully appreciate it.
This being the case when parts of the nation, and the readers who say I cannot use the n-word (as you have estoppled me from spelling it out), celebrate Martin Luther King Day, I have the right to celebrate Robert E. Lee Day and recount and recall the ideals for which the Confederacy stood, including the use of the n-word in the cultural context of that celebration.
Parity is all I’m asking for. You can make the rules. I’m going to make sure they are equally enforced even if your rules are Might Makes Right.
Shoot, and I mean shoot to kill, the dog.
It is rare, in my life, that I have not been within easy reach of a firearm. Easy, of course, varies with the location and the time. But few and far between are the times when I couldn’t get to a gun within a few minutes.
Back when I was in high school, we carried guns to school. It was expected the boys had a shotgun or rifle in the truck and some of the girls too. No one was shot, murdered or threatened with a gun. When differences required getting personal, it was handled with bare knuckles. We knew better than to pull a gun to settle such problems. The one time when matters appeared to be escalating beyond my ability to handle with just the weapon at the end of my arm according to God, I had a loaded .38 under the seat. I grabbed, instead, a fillet knife. The idea of picking up the pistol never enter my mind.
While I can’t swear to it, I do think a gun once saved me from being robbed. I do know quick access to a firearm convinced one group of men that an ill-considered joke was not something they should do again.
Second instance first.
In college I drove a Bonneville with a short-barreled single-shot 20 gauge riding on the floor next to the driver’s door. A homemade ammo belt was hung around the steering column with 20 rounds. A loaded .45 or a .38 was in the glove compartment.
I worked for a pizza place in college, delivering pizza.
One late afternoon I took a pizza to a lady in a public housing complex in Troy, AL. While we were negotiating change (something I still can’t do very well), a car stopped across the street at a stop sign.
I paid no attention.
The car didn’t move.
I glanced over nervously. The car didn’t move.
The lady and I concluded our business and she closed the door.
Four men sprang from the car. I jumped.
They fell on the pavement and the car laughing.
5 steps later I was at my car. I pulled the shotgun.
“Not a good idea. Somebody could have got hurt,” I yelled to them.
They got in their car and slowly drove away.
Different day. At 1:30 a.m. I made the last run of the night, again to a less than savory neighborhood. At the suggestion of the manager, I took a fellow driver.
I handed him the shotgun and stuck the .38 in my waistband. At the house, he opened the passenger door, activating the interior light. He propped against the car the door, shotgun in hand.
I went to the door, pistol exposed, pizza and drinks in my hands.
I rang the bell. The door opened.
As the gent and I made our business exchange, someone inside the house yelled that he should take the pizza and not pay me.
He never cracked a smile. He paid me and I left.
I am certain when the door closed the man who paid me had some words for his “friend” and those words included the fact the pizza guy was packing heat and it wasn’t jalopenas on the pizza.
We had a driver, when I worked there, who was robbed. Twice. The manager said he wished the robbers had tried to take money off me instead of that driver. He said the results would have been quite different.
Probably so, probably so.
These days I still keep a firearm handy. I keep one close by not because I plan to shoot someone, intend to shoot some or even hope to shoot someone. I keep one handy so I won’t have to shoot someone.
A gun in the hands of a person who knows how to use it has a calming effect on all but the most out-of-control. For those who can’t be calmed in the face of a barrel and insist on behaving in a dangerous manner, 135 grains of jacketed hollow point at 850 feet per second is a remarkable tranquilizer.
There are people who don’t think I should be allowed to carry a gun. These people put far more faith in their fellow man and government-sponsored dial-a-prayer, AKA 911, than I do. The last time I had to call 911, a person trying to gain access to my house, it was more than two minutes before I could get the cell phone call to go through - this was not the only time I’ve had problems getting through to 911 with a cell phone. It was another 2 minutes before the cops arrived. How many times can you die in the space of 4 minutes? Once. But that once is enough and it can be done in seconds.
Before Kurt with the PD arrived, I’d swept my yard and surrounding property, twice, with a loaded Mossberg 500. 12 balls of 00 buckshot at 1200 feet per second are even more calming than a .35 pill.
People who don’t think I should carry a gun may believe in pepper spray. I eat hotter foods than what comes out of a pepper spray canister as sold across the counter at the neighborhood store. Besides which, pepper spray doesn’t work, at all, on people high on certain drugs and I have proof of this from the police reports I’ve typed up over the years.
As for a taser, you first have to hit the target, which is less likely than you may believe and I have seen it happen. It’s a one shot and QUIET operation with a very limited range. A shotgun makes a lot of noise and won’t be stopped by a thick jacket.
Until the people who don’t think I should carry a firearm can absolutely guarantee my safety and the safety of the people I protect (my family, co-workers and other law-abiding folks I encounter during the day), I will keep packing.
As I post this, I have just received a message from our town's mayor. The City Manager and his young son were attacked over the weekend by a bull mastiff. Everyone OK, but the CM has a number of bites.
My first question - Did someone shoot the dog?
My question to those who say people should not be allowed to carry guns - where were you when the CM was being attacked?
An armed society is a polite society. Robert Heinlein.
Back when I was in high school, we carried guns to school. It was expected the boys had a shotgun or rifle in the truck and some of the girls too. No one was shot, murdered or threatened with a gun. When differences required getting personal, it was handled with bare knuckles. We knew better than to pull a gun to settle such problems. The one time when matters appeared to be escalating beyond my ability to handle with just the weapon at the end of my arm according to God, I had a loaded .38 under the seat. I grabbed, instead, a fillet knife. The idea of picking up the pistol never enter my mind.
While I can’t swear to it, I do think a gun once saved me from being robbed. I do know quick access to a firearm convinced one group of men that an ill-considered joke was not something they should do again.
Second instance first.
In college I drove a Bonneville with a short-barreled single-shot 20 gauge riding on the floor next to the driver’s door. A homemade ammo belt was hung around the steering column with 20 rounds. A loaded .45 or a .38 was in the glove compartment.
I worked for a pizza place in college, delivering pizza.
One late afternoon I took a pizza to a lady in a public housing complex in Troy, AL. While we were negotiating change (something I still can’t do very well), a car stopped across the street at a stop sign.
I paid no attention.
The car didn’t move.
I glanced over nervously. The car didn’t move.
The lady and I concluded our business and she closed the door.
Four men sprang from the car. I jumped.
They fell on the pavement and the car laughing.
5 steps later I was at my car. I pulled the shotgun.
“Not a good idea. Somebody could have got hurt,” I yelled to them.
They got in their car and slowly drove away.
Different day. At 1:30 a.m. I made the last run of the night, again to a less than savory neighborhood. At the suggestion of the manager, I took a fellow driver.
I handed him the shotgun and stuck the .38 in my waistband. At the house, he opened the passenger door, activating the interior light. He propped against the car the door, shotgun in hand.
I went to the door, pistol exposed, pizza and drinks in my hands.
I rang the bell. The door opened.
As the gent and I made our business exchange, someone inside the house yelled that he should take the pizza and not pay me.
He never cracked a smile. He paid me and I left.
I am certain when the door closed the man who paid me had some words for his “friend” and those words included the fact the pizza guy was packing heat and it wasn’t jalopenas on the pizza.
We had a driver, when I worked there, who was robbed. Twice. The manager said he wished the robbers had tried to take money off me instead of that driver. He said the results would have been quite different.
Probably so, probably so.
These days I still keep a firearm handy. I keep one close by not because I plan to shoot someone, intend to shoot some or even hope to shoot someone. I keep one handy so I won’t have to shoot someone.
A gun in the hands of a person who knows how to use it has a calming effect on all but the most out-of-control. For those who can’t be calmed in the face of a barrel and insist on behaving in a dangerous manner, 135 grains of jacketed hollow point at 850 feet per second is a remarkable tranquilizer.
There are people who don’t think I should be allowed to carry a gun. These people put far more faith in their fellow man and government-sponsored dial-a-prayer, AKA 911, than I do. The last time I had to call 911, a person trying to gain access to my house, it was more than two minutes before I could get the cell phone call to go through - this was not the only time I’ve had problems getting through to 911 with a cell phone. It was another 2 minutes before the cops arrived. How many times can you die in the space of 4 minutes? Once. But that once is enough and it can be done in seconds.
Before Kurt with the PD arrived, I’d swept my yard and surrounding property, twice, with a loaded Mossberg 500. 12 balls of 00 buckshot at 1200 feet per second are even more calming than a .35 pill.
