Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Wolfram Alpha Daily Question
With today's question, we discover that Wolfram Alpha is a folk music fan and possibly a Communist:
Shh! It's Siesta Time!
The city of Granada, Spain, writes a city ordinance forbidding excessive noise between 3 and 5 in the afternoon, the time period of the traditional Spanish siesta.
The siesta is more easily understood if you've ever experienced a Spanish summer. A quiet rest in the stupefying heat is a blessing, especially where air conditioning is still uncommon.
The siesta is more easily understood if you've ever experienced a Spanish summer. A quiet rest in the stupefying heat is a blessing, especially where air conditioning is still uncommon.
More of Them Out There Than You Think
Leatherback Sea Turtles, I mean. So many, in fact, that it turns out they aren't all that endangered as a species, after all.
How did it happen? Same way it always happens: scientists draw conclusions from insufficient data:
Scientist: Leatherback Sea Turtles are endangered.
Man: They are?
Scientist: Yes. We counted them. They're endangered.
Man: What about that bunch over there, then? Did you count them?
Scientist: What bun...oh, crap.
Man: And you went to college for HOW many years?
Scientist: Put a sock in it, would you?
They Missed Me Because I'm Covered In Sand!
How did it happen? Same way it always happens: scientists draw conclusions from insufficient data:
Scientist: Leatherback Sea Turtles are endangered.
Man: They are?
Scientist: Yes. We counted them. They're endangered.
Man: What about that bunch over there, then? Did you count them?
Scientist: What bun...oh, crap.
Man: And you went to college for HOW many years?
Scientist: Put a sock in it, would you?
Trailer: Robert Downey As Sherlock Holmes
Click this link to see the trailer at the UK Sun website.
It's an interesting take on Holmes and Watson (Jude Law plays the good doctor), and should make a ton of money.
Still, I'd rather see Jeremy Brett and Edward Hardwicke as Holmes and Watson, as I saw them just the other night in a delightful version of Silver Blaze.
And in my room lies a complete collection of the Holmes stories, neglected these last few years; maybe it's time to renew my friendship with the duo.
It's an interesting take on Holmes and Watson (Jude Law plays the good doctor), and should make a ton of money.
Still, I'd rather see Jeremy Brett and Edward Hardwicke as Holmes and Watson, as I saw them just the other night in a delightful version of Silver Blaze.
And in my room lies a complete collection of the Holmes stories, neglected these last few years; maybe it's time to renew my friendship with the duo.
Story: Komodo Dragons Venomous After All
Story.
Take-away statement:
Until now, despite the fact that the dragon's venom gland visibly runs along its jawline, scientists had not realised it was even poisonous.
"That's because no one bothered to look," sid Dr Fry, who noted the gland during his work with captive Komodos at Singapore zoo.
That's science at work, friends and neighbors.
Take-away statement:
Until now, despite the fact that the dragon's venom gland visibly runs along its jawline, scientists had not realised it was even poisonous.
"That's because no one bothered to look," sid Dr Fry, who noted the gland during his work with captive Komodos at Singapore zoo.
That's science at work, friends and neighbors.
This Year's Eephus
Mark DiFelice and his 82-mph cut fastball.
What the hell. There's always room in baseball for a junkball pitcher, if his junk is good junk. I'm sure that somewhere up in baseball heaven Rip Sewell is smiling.
What the hell. There's always room in baseball for a junkball pitcher, if his junk is good junk. I'm sure that somewhere up in baseball heaven Rip Sewell is smiling.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Message In A Bottle: Recovered!
I mentioned in this post that I launched a message in a bottle from the fishing pier in Carolina Beach, North Carolina on the 9th of May. I just received my letter back in the mail. The message was found on the 14th of May at 10:30 a.m. at Garden City Beach, South Carolina, which is south of Myrtle Beach. The condition of the bottle was perfect, no moisture from the journey. The following notes were written by the finder:
Weather was stormy on May 13 with high winds and extra high tide where bottle was found next morning.
No "thank you" for the $5 bill I enclosed in the bottle, although I'm of course grateful that the finder took the time to fill out the information and send the message back to me.
