It’s here: the 3D-printed revolver. The hoplophobic panic will surely not be far behind. (H/T S)
It’s also here: the first private space race. I doubt the Bezos vs Musk is quite as theatrically adversarial as the media would have us think. What a good thing, though, eh? May the best man win. Better yet, may both men win.
Wow. Somebody thinks federal employees aren’t paid enough when compared with people in “similar private-sector jobs.” The article never explains what private-sector jobs are similar to … oh, career money confiscator, thug who tells businesspeople how to run their businesses, or professional killer of nursing mothers.
Jose Fernandez-Partagas: one of those weirdly fascinating footnote people. I discovered him in an endnote to Isaac’s Storm. Strange life, strange (but awesome) end. Makes you want to know what made him tick.
Take driverless cars, for instance. If we were in a less tech-perilous, tyranny-seeking time, I think most of us would be excited about them.
You and I may be skeptical about a specific new technology, but we tend not to be technophobes. We’re not ones who reject the new out of hand. We may not want to buy the first flying cars or be on the first ship to colonize Mars or the Moon, but we probably have friends who do want to and maybe even know a few who will. We jumped on computers years ahead of the average and were getting acquainted on BBSes before the Worldwide Web tempted slower adopters in.
“We need more movies like Steve Jobsso long as they’re not like Steve Jobs.” Haven’t yet seen it. Probably will. But this expresses so many valid objections to all “inspired by true” movies and movies about business people.
I’m not sure how the term “social justice warriors” (SJW) came into such popular use. But I don’t like it. It’s too easy for the SJWs themselves to see that as a good thing. I think we should use a term nobody could learn to love (and a more accurate term, besides): pecksniffians.
So yesterday my night ended at 2:00 as I woke up thinking about the ancient and idiotic practice of doctors bleeding patients. (And I don’t mean bleeding them in the Obamacare sense, but in the opening-veins or applying leeches sense.)
My face was throbbing from this cold. With every heartbeat I felt my stuffy forehead and cheeks pulsing, and for the first time I understood why those old-timey doctors, with so little to go on, concluded that diseased bodies were loaded with excess “humours” that needed to be released.
At that moment, if some kindly old quack had offered to surround my eyeballs with crescents of sucking leeches, I’d have said, “Hey, let’s give it a try.”
It was a lost day. I scarcely ate, drank, moved, or thought. I did drag myself out around noon to walk the dogs, figuring my lassitude might be caused in part by lying around and a little walk might help. But nope. I dragged myself through the walk, then dragged my sorry butt right back to bed afterward.
Thus the lack of blogitude yesterday.
There are all kinds of symptom-reducers for colds and believe me, I’m grateful for them. But not one does a thing to combat the heavy, throbbing stupidity.
I continued to suck zinc. Made myself eat and drink. And finally by the time I dragged myself from bed to couch to binge-watch episodes of House of Cards (season 3; so far not as marvelously wicked as previous seasons, but still a good fix for any political junkie), I started feeling human again. Half human, at least.
In the evening I took the advice to enjoy a long HOT bath and to force down an extra helping of Nyquil (since I’m not a whiskey person). Gawd, that stuff is foul. I try to tell myself it’s polyjuice potion and will have results that are worth the ick.
I slept in all the way ’til 3:00 this morning. When I woke I thought I felt good. After a pot of tea I realized I felt good only by comparison with yesterday. But you know, that’ll do. That’ll definitely do.
Oh, a cold it has caught me and I’m feelin’ so blue.
I’m about as darned worthless as a smelly old shoe.
There’s a fire in my throat but none in my head.
My snot glands are runnin’, my brain cells are dead …
— Howlin’ Garglin’ Wolfe
I get sick only about once every five or seven years. Lucky that way. But when something does catch me, oh my. I’m currently lying abed, sucking zinc lozenges and guzzling hot tea. No reason I can’t keep posting (it’s more entertaining than playing another game of spider solitaire). I’m just saying don’t expect too much brilliance for a few days, okay?
Wow. You know that woman who drove into the parade crowd in Oklahoma? Apparently at least some of the media seems more than usually pre-programmed to blame the non-existent gun. David Codrea points out that the car-killer babe is apparently an Obama fan, too.
I don’t know about you, but this sort of vague, ill-reported United Nations “science” makes me want to go right out and eat bacon. Maple flavored. Crisp. Oh, I have no doubt processed meats don’t qualify as health food, but I also doubt that the big bacon and sausage eaters dying of cancer are otherwise noshing on broccoli and brussels sprouts all day, either. You just cannot isolate individual foods and make such claims about them — unless it suits your agenda.
Or did the gods invent Mondays in the first place just to spite us?
Winter arrived yesterday evening and today we took our first dogwalk in it. That is, I stomped along determinedly while the dogs, in their rain jackets, stared at me aghast and demanded, “Can we go home now?”
While winter here in the NorthWET doesn’t involve six-foot drifts of snow or 30-below temperatures (ah, fond memories of Wyoming and Minnesota!), it tends to arrive as suddenly as if someone up there dropped it on our heads. Cold needles of rain are here to stay.
And of course this is the day that the driver-side door handle on Old Blue decided to explode — firing springs around the cockpit and thereafter refusing to open anything. Yes, today is the day I have to start rolling down the window and reaching outside to open the door.
Until I can figure out the fix. Peferably not in the rain.
It’s also the morning tens of thousands of identical spam messages decided to clog up my email. Literally tens of. Or so the counts and the sluggishness of the email works tell me. Repeated attempts to blacklist the sender and irretrievably delete the mails before their arrival succeeded only in sending them to the spam folder, from which I had to transfer them to the trash folder for a mass purge. After closing and reopening Thunderbird to kick it into gear again. And logging onto the the provider’s website when that wasn’t working.
Finally either something I did or something my provider did stopped the mailstorm.
So mary&^%$#@firstname.lastname@example.org, I missed out on your tens of thousands of attempts to send me millions of Nigerian dollars. And BTW, I am not your Dear One. Not even close, baby.
Now pardon me if I go off and nurse my disgruntlements. Meanwhile, have a few good reads:
Nicholas Johnson and the WSJ bring a touch of honesty to the latest in victim disarmament.
The more news and studies that emerge about Obamacare, the more horrible that horrible program looks. (When companies can manage to get around federal regulations, this is the way humane and profitable health care gets done.)