People who don’t think I should carry a gun may believe in pepper spray. I eat hotter foods than what comes out of a pepper spray canister as sold across the counter at the neighborhood store. Besides which, pepper spray doesn’t work, at all, on people high on certain drugs and I have proof of this from the police reports I’ve typed up over the years.
As for a taser, you first have to hit the target, which is less likely than you may believe and I have seen it happen. It’s a one shot and QUIET operation with a very limited range. A shotgun makes a lot of noise and won’t be stopped by a thick jacket.
Until the people who don’t think I should carry a firearm can absolutely guarantee my safety and the safety of the people I protect (my family, co-workers and other law-abiding folks I encounter during the day), I will keep packing.
As I post this, I have just received a message from our town's mayor. The City Manager and his young son were attacked over the weekend by a bull mastiff. Everyone OK, but the CM has a number of bites.
My first question - Did someone shoot the dog?
My question to those who say people should not be allowed to carry guns - where were you when the CM was being attacked?
An armed society is a polite society. Robert Heinlein.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Thanks Dad and Thanks Mom
The Mule spoke once.
Standing nearby, I suggested Shag take another shot. He pumped the carbine and pulled the trigger. Click.
Another pump. The Mule spoke again.
An American Bison crashed to the ground, a pair of 30 caliber hollowpoints having slammed through its chest cavity bringing and end to the big animal. Later on processing the meat I came across the remains of bullet lodged in bone. As much a trophy as the head which will eventually hang on Shag’s wall.
The Mule is a carbine .308 pump which belonged to our dad. Dad, when he died, didn’t leave us much - a mound of debts mostly, some tools, reloading equipment and his gun collection.
Shag got the Mule. The rifle is older than he is. It got the nickname The Mule because it has a ferocious kick when loaded with hot ammo.
As best I can remember, Dad did kill a deer with it. He also shot an antler off a deer with it. I remember him telling me he looked and looked for the missing antler, but never found it. May be more kills with it, at Dad’s hand. Don’t remember.
Regardless. Dad died in 1986.
Since his demise, Shag and I have moved several times. Mom (they were divorced before his death) has moved twice. In the course of these moves, we have found ammunition Dad loaded.
Shag has a few rounds of .308 hollowpoints Dad loaded. His bison was taken with this ammo. I have the .30-06 ammo. The 8 point whitetail on my wall was taken with ammo Dad loaded. I know he loaded it because the handholds I put together under his supervision were hollowpoints. My first deer, first three in fact, were killed with that ammo.
We also have his reloading presses. Every time I sit to reload, I remember being on the carport with Dad learning to reload. It’s almost like he’s sitting there with me again.
That cold morning in north Tennessee, with snow on the ground and a bison carcass in front of us, I knew Dad was with us again. I knew he was pleased.
With the bison dead on the ground, Shag said, “Thanks Dad” as he came over to hug me. Moments later there were tears in his eyes.
Thanks Dad. Thanks for being there with us. Thanks for guiding the bullet home. Thanks for giving us the chance to feed our families, and put a trophy on the wall, with something that came from your hand. Your grandchildren never got the chance to meet you, but thanks to you, they will be nourished.
Thanks Dad.
This happened the week between Christmas and New Years just south of Kentucky. Mom, having sold her house in Florida, has moved to be closer to her grandkids. She took part of the profits from the sale to send Shag and myself hunting.
“I want you guys to use it and enjoy it while I’m still alive and can see you do it,” she said.
Thanks Mom.
Thanks to both our parents who instilled in us a tremendous love of the outdoors and the ability to hunt and fish to provide for our families.
www.wildernesshuntinglodge.com
Standing nearby, I suggested Shag take another shot. He pumped the carbine and pulled the trigger. Click.
Another pump. The Mule spoke again.
An American Bison crashed to the ground, a pair of 30 caliber hollowpoints having slammed through its chest cavity bringing and end to the big animal. Later on processing the meat I came across the remains of bullet lodged in bone. As much a trophy as the head which will eventually hang on Shag’s wall.
The Mule is a carbine .308 pump which belonged to our dad. Dad, when he died, didn’t leave us much - a mound of debts mostly, some tools, reloading equipment and his gun collection.
Shag got the Mule. The rifle is older than he is. It got the nickname The Mule because it has a ferocious kick when loaded with hot ammo.
As best I can remember, Dad did kill a deer with it. He also shot an antler off a deer with it. I remember him telling me he looked and looked for the missing antler, but never found it. May be more kills with it, at Dad’s hand. Don’t remember.
Regardless. Dad died in 1986.
Since his demise, Shag and I have moved several times. Mom (they were divorced before his death) has moved twice. In the course of these moves, we have found ammunition Dad loaded.
Shag has a few rounds of .308 hollowpoints Dad loaded. His bison was taken with this ammo. I have the .30-06 ammo. The 8 point whitetail on my wall was taken with ammo Dad loaded. I know he loaded it because the handholds I put together under his supervision were hollowpoints. My first deer, first three in fact, were killed with that ammo.
We also have his reloading presses. Every time I sit to reload, I remember being on the carport with Dad learning to reload. It’s almost like he’s sitting there with me again.
That cold morning in north Tennessee, with snow on the ground and a bison carcass in front of us, I knew Dad was with us again. I knew he was pleased.
With the bison dead on the ground, Shag said, “Thanks Dad” as he came over to hug me. Moments later there were tears in his eyes.
Thanks Dad. Thanks for being there with us. Thanks for guiding the bullet home. Thanks for giving us the chance to feed our families, and put a trophy on the wall, with something that came from your hand. Your grandchildren never got the chance to meet you, but thanks to you, they will be nourished.
Thanks Dad.
This happened the week between Christmas and New Years just south of Kentucky. Mom, having sold her house in Florida, has moved to be closer to her grandkids. She took part of the profits from the sale to send Shag and myself hunting.
“I want you guys to use it and enjoy it while I’m still alive and can see you do it,” she said.
Thanks Mom.
Thanks to both our parents who instilled in us a tremendous love of the outdoors and the ability to hunt and fish to provide for our families.
www.wildernesshuntinglodge.com
Coming back from the dead?
Could you kill someone?
Read the question carefully.
Pretty much anyone can take the life of another human being. It can be accidental.
F’rinstance, if you drive a car, you are running the risk of killing someone. Yes huh. Pedestrians and people in vehicles are killed every day by drivers. Accidents happen.
Ok, since I’m gonna be stuck on looking at the specific definition of a word, lemme retry this.
Would you kill someone?
Aha! We take out random chance and accident and insert motivation and deliberation.
So I ask again, would you kill someone?
Why?
Some obvious answers - to protect myself, my family, possible to protect other people. May be others.
What about capital punishment?
Ooh ah. A bit tougher now, isn’t it? Before you answer the capital punishment question, eyeball this story - http://articles.chicagotribune.com/2011-01-06/news/ct-met-illinois-house-death-penalty-v20110106_1_penalty-gordon-randy-steidl-historic-vote
Telling quote: “The historic vote comes 10 years after then-Gov. George Ryan placed a moratorium on the death penalty following revelations that several people sent to death row were not guilty.”
Now I ask again, what’s your opinion on capital punishment? Before you answer that, I also ask, do you know what crimes may call for the death penalty? Hint: Murder is one. There are others.
Now, do you really know how close you are, right now, to being on Death Row in your state’s penal system? You are much closer than you think.
Do you know how easy it is to frame someone and plant false evidence and have a witness commit perjury? Not to mention the fact eye witnesses are generally not very reliable, a fact born out time and time and time ad infinitum in case studies.
No offense to the men and women of the thin blue line, but most criminals get caught because they are stupid. The really smart criminals don’t get caught, except by rare accident. I am not saying the folks in law enforcement are stupid. I am saying they need a break to make a case happen.
"You can release an innocent person from prison, but you can't release them from the grave," said Gordon "Randy" Steidl, who spent 17 years in prison, including 12 on death row, after he was wrongfully convicted of a 1986 double-murder.
Um.
I remind you, by my definition government is merely an extension of you and me (albeit an often out-of-control extension, but nonetheless). When the penal system (government) puts someone to death as punishment, you and I are the ones pulling the trigger, releasing the trap door, injecting the poison, or flipping the switch.
Can you live with yourself knowing you have put an innocent man to death? If you say no, then I ask what will you do to offer recompense?