Here's a map of the launch and recovery points of the bottle:
Point A is the fishing pier at Carolina Beach, NC. Point B is the high tide line at Garden City Beach, SC.
100% recovery rate so far. I'm pleased as punch.
Weather was stormy on May 13 with high winds and extra high tide where bottle was found next morning.
No "thank you" for the $5 bill I enclosed in the bottle, although I'm of course grateful that the finder took the time to fill out the information and send the message back to me.
Here's a map of the launch and recovery points of the bottle:
Point A is the fishing pier at Carolina Beach, NC. Point B is the high tide line at Garden City Beach, SC.
100% recovery rate so far. I'm pleased as punch.
Arrival
Hat:
Ship's ball cap of the battleship USS Alabama (BB-60). Having been in the Navy myself, I'm a little bit quirky about wearing ball caps from ships or commands I didn't serve on. I normally won't think of wearing a ball cap from a ship I didn't serve on, or a command I wasn't attached to, so I won't be seen in a SEAL team cap, for example, simply out of respect and not having earned the right.
I'm going to make an exception with this cap from the Alabama, however. This ship was the single reason I was inspired to join the US Navy in the first place; permanently moored in Mobile Bay, Alabama, as a tourist attraction, I visited her in 1970 when I was approximately 9 years old, and my life was changed. I ran all over that ship for the hour or so that my parents allotted, playing at shooting the various machine guns and anti-aircraft cannon fixed about the ship, sneaking into restricted areas, checking out all the aspects of a WWII sailor's life; I knew from that day what I wished to do with my life, college was never a consideration. I entered the Navy when I turned 18, and lived four magical years as a sailor before leaving to do something else, a decision I regret to this day.
So, although I never served onboard that wonderful ship, I'll wear a cap with her name and hull number to commemorate the part she played, albeit briefly, in my life.
Here's what she looks like these days:
Ship's ball cap of the battleship USS Alabama (BB-60). Having been in the Navy myself, I'm a little bit quirky about wearing ball caps from ships or commands I didn't serve on. I normally won't think of wearing a ball cap from a ship I didn't serve on, or a command I wasn't attached to, so I won't be seen in a SEAL team cap, for example, simply out of respect and not having earned the right.
I'm going to make an exception with this cap from the Alabama, however. This ship was the single reason I was inspired to join the US Navy in the first place; permanently moored in Mobile Bay, Alabama, as a tourist attraction, I visited her in 1970 when I was approximately 9 years old, and my life was changed. I ran all over that ship for the hour or so that my parents allotted, playing at shooting the various machine guns and anti-aircraft cannon fixed about the ship, sneaking into restricted areas, checking out all the aspects of a WWII sailor's life; I knew from that day what I wished to do with my life, college was never a consideration. I entered the Navy when I turned 18, and lived four magical years as a sailor before leaving to do something else, a decision I regret to this day.
So, although I never served onboard that wonderful ship, I'll wear a cap with her name and hull number to commemorate the part she played, albeit briefly, in my life.
Here's what she looks like these days:
New Feature: Ask Wolfram Alpha!
Wolfram Alpha is a new search engine that promises to be able to answer text questions asked of it. The UK Guardian has a fine story about the new search engine, including a cogent analysis of its current cababilities:
"like a roomful of idiot savants. Each knows a scary amount about a topic. And, unlike a such a roomful, WA also knows how to recombine and compute what each of the savants knows. But if the room doesn't have the savant you're looking for, you get back nothing but a "Huh?"
So, as a new feature after amusing myself with a few tests, here is a question I asked of Wolfram Alpha:
Eventually I hope to teach Wolfram Alpha jokes, and hope that it will assist in my tentative plan to overthrow the Obama government.
"like a roomful of idiot savants. Each knows a scary amount about a topic. And, unlike a such a roomful, WA also knows how to recombine and compute what each of the savants knows. But if the room doesn't have the savant you're looking for, you get back nothing but a "Huh?"
So, as a new feature after amusing myself with a few tests, here is a question I asked of Wolfram Alpha:
Eventually I hope to teach Wolfram Alpha jokes, and hope that it will assist in my tentative plan to overthrow the Obama government.
