And here’s the non-funny but more in-depth view of the same phenomenon.
I haven’t heard from Stewart Rhodes yet about the Ferguson open-carry march controversy. But Mama Liberty found this even-handed Reason article on the issue with extensive quotes from him.
Oliver Sacks, the great neurologist and racconteur died on Sunday. He was a wise, humane, and funny man. He went through life with face-blindness, which must be a special curse for such a public person.
Kent says it well. You can’t ever “keep guns out of the wrong hands.” Which is why it’s so vitally important to keep them in the right hands.
Turns out that Alison Parker’s “gonna buy a gun while trying to keep others from getting them” father is a failed politician and shameless attention wh*re.
I’m sorry for your grief, Mr. Parker. No parent should have to endure what you suffered. I was keeping my mouth shut when you first went on your blame-the-gun warpath. But now I know you’ve added hypocrisy to your repertoire, sympathy stretches thin:
The father of slain TV reporter Alison Parker says he thinks he will have to buy a gun now that he has decided to be an outspoken advocate for tougher gun laws.
Yeah. So everybody else who owns guns is a maniac waiting to strike. You, OTOH, are … what?
Ignorant, for one:
He says background checks should be done on people who buy weapons at gun shows.
(Scroll down to the 4:40 p.m. update at the above link for these quotes. H/T MJR.)
There was no loophole, and no background check that could have prevented Flanagan from getting a firearm! He was not even seeing a psychiatrist! He was not a prohibited person. There is no background check he would not have passed. The fact that he was an entitled jerk, a bad employee, and a crappy co-worker does not make him mentally ill or ineligible to own a firearm.
There is literally no loophole and no law that allowed him – a law abiding citizen, until he pulled that trigger yesterday – to purchase a gun when he should not have been allowed to do so. None.
And yet, in the heat of grief, the push for more ineffective laws that will do nothing but disarm those who have committed no crime continues …
Loooove them lobbyists. A cop lobby has gotten North Dakota to legalize weaponized drones. Will other states soon follow? (But of course, we’re not to worry; only “less than lethal” weapons are allowed and in the hands of those heroes in blue, if we’ve done nothing wrong, we have nothing to worry about, right?) (H/T MJR)
And just for laughs … Mama said there’d be days like this.
Yesterday I learned an acquaintance is facing a possible sentence of life in prison. He hasn’t killed or maimed anybody. He hasn’t done any drug kingpinning. He hasn’t pulled a Bernie Madoff or spied for the North Koreans.
He’s just a lifelong screwup. A standard, ordinary, bumbling petty criminal. A prosecutor has finally gotten fed up with him and is going for a “three strikes” sentence.
Yikes in booties. We’re not only expecting a weekend (and up to a week) of heavy rains ahead. We’re under a high wind watch, too, with gusts possibly reaching 65 to tomorrow morning.
Now I know you midwest and southern types are used to sudden summer blowups, but that’s not what we typically get. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen a high wind watch or warning in summer in the Northwet. Could get interesting.
What I’m going to do instead is hunker down, cook up a big pot of beef stew, watch videos, stuff my face with comfort foods, and not do any more &^%$#! work on the house for a few days.
Wellll … maybe I’ll drag that old bathtub out of the remnant of the bedroom closet and finish dissolving the ancient crud off it. (This is why I buy Goof-Off, that amazing miracle substance, by the gallon.) Otherwise no hard labor!
This oughta keep you busy for a while. Major hat tip to faithful contributor MJR, who went on a link-hunting tear this week.
It’s not surprising, but so pathetic. Data analysis proves what the hackers claimed and everyone should have suspected: There were almost no women using Ashley Madison.
I have an email out to Stewart Rhodes to learn more about this Oath Keepers controversy. Frankly, stopping this march by black gun owners in Ferguson doesn’t sound like something Oath Keepers would do.
Forgotten history: In 1863 there was an effort to organize sleeper cells against the tyrant Lincoln for his destruction of the Constitution and operation of a giant (for the times) surveillance network.
Finally, here’s a free ebook download for you from Sparks31 on modern survivalism and communications for III-percenters. I haven’t read this yet, but looks interesting. Donations or other useful actions suggested in exchange.