If you remember your history book - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sacco_and_Vanzetti
Then consider this outfit - http://www.innocenceproject.org/
I am, as I have said many times, in favor of the death penalty, but only in cases where guilt is obvious, like the Brian Nichols case in Atlanta. His shooting spree was caught on film and witnessed by a LOT of people. He needs to be slowly run over by a tank.
But for other cases, no. As Steidl says, you can’t release a person from the grave.
Read the question carefully.
Pretty much anyone can take the life of another human being. It can be accidental.
F’rinstance, if you drive a car, you are running the risk of killing someone. Yes huh. Pedestrians and people in vehicles are killed every day by drivers. Accidents happen.
Ok, since I’m gonna be stuck on looking at the specific definition of a word, lemme retry this.
Would you kill someone?
Aha! We take out random chance and accident and insert motivation and deliberation.
So I ask again, would you kill someone?
Why?
Some obvious answers - to protect myself, my family, possible to protect other people. May be others.
What about capital punishment?
Ooh ah. A bit tougher now, isn’t it? Before you answer the capital punishment question, eyeball this story - http://articles.chicagotribune.com/2011-01-06/news/ct-met-illinois-house-death-penalty-v20110106_1_penalty-gordon-randy-steidl-historic-vote
Telling quote: “The historic vote comes 10 years after then-Gov. George Ryan placed a moratorium on the death penalty following revelations that several people sent to death row were not guilty.”
Now I ask again, what’s your opinion on capital punishment? Before you answer that, I also ask, do you know what crimes may call for the death penalty? Hint: Murder is one. There are others.
Now, do you really know how close you are, right now, to being on Death Row in your state’s penal system? You are much closer than you think.
Do you know how easy it is to frame someone and plant false evidence and have a witness commit perjury? Not to mention the fact eye witnesses are generally not very reliable, a fact born out time and time and time ad infinitum in case studies.
No offense to the men and women of the thin blue line, but most criminals get caught because they are stupid. The really smart criminals don’t get caught, except by rare accident. I am not saying the folks in law enforcement are stupid. I am saying they need a break to make a case happen.
"You can release an innocent person from prison, but you can't release them from the grave," said Gordon "Randy" Steidl, who spent 17 years in prison, including 12 on death row, after he was wrongfully convicted of a 1986 double-murder.
Um.
I remind you, by my definition government is merely an extension of you and me (albeit an often out-of-control extension, but nonetheless). When the penal system (government) puts someone to death as punishment, you and I are the ones pulling the trigger, releasing the trap door, injecting the poison, or flipping the switch.
Can you live with yourself knowing you have put an innocent man to death? If you say no, then I ask what will you do to offer recompense?
If you remember your history book - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sacco_and_Vanzetti
Then consider this outfit - http://www.innocenceproject.org/
I am, as I have said many times, in favor of the death penalty, but only in cases where guilt is obvious, like the Brian Nichols case in Atlanta. His shooting spree was caught on film and witnessed by a LOT of people. He needs to be slowly run over by a tank.
But for other cases, no. As Steidl says, you can’t release a person from the grave.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
A bit of confusion
A one-time director of the NAACP said “We have no permanent allies, only permanent positions.”
Someone else said “Politics makes strange bedfellows.”
That said I draw your attention to this piece, http://porkbrainsandmilkgravy.blogspot.com/2011/01/of-niggers-injuns-and-double-standards.html if you have not already perused it. If you have, recall it.
Now eyeball THIS piece. http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2011/01/06/AR2011010602807.html?hpid=topnews&sid=ST2011010601964
Telling quote: "Many of us don't want that to be lost upon the reading of our sacred document," Jackson said. "The three-fifths clause would not be mentioned."
The Rep. Jesse Jackson Jr. was referring to the clause in the Constitution which made slavery legal. This was later amended with an Amendment.
I agree with JJ Jr. Read the original and the amendments. It’s important.
Ok, it was grandstanding in Congress to read the Constitution with no real good resulting. The fact remains the original document and its amendments are VERY important. The amendments are important because they point to an earlier mistake in the Grand Old Document, a mistake that was corrected.
We learn, those of us with brains anyway, from our mistakes.
Hrm.
A very visible member of what some call a minority in the United States demands that recognition be given to the history of this nation which legalized slavery. This same person (not his dad) has no doubt screamed his head off about what he perceives as injustices.
Arg. Arg. Arg. There’s something in here I’m missing. I just cannot put my finger on it. I’m thinking it has something to do with revisionist history, being accountable for your own actions, being considered based on who, not what, you are and learning from mistakes.
Damfino. It’s in there I know. I’ll put this one in the to percolate a while in what Freud’s called the ego and get back to you.
Meantime, more mental fodder - Thomas Jefferson said, “There is nothing more unequal, than the equal treatment of unequal people.” I’m not seeing a contradiction here in what I write and say (and try to do), but am seeing it in folks like JJ Jr.’s dad.
Someone else said “Politics makes strange bedfellows.”
That said I draw your attention to this piece, http://porkbrainsandmilkgravy.blogspot.com/2011/01/of-niggers-injuns-and-double-standards.html if you have not already perused it. If you have, recall it.
Now eyeball THIS piece. http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2011/01/06/AR2011010602807.html?hpid=topnews&sid=ST2011010601964
Telling quote: "Many of us don't want that to be lost upon the reading of our sacred document," Jackson said. "The three-fifths clause would not be mentioned."
The Rep. Jesse Jackson Jr. was referring to the clause in the Constitution which made slavery legal. This was later amended with an Amendment.
I agree with JJ Jr. Read the original and the amendments. It’s important.
Ok, it was grandstanding in Congress to read the Constitution with no real good resulting. The fact remains the original document and its amendments are VERY important. The amendments are important because they point to an earlier mistake in the Grand Old Document, a mistake that was corrected.
We learn, those of us with brains anyway, from our mistakes.
Hrm.
A very visible member of what some call a minority in the United States demands that recognition be given to the history of this nation which legalized slavery. This same person (not his dad) has no doubt screamed his head off about what he perceives as injustices.
Arg. Arg. Arg. There’s something in here I’m missing. I just cannot put my finger on it. I’m thinking it has something to do with revisionist history, being accountable for your own actions, being considered based on who, not what, you are and learning from mistakes.
Damfino. It’s in there I know. I’ll put this one in the to percolate a while in what Freud’s called the ego and get back to you.
Meantime, more mental fodder - Thomas Jefferson said, “There is nothing more unequal, than the equal treatment of unequal people.” I’m not seeing a contradiction here in what I write and say (and try to do), but am seeing it in folks like JJ Jr.’s dad.
Vertical real estate
Rather than bore you will details about the lodge and so forth on my recent trip to the Land Of Vertical Real Estate, I will summate:
It is a hunting camp. We had canned biscuits, eggs and sausage every day for breakfast. Other meats were typical lunch fare and very good. Suppers were stuff in a giant crock pot, cause the cook staff exited stage home and hunters were still in the field. The beds were good and hard - which I actually do like. The room was about the size of a form room, which wash also perfectly acceptable.
Look. It’s a hunting camp. It ain’t a 5 star hotel, which I don’t like to stay in anyway. Compared to some places I’ve stayed, and enjoyed staying there, this place was worthy of many repeats in the future.
I have slept on the side of a mountain in a tent in the rain. I felt the mountain eroding from beneath me as I wondered if it was going to wash me off the mountain side and into the valley. I have slept in trucks, in the open air, in airports, on recliners, on watermelons, in deer stands 25 feet off the ground. I have stayed in the premiere hotel in Austin, Texas.
At the lodge I had actual walls, a bed with sheets, a roof and HVAC. It was good.
I probably ate too much. I say that but it’s probably not true. I worked it off. I am not kidding when I say the place is the land of vertical real estate. I walked up and down three mountains while I was there.
I saw signs all over the place - land for sale. Many acres. What the signs didn’t tell you is the acreage is either vertical or at a 60 degree angle. The few horizontally flat places are either creeks or pastures with the pastures not for sale.
If you put up a fence there, you can easily fence in 1,000 acres with the same amount of fence that would fence in 200 acres in South Georgia. The reason is, again, vertical real estate. A mountain occupies WAY more space above level ground than the bottom covers on the level ground.
Does that make sense?