Irony of the Day
Militant Saudis who kill innocent people in terror attacks in Iraq, Pakistan and elsewhere are a disgrace to their country, a Saudi prince says.
Prince Naif bin Abdulaziz, Saudi second deputy premier and interior minister, said Monday in Riyadh he hopes to stop the spread of Islamic militancy through the media, KUNA, the Kuwait News Service, reported.
The prince blamed "propaganda and yellow journalism" for helping to recruit Saudi youths into militant organizations and called for media reforms to protect the country's security.
"Our media, whether it is the state media or private media, should be realistic and well prepared," he told KUNA.
From Wiktionary:
naïf
Adjective: Naïve.
Noun: One who is naïve.
Prince Naif bin Abdulaziz, Saudi second deputy premier and interior minister, said Monday in Riyadh he hopes to stop the spread of Islamic militancy through the media, KUNA, the Kuwait News Service, reported.
The prince blamed "propaganda and yellow journalism" for helping to recruit Saudi youths into militant organizations and called for media reforms to protect the country's security.
"Our media, whether it is the state media or private media, should be realistic and well prepared," he told KUNA.
From Wiktionary:
naïf
Adjective: Naïve.
Noun: One who is naïve.
Idiot Vice President Biden Compromises National Security
Greasy Joe was shown the secret emergency bunker at the Vice President's house at the Naval Observatory, and it only took him four months to compromise it.
Was this place's existence classified? Can we impeach Greasy Joe for this idiocy? What a moron.
Was this place's existence classified? Can we impeach Greasy Joe for this idiocy? What a moron.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
We Drove 260 Miles...
...to see a hole in the ground.
Here's the hole:
Daniel Boone once hid in it from Indians, so the story goes. I've gone partway into it when I was younger and slimmer, but never all the way down. It's a crawl-on-your-belly sort of cave, and I didn't wish to become stuck in the passage without having informed anyone of my destination, so I backed out and left the deepest interior unexplored.
As I say, we drove quite a distance just to see it. We'd have burned up fewer miles by taking the Interstate, but we would have missed driving through some fun rural NC countryside. Next time I'll take more pictures of the journey, rather than the destination, since we had more fun on the trip up there than we did at the cave itself. It's often that way, though, isn't it?
Here's the hole:
Daniel Boone once hid in it from Indians, so the story goes. I've gone partway into it when I was younger and slimmer, but never all the way down. It's a crawl-on-your-belly sort of cave, and I didn't wish to become stuck in the passage without having informed anyone of my destination, so I backed out and left the deepest interior unexplored.
As I say, we drove quite a distance just to see it. We'd have burned up fewer miles by taking the Interstate, but we would have missed driving through some fun rural NC countryside. Next time I'll take more pictures of the journey, rather than the destination, since we had more fun on the trip up there than we did at the cave itself. It's often that way, though, isn't it?
Friday, May 15, 2009
No Shame, No Pride
A Polish photographer documents the drinking culture of Cardiff, Wales (UK).
Even those who should be setting an example, such as judges, are drinking so much that they pass out in a creek and drown.
And it's not a new phenomenon, is it? Didn't Hogarth paint scenes of such swinishness?
Jekyll and Hyde. Stevenson nailed it, didn't he?
Even those who should be setting an example, such as judges, are drinking so much that they pass out in a creek and drown.
And it's not a new phenomenon, is it? Didn't Hogarth paint scenes of such swinishness?
Jekyll and Hyde. Stevenson nailed it, didn't he?
But Can You Eat Burgers In All Those Places?
For just over $5000, you can go on a Burger-King sponsored burger pilgrimage.
You can see various places throughout the world where the antecedents of the hamburger are thought to have developed, such as Oxford, Wales, Paris, Rome, Moscow, Beijing, Cairo, Bangkok, Malacca, and Kuala Lumpur.
Do they have Burger Kings in all those places? I won't go if they don't have a Burger King.
You can see various places throughout the world where the antecedents of the hamburger are thought to have developed, such as Oxford, Wales, Paris, Rome, Moscow, Beijing, Cairo, Bangkok, Malacca, and Kuala Lumpur.