And here’s what the old beadboard ceiling looked like when the roof above it collapsed last year:
The roof peak I painted and trimmed this week:
The peak behind it still needs doing, but that’s a job for a pro — and a job that probably won’t get done until 2017.
Here’s a before pic. Or rather, a “during” pic. This was taken while the not-a-garage was being torn off and I was just trying out my first paint samples. Sorry I don’t have one taken from a similar angle as above, but I think you can see the difference, anyhow.
Yeah, parts of the house were pretty much at shack level when I bought the place. That back corner where the not-a-garage used to be is still unfinished even now (2016 project, if all goes well), but those multiple bizarre roof extrusions have been removed and — thanks in large part to you — the roof both looks and is good.
Bonus. My sweet baby boy at 14 years old:
Old, sick, and weary. But he was so happy in the sun that day. I had to take pictures, knowing they might be the last ones.
I’ve been hustling the last week to catch up on summer projects before the first autumnal rains hit tomorrow. The rains will be much appreciated by the poor, fire-scorched people east of the mountains; what a terrible summer they’ve had!
Even here, near the coast, a real rain will be a blessing for downing dust and cleaning sometimes-smoky air.
Normally, sea breezes keep our air clean, but it’s been eye-stinging a couple of times this week. I can only imagine what the poor east-of-the-mountains folk have been enduring.
I apologize to the Commentariat members who left interesting or helpful remarks I should have replied to. But I’ve been outside hammering, sawing, caulking, and painting. Cussing, too, of course. But only minimally because this week’s two projects went pretty well and I’m amazed that after nearly two idle months with a broken ankle I’m as caught up on house projects as I am.
The last three days I was up on a roof, though. Ugh. That part I could have done without.
It was no big deal, really. That section of roof is nearly flat and only about nine feet off the ground, so the job itself — scraping and painting a peak of the house and putting a cedar trim strip over the edge of the torch-down roofing — wasn’t all that perilous. I had plenty of room to stand, walk around, and stage equipment and materials. But knowing I had to take the first step back onto the ladder to descend freaked me out. Just thinking about it. Hate that part.
The first and third days I worked up there were cloudy and pleasant and no problem. The second day the sun baked the tarry black roofing — and me. Heat and fumes had me light-headed. I also had to do the “scariest” work that day, including cutting off some protruding bolt-ends and a piece of conduit for a satellite dish that’s no longer there. This was only my second time ever using an angle grinder. Though I marvel at what short work it makes of metal, the device totally intimidates me.
Metal shrieks! Sparks fly! Piercing bits of fire fall into my hair and onto my arms. I’m wearing goggles, of course, to protect eyes from stray metal bits, but you’d have to bundle up in a spacesuit to avoid all the sparks. They do no harm, but they definitely sting. And such high drama! That tortured metalic screaming. That flying fire. Those oweys. The risk of burning the whole place down (never mind that the risk is miniscule and I had a bucket of water beside me). Even though I did the cut-off work and other snall, stressful stuff first thing and only had to do the EZ second coat of paint after that. I felt out of balance all morning.
And I’m such a wuss. So that noon, hot and light-headed and freaked out, I go to climb down the ladder. And I can’t. I just can’t bring myself to do it. I try to step onto the nice, sturdy extension ladder borrowed from a neighbor, and my feet refuse.
I take a breath, walk back over to the wall I’ve been working at and inspect progress (merely for something to do). I take a drink of water. I walk back over to the ladder … and still no go. I picture myself, broken, on the driveway below.
I spot a young neighbor outside by his car and consider calling him over to help me down. And with that, I realize I’m just being silly. I climb onto the ladder and go down, no problem. But back in the house, it takes me 15 minutes and a large glass of sugary ice tea before I quit shaking.
The next day I have to go up and down several times and I’m perfectly fine.
Strange. Within a span of 10 minutes, I ran across two articles — from very different perspectives! — noting how cruel and inhumane the U.S. prison system is considered around the world. Here’s official Ireland’s view. And here’s what a cartelista hitman has to say (among other interesting observations).