Try this. If you walk a half mile in S. Georgia, you are a half mile horizontally from where you started. Up there you can walk a half mile and be a few hundred yards horizontally from where you started. Why? Cause you walked up the side of a mountain.
I know. I did it.
The Thursday morning Shag went bow hunting, I went coyote hunting below the lodge. Measure horizontally, I was less than 100 yards from the lodge. Measured by going down the mountain (and later that same morning BACK UP THE MOUNTAIN!) I was about a mile away. Except going back up the mountain I was about 2 miles away. Something to do with Einstein’s Theory of Spatial Relationships of how Fat Redneck Newspaper Editors Are Stupid Enough to Walk Down The Mountain to Start With Which Means They Have to Walk UP After Being Worn Out From Hunting All Morning.
As for the pastures, they tend to get boggy in the rain, or as happened when we were there, melting snow. This is OK, cause you can’t sink very far before you hit the rocks. Muddy rocks, in case you don’t know, give Teflon tips on how to be slippery and non-stick.
This boggy pasture also means you can’t build a house in the horizontally flat land unless it is on stilts unless you like sinking up to your ankles walking from the truck to the house. To build, you need to whack a chunk off a mountain side, hope the rest of the mountain doesn’t fall on you. If the mountain falls on you, you obviously don’t need a house any more.
There were a few signs along the roads warning of falling rocks. Most places didn’t have these signs. I can only guess they county road departments didn’t have enough money for falling rock signs for all the roads. Even the president would balk at that expense.
In the interest of full disclosure, I must note: The place we went is called “mountains.”
It’s more like hills.
I speak as a person who has lived in the middle of the Rocky Mountains, been to the top of a mountain which made the pikes where we were look like molehills.
The mountains where we were had trees. All over the place. The Rocky Mountains didn’t have trees. If you fell up there, in short order you’d hit a tree. Up in the Rockies, if you fell, you fell until you hit another mountain.
In the Rockies when you saw a sign warning of “falling rocks” it actually mean the mountain was falling. A Great Smokey Mountain would fall off a Rocky Mountain and that would be falling rock. In the Apalachians, a falling rock was more on the order of something smaller than a house.
www.wildernesshuntinglodge.com
It is a hunting camp. We had canned biscuits, eggs and sausage every day for breakfast. Other meats were typical lunch fare and very good. Suppers were stuff in a giant crock pot, cause the cook staff exited stage home and hunters were still in the field. The beds were good and hard - which I actually do like. The room was about the size of a form room, which wash also perfectly acceptable.
Look. It’s a hunting camp. It ain’t a 5 star hotel, which I don’t like to stay in anyway. Compared to some places I’ve stayed, and enjoyed staying there, this place was worthy of many repeats in the future.
I have slept on the side of a mountain in a tent in the rain. I felt the mountain eroding from beneath me as I wondered if it was going to wash me off the mountain side and into the valley. I have slept in trucks, in the open air, in airports, on recliners, on watermelons, in deer stands 25 feet off the ground. I have stayed in the premiere hotel in Austin, Texas.
At the lodge I had actual walls, a bed with sheets, a roof and HVAC. It was good.
I probably ate too much. I say that but it’s probably not true. I worked it off. I am not kidding when I say the place is the land of vertical real estate. I walked up and down three mountains while I was there.
I saw signs all over the place - land for sale. Many acres. What the signs didn’t tell you is the acreage is either vertical or at a 60 degree angle. The few horizontally flat places are either creeks or pastures with the pastures not for sale.
If you put up a fence there, you can easily fence in 1,000 acres with the same amount of fence that would fence in 200 acres in South Georgia. The reason is, again, vertical real estate. A mountain occupies WAY more space above level ground than the bottom covers on the level ground.
Does that make sense?
Try this. If you walk a half mile in S. Georgia, you are a half mile horizontally from where you started. Up there you can walk a half mile and be a few hundred yards horizontally from where you started. Why? Cause you walked up the side of a mountain.
I know. I did it.
The Thursday morning Shag went bow hunting, I went coyote hunting below the lodge. Measure horizontally, I was less than 100 yards from the lodge. Measured by going down the mountain (and later that same morning BACK UP THE MOUNTAIN!) I was about a mile away. Except going back up the mountain I was about 2 miles away. Something to do with Einstein’s Theory of Spatial Relationships of how Fat Redneck Newspaper Editors Are Stupid Enough to Walk Down The Mountain to Start With Which Means They Have to Walk UP After Being Worn Out From Hunting All Morning.
As for the pastures, they tend to get boggy in the rain, or as happened when we were there, melting snow. This is OK, cause you can’t sink very far before you hit the rocks. Muddy rocks, in case you don’t know, give Teflon tips on how to be slippery and non-stick.
This boggy pasture also means you can’t build a house in the horizontally flat land unless it is on stilts unless you like sinking up to your ankles walking from the truck to the house. To build, you need to whack a chunk off a mountain side, hope the rest of the mountain doesn’t fall on you. If the mountain falls on you, you obviously don’t need a house any more.
There were a few signs along the roads warning of falling rocks. Most places didn’t have these signs. I can only guess they county road departments didn’t have enough money for falling rock signs for all the roads. Even the president would balk at that expense.
In the interest of full disclosure, I must note: The place we went is called “mountains.”
It’s more like hills.
I speak as a person who has lived in the middle of the Rocky Mountains, been to the top of a mountain which made the pikes where we were look like molehills.
The mountains where we were had trees. All over the place. The Rocky Mountains didn’t have trees. If you fell up there, in short order you’d hit a tree. Up in the Rockies, if you fell, you fell until you hit another mountain.
In the Rockies when you saw a sign warning of “falling rocks” it actually mean the mountain was falling. A Great Smokey Mountain would fall off a Rocky Mountain and that would be falling rock. In the Apalachians, a falling rock was more on the order of something smaller than a house.
www.wildernesshuntinglodge.com
Divine monkey wrenches
Jim Joseph, one of my two favorite college professors, gleefully wrote a letter of recommendation for me when I left the hallowed halls of excessive alcohol consumption to enter the real world.
Among his comments, I paraphrase, “Ben enjoys deflating stuffed shirts.”
Truth.
It is equally accurate to say I enjoy slapping people upside the head with empirical evidence which destroys their cherished mistaken beliefs. Before I continue in this vein, lemme point out you cannot prove anything with a negative. So if you intend to try and convince me God does not exist, you don’t have anything except negatives to make your case.
That being said, I was looking more into the recent bird deaths and came across a link at the Journal of Improbable Research http://improbable.com http://www.nmr.nl/nmr/pages/showPage.do?instanceid=16&itemid=1930&style=default
Homosexual ducks. Not only homosexual but necrophiliac homosexual ducks. In other words, a male duck that had sex with a dead male duck.
It is to laugh.
While this particular case of duck domination may be isolated, homosexuality in the animal kingdom ain’t. Google it if you don’t believe me. If not, eyeball these links.
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2004/07/0722_040722_gayanimal.html
http://www.news-medical.net/news/2006/10/23/20718.aspx
Now if I am to believe the Bible and God created everything, then He created animals. The Bible doesn’t offer a firm opinion on whether or not animals are capable of reason.
Myself, I believe they are capable of reason, albeit limited, and certainly capable of emotion. Fat Booger, my late spaniel bird dog, could get his feelings hurt so fast you’d think he was a teenaged girl. Animals with the capacity, however limited, of operating with reason do things with a will. In other words, they plan ahead and carry out an action with the intention of achieving a desired result. If they don’t achieve the desired result, they quit.
This is, as I say, limited. Researchers have tested this. They found a species of bird in Africa which builds intricate nests. Scientists cut the bottom from the nest. The bird continued to build the next and even laid eggs, which of course fell out. After this, the bird went and built a new nest. That’s no reason. That’s instinct.
If you believe animals are not capable of reason, then you have to say what they do is operating on instinct.
Let’s take my idea first. Limited reason. How limited? Are the animals capable of distinguishing between right and wrong? Or at least right and wrong as we humans see it? Oy. That brings up a whole ‘nother existential arena which I ain’t getting into now.
Which is the problem inherent in my idea. If animals have reason and are self-aware, then how do we determine this and the extent to which it exists.
Let’s go back to the mallard above. Did the duck know he was attacking another male? Did he know he was raping a dead duck? Which then means we must ask why the male mallard was doing this. I know of no way to interview a duck.
Arg. That’s the same problem humanity will run into if there is intelligent life in space and we some day encounter it. Coming to an understanding.