Do they have Burger Kings in all those places? I won't go if they don't have a Burger King.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Well, I Kind of Suspected That
A couple of seasonal workers at Yellowstone National Park have been fired after a webcam caught them urinating into Old Faithful Geyser.
The park's dispatch center was called after someone watching a webcam on the geyser saw six employees leaving the trail and walking on Old Faithful on May 4.
The geyser was not erupting at the time.
The park's dispatch center was called after someone watching a webcam on the geyser saw six employees leaving the trail and walking on Old Faithful on May 4.
The geyser was not erupting at the time.
Armed Boy Scouts Vs. Iraq Vets
Training the Obama Youth against right-wing extremism.
IMPERIAL, Calif. — Ten minutes into arrant mayhem in this town near the Mexican border, and the gunman, a disgruntled Iraq war veteran, has already taken out two people, one slumped in his desk, the other covered in blood on the floor.
The responding officers — eight teenage boys and girls, the youngest 14 — face tripwire, a thin cloud of poisonous gas and loud shots — BAM! BAM! — fired from behind a flimsy wall. They move quickly, pellet guns drawn and masks affixed.
“United States Border Patrol! Put your hands up!” screams one in a voice cracking with adolescent determination as the suspect is subdued.
IMPERIAL, Calif. — Ten minutes into arrant mayhem in this town near the Mexican border, and the gunman, a disgruntled Iraq war veteran, has already taken out two people, one slumped in his desk, the other covered in blood on the floor.
The responding officers — eight teenage boys and girls, the youngest 14 — face tripwire, a thin cloud of poisonous gas and loud shots — BAM! BAM! — fired from behind a flimsy wall. They move quickly, pellet guns drawn and masks affixed.
“United States Border Patrol! Put your hands up!” screams one in a voice cracking with adolescent determination as the suspect is subdued.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Apple Jingoism
A UK writer mourns that the ignorant UK public prefers other apples to the Cox's Orange Pippin.
But now, 184 years later, the empress of all apples is under threat of being ousted from her throne by vulgar - and literally more tasteless - rivals such as Gala, Jazz and Braeburn. Year-round sales of Gala have - I can hardly bring myself to write this - already overtaken the Cox, and UK production is following the same sorry trend.
Apple-eaters are being seduced by the shiny red skins of foreign rivals. Not long ago I was appalled by the sight of those even more vulgar arrivistes, Pink Ladies, being sold in our local supermarket in a free fluorescent Barbie-pink plastic holdall.
Apparently the reason that the Cox's Orange Pippin is dropping in popularity has to do with the fact that it's a seasonal apple, and in addition, might be a little mealy:
Another criticism levelled at the Cox is that it lacks a certain crunchiness. Well, forgive me, but raw cabbage has crunch aplenty but you don't see us wolfing that down.
Myself, I hate mealy apples, no matter how good they taste. I did an apple survey here at our local markets last year and discovered that the Pink Lady had the best combination of flavor and crunchiness, as well as an appealing skin color (they are also known as Cripps' Pink). Japanese Fuji apples are good, as well. Jonagold have a good reputation but I've found that they bruise and spoil easily. Don't even bother with Gold or Red Delicious; the growers long ago made the decision to breed them for appearance rather than flavor.
But now, 184 years later, the empress of all apples is under threat of being ousted from her throne by vulgar - and literally more tasteless - rivals such as Gala, Jazz and Braeburn. Year-round sales of Gala have - I can hardly bring myself to write this - already overtaken the Cox, and UK production is following the same sorry trend.
Apple-eaters are being seduced by the shiny red skins of foreign rivals. Not long ago I was appalled by the sight of those even more vulgar arrivistes, Pink Ladies, being sold in our local supermarket in a free fluorescent Barbie-pink plastic holdall.
Apparently the reason that the Cox's Orange Pippin is dropping in popularity has to do with the fact that it's a seasonal apple, and in addition, might be a little mealy:
Another criticism levelled at the Cox is that it lacks a certain crunchiness. Well, forgive me, but raw cabbage has crunch aplenty but you don't see us wolfing that down.
