Looks as if the Clinton machine may be setting up the ever-loyal Huma Abedin to take the fall for the email scandal. Since when is it an “intrusion” or a “comandeering” (even in the Washington Times) when an aide answers emails for the boss?
The woman who dropped her newborn from a seventh-story window used to work for child protective services.
Karma’s a you-know-what. Those “scientists” who urged the fedgov to prosecute those who disagree with them have pulled their letter from the web (with lame excuses) after bloggers gave their lead guy’s finances a closer look.
Ted Cruz, attempting to be relevant, appoints that unconscionable weasel and professional has-been, Bob Barr, to do outreach toward libertarians. (H/T JB)
That $750 pill that gained so much notoriety recently is (you will not be surprised to learn) more a product of the U.S. regulatory system than of some “greedy rogue” (however unsavory the rogue in question might actually be).
Dunno. Cloning pooches still seems creepy to me. Amazing. But creepy. Also wish this NPR piece had gone into more detail about how cloned dogs can differ so much, even in basic characteristics like markings, from their source material.
As I was saying, we all have ways in which other people can look at our lives and say, “Why can’t she see how obviously she’s messing up?” I have mine.
One of them is doing things to keep myself from making much money. Although I deeply admire people who’ve accumulated a pragmatic amount of wealth and can be happy, prudent, and generous with it, I have a top beyond which I’m not comfortable going. It’s my ceiling. And it’s low.
BTW, for those who care … today is the 60th anniversary of the death of James Dean.
Yes, it’s a tragedy to die young, but it’s quite a feat to achieve lasting glory (and become an eternal symbol of Troubled Youth) on the strength of just three movies. Impossible to imagine James Dean living to 84.
I used to commemorate this day faithfully every year to the point where it became a running joke for my friends. Been lax about it lately. But sixty years dead and still going strong; that deserves some notice.
Glorious day. Seventy-five degrees under a blue sky, but still a distinct feel of fall.
Our walks in the woods have been short and halting since May — first because of my ankle and increasingly because Robbie’s getting so old. I walk a little bit, slowly, while Ava runs ahead. Then I stop to wait for the old boy. Not to wait for him to catch up, but just to come into sight. He’s fine on the familiar old roads with their high banks of berry bramble; can’t wander off and get lost. But he’s good for only a few hundred yards and a lot of stopping to smell pee on the roses. I wait for him just to see me and be reassured (both of us), then I move on. Eventually, though, we turn back sooner than we’d like.
Yesterday on our afternoon walk, Robbie picked up an elk bone that’s sufficiently putrescine and cadaverine to please the least refined doggie palate. He brought it home in the car (windows open, fans blasting), but Ava’s been dominating it most of the time since.
Today when Ava dropped it to get in the car, Robbie glommed onto it and said no thanks to a ride into the woods. So Ava and I went out to a favorite long-walk place and we walked and walked and walked — and at a good pace, besides.
It wasn’t anything that would impress a serious hiker, but enough to work up a nice sweaty glow and a good heart rate. Felt wonderful in the cool woods and the brilliant blue weather. It was great watching Ava dance ahead and not worry about Robbie lingering behind.
I felt guilty for being glad he wasn’t with us, though.
When we came home, I discovered an auto transport blocking the road just beyond the house. A shiny orange hot rod rode the top deck. The lower held a gaudy classic motorcycle and a dignified yet sporty steel gray Volvo. Vintage stuff. (Don’t think clunky, boxy Volvo. Think two-seater sports car.)
I walked over to enjoy something you don’t see around here every day, and now I know what my silent neighbor’s been working on in his garage so many late nights. That restored Volvo is on its way from the PNW boonies to a new home someplace in Europe.
“I could see myself driving a car like that,” I told the silent neighbor’s mother.
“Well, he has another one he’s about to start on …”
“Yeah, but I can’t see myself paying for a car like that. Not the type that gets sold to Europe, thank you.”
Sure was beautiful, though. I loved that subdued steely gray on the sporty design. Aside from the Avanti, the Mercedes 450SL Roadster and maybe the Delorean DMC-12 (even the non-time-machine models), I don’t think I’ve seen any vehicle so elegant and so spicy at the same time.
And sometimes the “good guy” isn’t. OTOH, since he’s nowhere to be found, how can anybody be sure that the alleged (inept) “good guy” with the gun ever actually intended to be helpful? Maybe he did. Maybe the whole situation is other than it appears.
Thanks to everybody who beta tested the poll concept last week. That helped.
we’re going to try to put up a new poll every week, near the beginning of the week, and close the polls on Friday afternoon. Given that TZP is a cat herd of volunteers, this schedule may not exactly be carved in stone.
The technology is ancient. Mark Twain knew all about it. But making gunpowder with urine is taking the gun blogs by storm. Smoky black powder it’ll be. But one more way that all the self-righteous bans in the world won’t end firearms.
We all know not to talk to cops, but in a moment of surprise and stress, the temptation to “cooperate” is enormous. The astute Ken White explains the WHY of things in a way that might help us zip our lips.
Nicki says, “Hey, Snowflake!” you don’t have a government-enforced “right” to a wider airplane seat for your super-sized butt.
Well, we’ll see about that. When I had the recent infamous medical procedure, they stuck me into a wheelchair wide enough that I could have invited several friends to share the ride. The tech who wheeled my groggy self down the hallway said they have only one “normal” sized chair now. And yes, the reason is what you probably think.
“Scientists” (that is, social scientists again) survey youth gun carrying and jump to conclusions that have no basis outside of their own prejudices. (H/T LarryA)
If the idea that Wyoming is likely to be more rife with “youth gun violence” than New Jersey or New York makes you laugh, howl away.
This “science” reminds me of that survey I received long ago from the Bradys asking, with much implied alarm, if I’d heard gunfire in my neighborhood recently. Given that I lived directly between a small pistol range and a plinking quarry at the time, the Bradys would no doubt have thought I spent my life hiding under the bed in terror of all the “violence.”
But when I got this link from MJR it reminded me that, for all that eminent man’s good work in popularizing science, he (being human) didn’t always practice what he preached.
Sagan was anti-gun, and in the most irrational way. He didn’t examine the facts. He didn’t study the data. He didn’t ask questions. He just “knew” guns were shivery-icky-baddy-bad-bad. It’s been a while, but I believe I discovered those gooey opinions of his while reading his otherwise fascinating paean to rational thought, The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark.
The very book that produced the fine baloney detector.
A very sensible take on Ahmed and his clock. Neither a “bomb” nor a devious Islamic fraud. Just a kid learning to tinker with electronics and getting more cr*p from teachers, cops, and now hysterical pundits than he deserves. (I’ve linked previously in comments to Brad’s similarly sane take: here and here.)
So if Volkswagen had special code in its U.S. turbocharged diesels designed to fool emissions testing systems, just how did they get busted for their clever trick? Chemistry, apparently.