A simpler solution is that animals, like the duck and most others, do not reason. Everything they do is driven by instinct. Instinct, according to this line of reasoning when matched up with the Bible, means the Hand of God moved and instilled in these animals the actions and reactions they make.
That being so, God created the homosexual animals as homosexuals.
Uh oh. There’s that monkey wrench I promised.
Lemme jump back to my thought - animals can reason. If you accept that as a truth, then how do we, as humans, reconcile this with the Biblical prohibitions of same gender sex? Does God hold animals to a different standard? Lemme inject here - shepherds certainly knew their flocks engaged in homosexual sex. As a former rancher, I don’t remember the number of times I saw same-gender bovines mount each other.
Do I then serve a God of double standards?
If God did not give such animals, as this mallard, reason, and created it as a raping homosexual, then is it possible God also created people as homosexuals? Or are we looking at yet another double standard here?
Matthew 7:1-2 Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.
Among his comments, I paraphrase, “Ben enjoys deflating stuffed shirts.”
Truth.
It is equally accurate to say I enjoy slapping people upside the head with empirical evidence which destroys their cherished mistaken beliefs. Before I continue in this vein, lemme point out you cannot prove anything with a negative. So if you intend to try and convince me God does not exist, you don’t have anything except negatives to make your case.
That being said, I was looking more into the recent bird deaths and came across a link at the Journal of Improbable Research http://improbable.com http://www.nmr.nl/nmr/pages/showPage.do?instanceid=16&itemid=1930&style=default
Homosexual ducks. Not only homosexual but necrophiliac homosexual ducks. In other words, a male duck that had sex with a dead male duck.
It is to laugh.
While this particular case of duck domination may be isolated, homosexuality in the animal kingdom ain’t. Google it if you don’t believe me. If not, eyeball these links.
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2004/07/0722_040722_gayanimal.html
http://www.news-medical.net/news/2006/10/23/20718.aspx
Now if I am to believe the Bible and God created everything, then He created animals. The Bible doesn’t offer a firm opinion on whether or not animals are capable of reason.
Myself, I believe they are capable of reason, albeit limited, and certainly capable of emotion. Fat Booger, my late spaniel bird dog, could get his feelings hurt so fast you’d think he was a teenaged girl. Animals with the capacity, however limited, of operating with reason do things with a will. In other words, they plan ahead and carry out an action with the intention of achieving a desired result. If they don’t achieve the desired result, they quit.
This is, as I say, limited. Researchers have tested this. They found a species of bird in Africa which builds intricate nests. Scientists cut the bottom from the nest. The bird continued to build the next and even laid eggs, which of course fell out. After this, the bird went and built a new nest. That’s no reason. That’s instinct.
If you believe animals are not capable of reason, then you have to say what they do is operating on instinct.
Let’s take my idea first. Limited reason. How limited? Are the animals capable of distinguishing between right and wrong? Or at least right and wrong as we humans see it? Oy. That brings up a whole ‘nother existential arena which I ain’t getting into now.
Which is the problem inherent in my idea. If animals have reason and are self-aware, then how do we determine this and the extent to which it exists.
Let’s go back to the mallard above. Did the duck know he was attacking another male? Did he know he was raping a dead duck? Which then means we must ask why the male mallard was doing this. I know of no way to interview a duck.
Arg. That’s the same problem humanity will run into if there is intelligent life in space and we some day encounter it. Coming to an understanding.
A simpler solution is that animals, like the duck and most others, do not reason. Everything they do is driven by instinct. Instinct, according to this line of reasoning when matched up with the Bible, means the Hand of God moved and instilled in these animals the actions and reactions they make.
That being so, God created the homosexual animals as homosexuals.
Uh oh. There’s that monkey wrench I promised.
Lemme jump back to my thought - animals can reason. If you accept that as a truth, then how do we, as humans, reconcile this with the Biblical prohibitions of same gender sex? Does God hold animals to a different standard? Lemme inject here - shepherds certainly knew their flocks engaged in homosexual sex. As a former rancher, I don’t remember the number of times I saw same-gender bovines mount each other.
Do I then serve a God of double standards?
If God did not give such animals, as this mallard, reason, and created it as a raping homosexual, then is it possible God also created people as homosexuals? Or are we looking at yet another double standard here?
Matthew 7:1-2 Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Since you didn't ask
For lunch I had bison-vegetable soup. It was good.
Clan Genius, even as I speak, is making a gargantuan pot of Bison-vegetable soup. I mean it. Around 5 gallons or so.
I expect it to last through Friday evening, unless Clint comes by in which case it'll be gone tomorrow night.
Tuesday night I had Man Steaks of Bison. It was equally good. Man Steak - 3 inch thick steak browned on the outside and still ... lowing? grunting? whatever it is bison do on the inside. Man Steak. Large thick chunks of mammal flesh lightly browned and, well you already know.
Monday I had elk.
Soon I will have fallow deer.
The Bison tastes much like, but not exactly like, beef. There is an undercurrent there of what I can only say is the wide open plains.
Elk tastes like whitetail deer, albeit a bit tough. I suspect the fallow deer will be the same, except less tough.
I will be making jerky from all three critters in the near future.
I do hereby testify that as awesome as I expect it to be, it won't come close to coon jerky.
Coon jerky. Yes. I made a tiny bit without my usual marinade and it was excellent. With my usual marinade, I expect it to be the best I have ever made.
Clan Genius, even as I speak, is making a gargantuan pot of Bison-vegetable soup. I mean it. Around 5 gallons or so.
I expect it to last through Friday evening, unless Clint comes by in which case it'll be gone tomorrow night.
Tuesday night I had Man Steaks of Bison. It was equally good. Man Steak - 3 inch thick steak browned on the outside and still ... lowing? grunting? whatever it is bison do on the inside. Man Steak. Large thick chunks of mammal flesh lightly browned and, well you already know.
Monday I had elk.
Soon I will have fallow deer.
The Bison tastes much like, but not exactly like, beef. There is an undercurrent there of what I can only say is the wide open plains.
Elk tastes like whitetail deer, albeit a bit tough. I suspect the fallow deer will be the same, except less tough.
I will be making jerky from all three critters in the near future.
I do hereby testify that as awesome as I expect it to be, it won't come close to coon jerky.
Coon jerky. Yes. I made a tiny bit without my usual marinade and it was excellent. With my usual marinade, I expect it to be the best I have ever made.
Occam's razor
In view of the recent death threat I received at Facebook for posting pictures of my recent hunt, I bring you this news.
http://voices.washingtonpost.com/blog-post/2011/01/dead_birds_dead_fish_turn_up_a.html
Being personally responsible for the demise of hundreds of these kinda birds and starlings (both of which are incredible pests to farming so if you wanna complain about extermination efforts, please stop eating because you have no logical right to complain about how farmers protect the crops which feed you), I can only say.
Wow.
That’s impressive.
The last time I laid down on flock of starlings with a 12 gauge was after an animal rights activist threatened me. I told him for every threat I was gonna hammer a flock of the birds. One shot 20+ birds dropped. That offer still stands, BTW. A necropsy of those birds would clearly show the cause of death - Me. Dunno how much I saved in the way of crops which would have otherwise been ruined by these birds.
But for the birds that fell out in Beebe, ornithologists are still wondering why. According to one report I heard, some loud booms were heard in the area the night the birds died. Necropsies on the first birds showed internal damage.
A sufficient sonic-type boom could kill ‘em. Since they roost in tight flocks in trees, one boom could hit a bunch of ‘em.
Being stunned and scared at night, they took to the air where the multi-whammy of the shock, the internal damage, the fright and being airborne at night was just too much for their systems.
None of which explains where the boom came from. But then I’ve heard and felt booms a few times in my life with no explanation for how or where they came from.
As you might expect, some people are using this to point to the end of times about to happen. The Mayan calendar, Planet X, the Next Coming, the Last Days, the current president’s policies taking full effect, etc are just some of the excuses being given for the bird kill.
Read further. Such die-offs are more common than most people realize, even when not generated by a guy with a 12 gauge. Animals have been dying this way for probably eons.
Red tides account for huge marine kills. No one yet knows why pods of cetaceans beach themselves and die, although I suspect doomsday cult and charismatic leaders in the pod.
Look. These critters are not indestructible. In fact, they are pretty fragile. Some fish, like herrings, if you look at ‘em hard they die. Fish like snappers, inhabiting the waters they do in large schools, are apt to be wiped out by a geological burp of some killer chemical from the earth that enters the water, kills the school but quickly dissipates before others are killed.
Redwing blackbirds are not hardy birds. They are just extreme fecund and nest carefully, which is why there are so many of ‘em. I know from personal experience a little light damage to the bird and it can fly some distance before succumbing.
It happens. We may never find out why. Get used to the idea. If it makes you feel better to blame some supra, super or paranormal event to explain it, g’head.
http://voices.washingtonpost.com/blog-post/2011/01/dead_birds_dead_fish_turn_up_a.html
Being personally responsible for the demise of hundreds of these kinda birds and starlings (both of which are incredible pests to farming so if you wanna complain about extermination efforts, please stop eating because you have no logical right to complain about how farmers protect the crops which feed you), I can only say.
Wow.
That’s impressive.
The last time I laid down on flock of starlings with a 12 gauge was after an animal rights activist threatened me. I told him for every threat I was gonna hammer a flock of the birds. One shot 20+ birds dropped. That offer still stands, BTW. A necropsy of those birds would clearly show the cause of death - Me. Dunno how much I saved in the way of crops which would have otherwise been ruined by these birds.
But for the birds that fell out in Beebe, ornithologists are still wondering why. According to one report I heard, some loud booms were heard in the area the night the birds died. Necropsies on the first birds showed internal damage.
A sufficient sonic-type boom could kill ‘em. Since they roost in tight flocks in trees, one boom could hit a bunch of ‘em.
Being stunned and scared at night, they took to the air where the multi-whammy of the shock, the internal damage, the fright and being airborne at night was just too much for their systems.
None of which explains where the boom came from. But then I’ve heard and felt booms a few times in my life with no explanation for how or where they came from.
As you might expect, some people are using this to point to the end of times about to happen. The Mayan calendar, Planet X, the Next Coming, the Last Days, the current president’s policies taking full effect, etc are just some of the excuses being given for the bird kill.
Read further. Such die-offs are more common than most people realize, even when not generated by a guy with a 12 gauge. Animals have been dying this way for probably eons.
Red tides account for huge marine kills. No one yet knows why pods of cetaceans beach themselves and die, although I suspect doomsday cult and charismatic leaders in the pod.
Look. These critters are not indestructible. In fact, they are pretty fragile. Some fish, like herrings, if you look at ‘em hard they die. Fish like snappers, inhabiting the waters they do in large schools, are apt to be wiped out by a geological burp of some killer chemical from the earth that enters the water, kills the school but quickly dissipates before others are killed.
Redwing blackbirds are not hardy birds. They are just extreme fecund and nest carefully, which is why there are so many of ‘em. I know from personal experience a little light damage to the bird and it can fly some distance before succumbing.
It happens. We may never find out why. Get used to the idea. If it makes you feel better to blame some supra, super or paranormal event to explain it, g’head.
Nearly enough to hurt my feelings
This is one of the installments about my recent trip out of Georgia to another state to hunt. What I hunted, how the hunts went and so forth will be gradually explained in the coming days, with picture and video!
We loaded up at Camp on Friday morning. The back of the truck was packed full of coolers of meat. The trailer was packed full of coolers of meat. More meat was just thrown in the back of the truck with bags of ice on it.
The trailer also held the heads brought back for mounting.
Yeah.
Heads. Bloody hides still attached.
One of the other hunters at camp said we needed a sign "PETA Rescues!" We will do this next time.
We hauled out of camp taking a county-maintained road which resembled a badly paved driveway and I am not kidding. We finally got back on a road with actual striping and wide enough for two fat people to pass each other without getting extremely personal.
Shag drove. Both ways. Shag is my brother who went with me and actually drove the entire distance, both ways, as I said, while I alternated between leaving deep finger-shaped grooves in the door, pointed at the vertical scenery and tried to keep my eyeballs shoved back in my head when we came up on a curve in the road that made hairpins look straight by comparison.
Did I mention the edge of the road was crumbling off and falling 1,000 plus feet to the bottom of the mountain we were riding on? Well now I did.
But the great part of this section of the ride home was the people. Folks constantly passed us (it was a 4-lane road), only to slow down, pace us for a moment and speed up grinning widely and giving us massive thumbs-up after eyeballing the HUGE antler racks on the truck and trailer.
I don't know how many asked to take pictures. Which we of course agreed to. No doubt there are pictures all over the internet now of a red S. Georgia pickup with a small trailer packed with coolers and giant bloody animal heads.
We stopped periodically to re-ice the exposed meat, check the coolers and make deposits with the local treatment plants. At each stop, people gathered around the truck to take pictures and ask about the critters.
"Where'd you get 'em?" invariably was asked.
"Up north." was the only cryptic reply I gave. Shag, OTOH, fired off whatever reply he felt was best at the time.
The best two stops were:
Stop 2. An old man walked over and asked about the bison head. Assured it was a buffalo, he asked for the tongue.
So, I helped him remove the tongue. He intended to eat it.
Before you ralph, if it is not too late, on your keyboard, I ask you: "Do you eat hotdogs and sausage?"
"Not any more," you reply.
No. 2 was when we stopped in N. Ga. for a meal and several restaurant employees left the business to come look at the truck and contents.
Anyway, the mad grins, thumbs up and people slowing down to take a better look and pictures continued until we hit the metro Atlanta area. There we started getting disgusted looks and people actually covering their face as they passed up. Well, yes, Shag and I had not shaved since we left home to go hunting (and would not shave again until we got home) but I still felt that was rude of them.
The mad grins and pictures resumed almost non-stop by other drives once we got south of Macon.
We pulled into Ashburn, nearly causing several wrecks as we eased down 41 to my house. Shag parked on the northbound side, close to the house, and a minor traffic jam ensued. Several people turned around to come back and look.
"I told Noel we've got to turn around. If Shag is involved in this, it's got to be big," said Lori Wooten.
Now normally I don't go around repeating things people say unless they give me permission to, say it in a public meeting or such, be she said this in front of my house on Highway 41 in front of the entire world, so it's OK to repeat it.
I do wonder what she meant by that. Was she implying that I am never involved in anything big?
I tellya, between that and the people in Atlanta ashamed to look at me, why it's nearly enough to hurt my feelings. But for that to happen, I'd have to have feelings.
More stories to come.
We loaded up at Camp on Friday morning. The back of the truck was packed full of coolers of meat. The trailer was packed full of coolers of meat. More meat was just thrown in the back of the truck with bags of ice on it.
The trailer also held the heads brought back for mounting.
Yeah.
Heads. Bloody hides still attached.
One of the other hunters at camp said we needed a sign "PETA Rescues!" We will do this next time.
We hauled out of camp taking a county-maintained road which resembled a badly paved driveway and I am not kidding. We finally got back on a road with actual striping and wide enough for two fat people to pass each other without getting extremely personal.
Shag drove. Both ways. Shag is my brother who went with me and actually drove the entire distance, both ways, as I said, while I alternated between leaving deep finger-shaped grooves in the door, pointed at the vertical scenery and tried to keep my eyeballs shoved back in my head when we came up on a curve in the road that made hairpins look straight by comparison.
Did I mention the edge of the road was crumbling off and falling 1,000 plus feet to the bottom of the mountain we were riding on? Well now I did.
But the great part of this section of the ride home was the people. Folks constantly passed us (it was a 4-lane road), only to slow down, pace us for a moment and speed up grinning widely and giving us massive thumbs-up after eyeballing the HUGE antler racks on the truck and trailer.
I don't know how many asked to take pictures. Which we of course agreed to. No doubt there are pictures all over the internet now of a red S. Georgia pickup with a small trailer packed with coolers and giant bloody animal heads.
We stopped periodically to re-ice the exposed meat, check the coolers and make deposits with the local treatment plants. At each stop, people gathered around the truck to take pictures and ask about the critters.
"Where'd you get 'em?" invariably was asked.
"Up north." was the only cryptic reply I gave. Shag, OTOH, fired off whatever reply he felt was best at the time.
The best two stops were:
Stop 2. An old man walked over and asked about the bison head. Assured it was a buffalo, he asked for the tongue.
So, I helped him remove the tongue. He intended to eat it.
Before you ralph, if it is not too late, on your keyboard, I ask you: "Do you eat hotdogs and sausage?"
"Not any more," you reply.
No. 2 was when we stopped in N. Ga. for a meal and several restaurant employees left the business to come look at the truck and contents.
Anyway, the mad grins, thumbs up and people slowing down to take a better look and pictures continued until we hit the metro Atlanta area. There we started getting disgusted looks and people actually covering their face as they passed up. Well, yes, Shag and I had not shaved since we left home to go hunting (and would not shave again until we got home) but I still felt that was rude of them.
The mad grins and pictures resumed almost non-stop by other drives once we got south of Macon.
We pulled into Ashburn, nearly causing several wrecks as we eased down 41 to my house. Shag parked on the northbound side, close to the house, and a minor traffic jam ensued. Several people turned around to come back and look.
"I told Noel we've got to turn around. If Shag is involved in this, it's got to be big," said Lori Wooten.
Now normally I don't go around repeating things people say unless they give me permission to, say it in a public meeting or such, be she said this in front of my house on Highway 41 in front of the entire world, so it's OK to repeat it.
I do wonder what she meant by that. Was she implying that I am never involved in anything big?
I tellya, between that and the people in Atlanta ashamed to look at me, why it's nearly enough to hurt my feelings. But for that to happen, I'd have to have feelings.
More stories to come.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Of niggers, injuns, and double standards
Telling quote: “Race matters in these books.”
This is the comment from Alan Gribben, which the story identifies as a Mark Twain expert.
http://shelf-life.ew.com/2011/01/03/huckleberry-finn-n-word-censor-edit/
Gribben is cutting out the words Nigger and Injun from the book.
Race, as Gribben says, indeed mattered then. It matters now. If it matters, then why is Gribben trying to cover it up?
“It’s a matter of how you express that in the 21st century.” he said.
Indeed it is.
I question what Gribben is trying to express.
Yassee, Twain didn’t write in the 21st Century. What he wrote was in one sense timeless, applicable today, tomorrow, 300 years ago and 300 years from now.
Twain was a wordsmith with few peers. He pioneered the use of several literary techniques and chose his words carefully. He used words, phrases and wrote material that was ahead of his time.
Frankly, a lot of what he wrote is still ahead. I seriously doubt most people have ever read the book and of those who did, fewer yet understood what he was trying to communicate.
Twain was not just writing a piece of fiction. He was writing about his world, as he saw it, in the terms of the day. In order to understand what he wrote, what he was trying to convey, you must also understand his world and how it operated.
Besides which, translations are never exact. Nuances are lost. Sometimes, whole meanings are lost.
The writer of the piece I quote from implies that the substance of the book is unchanged by the word modification. I charge that it is changed. Watered down, made less relevant, less information and the substance is not what Twain intended.
If the word didn’t matter, why change it?
The words nigger and injun, by the very act Gribben takes in removing them, further charge the words with immense power, near unbelievable power.
I ask you, if there is so much power in a word, how can the removal NOT change the book?
Lemme shift gears on you a second.
The word nigger does not carry and have the same meaning today as the word slave. Maybe the word has changed in the 100+ years since Huck Finn came out. In fact it has changed. Both.
In these days, depending on who uses the word, it is an epithet with a variable meaning.
Why? Why can one person say “nigger” and it be a term of affection and another use the same word and it be derogatory and insulting? Where is the equality in that?
As I am about to say to someone I personally know who has a huge double-standard habit: “You set the rules. I’ll apply them equally to everyone.” This will infuriate the person I tell say it to. I don’t care.
You set the rules, I’ll apply them equally. So be careful how you set the rules. That includes the use of the words nigger and injun and a whole lot of other stuff.
This is the comment from Alan Gribben, which the story identifies as a Mark Twain expert.
http://shelf-life.ew.com/2011/01/03/huckleberry-finn-n-word-censor-edit/
Gribben is cutting out the words Nigger and Injun from the book.
Race, as Gribben says, indeed mattered then. It matters now. If it matters, then why is Gribben trying to cover it up?
“It’s a matter of how you express that in the 21st century.” he said.
Indeed it is.
I question what Gribben is trying to express.
Yassee, Twain didn’t write in the 21st Century. What he wrote was in one sense timeless, applicable today, tomorrow, 300 years ago and 300 years from now.
Twain was a wordsmith with few peers. He pioneered the use of several literary techniques and chose his words carefully. He used words, phrases and wrote material that was ahead of his time.
Frankly, a lot of what he wrote is still ahead. I seriously doubt most people have ever read the book and of those who did, fewer yet understood what he was trying to communicate.
Twain was not just writing a piece of fiction. He was writing about his world, as he saw it, in the terms of the day. In order to understand what he wrote, what he was trying to convey, you must also understand his world and how it operated.
Besides which, translations are never exact. Nuances are lost. Sometimes, whole meanings are lost.
The writer of the piece I quote from implies that the substance of the book is unchanged by the word modification. I charge that it is changed. Watered down, made less relevant, less information and the substance is not what Twain intended.
If the word didn’t matter, why change it?
The words nigger and injun, by the very act Gribben takes in removing them, further charge the words with immense power, near unbelievable power.
I ask you, if there is so much power in a word, how can the removal NOT change the book?
Lemme shift gears on you a second.
The word nigger does not carry and have the same meaning today as the word slave. Maybe the word has changed in the 100+ years since Huck Finn came out. In fact it has changed. Both.
In these days, depending on who uses the word, it is an epithet with a variable meaning.
Why? Why can one person say “nigger” and it be a term of affection and another use the same word and it be derogatory and insulting? Where is the equality in that?
As I am about to say to someone I personally know who has a huge double-standard habit: “You set the rules. I’ll apply them equally to everyone.” This will infuriate the person I tell say it to. I don’t care.
You set the rules, I’ll apply them equally. So be careful how you set the rules. That includes the use of the words nigger and injun and a whole lot of other stuff.
The drive
The drive up to the lodge where my brother and I hunted the week between Christmas and New Years was interesting but not eventful.
Interesting in a butt-cheeks grabbing the seat so hard it ripped the upholstery kind of way.
Everything was cool through Chattanooga. We hauled up I-75, little traffic and far fewer worries. At Chattanooga we bore off north and east. For a while all was good. Mountains all around. Snow on the mountains, on the ground and ice sheets on the sides of the mountains. Several of the mountains were cut away to make space for the road. Under the strata of rock were veins of coal, some higher than I am tall. I thought that was extremely cool.
The roads were clear.
Then.
Well. As a chronicler, it is my duty to lay it out as it happened, set the record down correct and so forth.
Shag had a set of directions. I had a set of directions. His, as I understand, came about by an internet mapping program and calling the lodge for directions.
Mine were done by Google Earth. I prefer GE when mapping out because it lets me see the terrain and the kinds of roads, within some limits of course. Gives me an idea of where I am.
We followed Shag’s directions, which I wound up losing, but did not know that until we’d followed the directions onto what was either state highway, county highway or an ancient moonshiner’s road through the mountains. Possibly it was an Indian trail.
Regardless, we had to cross a mountain.
We called the Lodge for help. When we finally got a signal through on his cell phone, they explained we were probably some 30-45 miles away.
Ah easy. We’d be there within 30 minutes.
Had this been S. Georgia, yes this would be true.
This was in the mountains where miles traveled does not equate to time spent traveling. It was about 2 hours to get there.
Why?
There were no road shoulders.
The pavement ended. The pavement crumbled at the edge of the road. The pavement fell thousands of feet down.
The road was narrow. By narrow I mean two logging trucks could not have easily passed, if at all.
Some places you’d make a turn and look back to see your own tail lights 100 feet above or below you.
Yes. Shag drove slowly. Very slowly.
The passenger side of Shag’s truck is now form-fitted to me. The floorboards are bulged where I pushed the invisible brake hard enough to develop leg cramps. The armrest is now contoured to fit my fingers.
At that we later learned THOSE roads were sterling examples of the state Department of Transportation. Other roads we traversed were NOT wide enough for two vehicles to pass. If someone was coming the other way, one of you backed up to a curve where that person parked on the side of the mountain to let the other person pass.
Provided, of course, the road wasn’t frozen. If the road was frozen … I dunno. I don’t wanna know.
We don’t get iced roads in South Georgia. They do up there.
Our guide explained when the roads ice up you have to keep the vehicle speed up to keep control. Shag rode off with the guide one morning taking a road which was impassable the day before. He reported the truck fishtailed across the road, which was still frozen.
When Shag got out of the guide’s truck, the seat cushion was pulled up into a miniature volcano shape.
The ride back saw us take a different route. Still mountains, but 4-lane roads. At that, the recommended return route was a bit different than mine too.
Still by taking that way, we shaved more than an hour off our travel time.
It was a good ride. More to come, and yes I'll get to the hunts.
http://www.wildernesshuntinglodge.com/
Interesting in a butt-cheeks grabbing the seat so hard it ripped the upholstery kind of way.
Everything was cool through Chattanooga. We hauled up I-75, little traffic and far fewer worries. At Chattanooga we bore off north and east. For a while all was good. Mountains all around. Snow on the mountains, on the ground and ice sheets on the sides of the mountains. Several of the mountains were cut away to make space for the road. Under the strata of rock were veins of coal, some higher than I am tall. I thought that was extremely cool.
The roads were clear.
Then.
Well. As a chronicler, it is my duty to lay it out as it happened, set the record down correct and so forth.
Shag had a set of directions. I had a set of directions. His, as I understand, came about by an internet mapping program and calling the lodge for directions.
Mine were done by Google Earth. I prefer GE when mapping out because it lets me see the terrain and the kinds of roads, within some limits of course. Gives me an idea of where I am.
We followed Shag’s directions, which I wound up losing, but did not know that until we’d followed the directions onto what was either state highway, county highway or an ancient moonshiner’s road through the mountains. Possibly it was an Indian trail.
Regardless, we had to cross a mountain.
We called the Lodge for help. When we finally got a signal through on his cell phone, they explained we were probably some 30-45 miles away.
Ah easy. We’d be there within 30 minutes.
Had this been S. Georgia, yes this would be true.
This was in the mountains where miles traveled does not equate to time spent traveling. It was about 2 hours to get there.
Why?
There were no road shoulders.
The pavement ended. The pavement crumbled at the edge of the road. The pavement fell thousands of feet down.
The road was narrow. By narrow I mean two logging trucks could not have easily passed, if at all.
Some places you’d make a turn and look back to see your own tail lights 100 feet above or below you.
Yes. Shag drove slowly. Very slowly.
The passenger side of Shag’s truck is now form-fitted to me. The floorboards are bulged where I pushed the invisible brake hard enough to develop leg cramps. The armrest is now contoured to fit my fingers.
At that we later learned THOSE roads were sterling examples of the state Department of Transportation. Other roads we traversed were NOT wide enough for two vehicles to pass. If someone was coming the other way, one of you backed up to a curve where that person parked on the side of the mountain to let the other person pass.
Provided, of course, the road wasn’t frozen. If the road was frozen … I dunno. I don’t wanna know.
We don’t get iced roads in South Georgia. They do up there.
Our guide explained when the roads ice up you have to keep the vehicle speed up to keep control. Shag rode off with the guide one morning taking a road which was impassable the day before. He reported the truck fishtailed across the road, which was still frozen.
When Shag got out of the guide’s truck, the seat cushion was pulled up into a miniature volcano shape.
The ride back saw us take a different route. Still mountains, but 4-lane roads. At that, the recommended return route was a bit different than mine too.
Still by taking that way, we shaved more than an hour off our travel time.
It was a good ride. More to come, and yes I'll get to the hunts.
http://www.wildernesshuntinglodge.com/
Monday, January 3, 2011
Notes from the field.
I saw a Demotivational Poster with a picture of a hunter and a big critter dead at his feet.
The caption was: Sport means that both sides know they are engaged in a game.
Even in the Ancient Roman times when the Olympic Games occasionally turned fatal, the men participating knew they were engaged in a sport.
As I write this in northeastern Tennessee at a hunting lodge dining room surrounded by mounted fish and all kinds of four-legged animals, I am reminded hunting is not a sport. It is hunting. It is a hunter taking a weapon in hand for the avowed purpose of ending the life of some creature.
I've read of other hunters who say they do not like the kill. Some very famous names in the outdoor writing (hunting and fishing) world have made this statement. Then, I read of Ted Nugent doing his victory dance when he kills a deer or some other critter.
I wonder why, if the "hunter" does not like killing something, why is he even bothering to hunt? Why not just take a camera and take pictures? Meat is available in grocery stores and that writer makes well and away enough to buy meat.
The object of hunting is to terminate the life of some creature. Done right, the hunter is the one who ends the life of something else. Done wrong, the hunter can wind up being killed. In Africa, hunters are maimed and killed each year by the animals they hunt.
If you rejoice in the death of these hunters, I remind you I only said hunter. I never said who the hunter was. Certainly human hunters are killed. But so are lions, leopards, cheetahs and the other carnivore animals of the Dark Continent. These animals do not have the option of visiting a supermarket to buy a pack of ground round.
Do you rejoice in the death of a lion, which is too old to hunt and is driven from his pride to die of starvation?
It's hunting. It is not a sport.
It's a story as old as the first ameoba which chased down the first paramecium and engulfed it. The hunt takes place daily, millions if not billions of times a day across the planet.
It is also at times like this I wish for an animal rights activist (ARA) to debate. I can't find one who will engage me on the merits of the hunt. They always, infallibly, degenerate into insulting me and threatening me. They cannot debate the matter rationally. SOme time back I got ahold of one ARA who strongly objected to my hunting and the pictures I post of hunting.
I pointed out I also pick up and eat road killed animals. I asked if there was anything immoral or unethical about this.
The ARA fired back that no, this was not immoral or unethical, merely disgusting. And so the true colors come out.
I hunt.
I kill animals.
I eat animals.
I ask you, which is more ethical and moral - going out and killing an animal, taking it home and eating it or buying meat in the grocery store? I already know which is healthier.
You may not like hunters, but if you eat meat you cannot logically complain about me.
I am descended, just as the ARA is, from a line of hunters reaching back into prehistory. If you do not eat meat, you still stand on the backs of other hunters and survive in this world because of people who do hunt and who do eat meat.
The caption was: Sport means that both sides know they are engaged in a game.
Even in the Ancient Roman times when the Olympic Games occasionally turned fatal, the men participating knew they were engaged in a sport.
As I write this in northeastern Tennessee at a hunting lodge dining room surrounded by mounted fish and all kinds of four-legged animals, I am reminded hunting is not a sport. It is hunting. It is a hunter taking a weapon in hand for the avowed purpose of ending the life of some creature.
I've read of other hunters who say they do not like the kill. Some very famous names in the outdoor writing (hunting and fishing) world have made this statement. Then, I read of Ted Nugent doing his victory dance when he kills a deer or some other critter.
I wonder why, if the "hunter" does not like killing something, why is he even bothering to hunt? Why not just take a camera and take pictures? Meat is available in grocery stores and that writer makes well and away enough to buy meat.
The object of hunting is to terminate the life of some creature. Done right, the hunter is the one who ends the life of something else. Done wrong, the hunter can wind up being killed. In Africa, hunters are maimed and killed each year by the animals they hunt.
If you rejoice in the death of these hunters, I remind you I only said hunter. I never said who the hunter was. Certainly human hunters are killed. But so are lions, leopards, cheetahs and the other carnivore animals of the Dark Continent. These animals do not have the option of visiting a supermarket to buy a pack of ground round.
Do you rejoice in the death of a lion, which is too old to hunt and is driven from his pride to die of starvation?
It's hunting. It is not a sport.
It's a story as old as the first ameoba which chased down the first paramecium and engulfed it. The hunt takes place daily, millions if not billions of times a day across the planet.
It is also at times like this I wish for an animal rights activist (ARA) to debate. I can't find one who will engage me on the merits of the hunt. They always, infallibly, degenerate into insulting me and threatening me. They cannot debate the matter rationally. SOme time back I got ahold of one ARA who strongly objected to my hunting and the pictures I post of hunting.
I pointed out I also pick up and eat road killed animals. I asked if there was anything immoral or unethical about this.
The ARA fired back that no, this was not immoral or unethical, merely disgusting. And so the true colors come out.
I hunt.
I kill animals.
I eat animals.
I ask you, which is more ethical and moral - going out and killing an animal, taking it home and eating it or buying meat in the grocery store? I already know which is healthier.
You may not like hunters, but if you eat meat you cannot logically complain about me.
I am descended, just as the ARA is, from a line of hunters reaching back into prehistory. If you do not eat meat, you still stand on the backs of other hunters and survive in this world because of people who do hunt and who do eat meat.
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