Myself, I hate mealy apples, no matter how good they taste. I did an apple survey here at our local markets last year and discovered that the Pink Lady had the best combination of flavor and crunchiness, as well as an appealing skin color (they are also known as Cripps' Pink). Japanese Fuji apples are good, as well. Jonagold have a good reputation but I've found that they bruise and spoil easily. Don't even bother with Gold or Red Delicious; the growers long ago made the decision to breed them for appearance rather than flavor.
Give It To Barbie, I'm Sure She's Hungry
A tiny watermelon from South America.
I have to think that this falls into the category of foodstuffs that are more trouble than they're worth to eat, such as peel-and-eat shrimp or nuts left in the shell.
I have to think that this falls into the category of foodstuffs that are more trouble than they're worth to eat, such as peel-and-eat shrimp or nuts left in the shell.
2 Out of 3 Ain't Bad
Army Seeks Inexpensive, Lightweight, Reliable Battery
Gee, aren't we all? At the very best you can get any two of those qualities in a battery, but all three? Not at our current technology level.
Gee, aren't we all? At the very best you can get any two of those qualities in a battery, but all three? Not at our current technology level.
Don't Bring A Waffle To A Gunfight, Even At Waffle House
A couple of disadvantaged citizens acted out in a way typical of our disadvantaged citizenry, resulting in one of them being shot.
B*tch, I done tole you I don't do no scattered n' smothered...
Distressingly, the shooter won't even be able to find work at Waffle House-level jobs in the future, thus guaranteeing an existence on welfare and other government-sponsored financial assistance programs that the tax dollars of the gainfully employed will be forced to fund.
h/t Drudge Report.
B*tch, I done tole you I don't do no scattered n' smothered...
Distressingly, the shooter won't even be able to find work at Waffle House-level jobs in the future, thus guaranteeing an existence on welfare and other government-sponsored financial assistance programs that the tax dollars of the gainfully employed will be forced to fund.
h/t Drudge Report.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
I'll Pass, Thanks All The Same
New Zealand wines with a strange bouquet:
Although the question naturally arises, what food do you match it with?
Although the question naturally arises, what food do you match it with?
She Was Only MOSTLY Dead
An Australian hospital was forced to apologize after pronouncing a woman dead before she actually was.
So, of course:
Update: The UK Sun reports that the old lady in the story was discovered to be still alive by nurses attempting to put her into a body bag.
So, of course:
Update: The UK Sun reports that the old lady in the story was discovered to be still alive by nurses attempting to put her into a body bag.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Look Over There!
The final absurdity of the Home Office ban is that huge numbers of British people have now listened to or watched Mr Savage, when they might otherwise have rubbed along without even knowing he existed.
London Mayor Boris Johnson abhors the things Michael Savage says while defending his right to say them.
As it should be.
h/t Hot Air Headlines.
London Mayor Boris Johnson abhors the things Michael Savage says while defending his right to say them.
As it should be.
h/t Hot Air Headlines.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Weekend At Wilmington, NC - - With Photos!
As mentioned in the previous post, my girlfriend Sara and I took a weekend off to go to Wilmington, NC to visit the beach and do beachy stuff.
Sara took Friday off from work; I, who work 3rd shift, start my weekend at 7:30 Friday mornings when I get home. Thus we had most of Friday, all of Saturday, and a few hours on Sunday to enjoy our coastal excursion.
Sara arrived at the house around 8:45; we loaded the car up and got underway. I had a canvas weekend bag and my canvas briefcase; Sara had three bags already in the trunk. We both took cameras. I took along my Eee 1000 netbook computer, hoping that the hotel we had booked would be true to its advertising and have free wi-fi.
The trip down was uneventful, a straight shot down US Highway 74, about 200 miles. The weather in Charlotte the previous week had been miserable, a mixture of rain, thunderstorms and warm humidity. The sky was overcast as we wound our way southeast.
We had decided not to overplan the journey, so meals and itinerary were improvised, although we had a few definite destinations, such as the memorial to the USS North Carolina (BB-55), which is moored (sunk in the mud, actually) beside the Cape Fear River in Wilminton.
We didn't stop for lunch on the way down, neither of us feeling hungry enough until nearly in Wilmington. We arrived around 1:00 p.m. Rather than check into the hotel we decided to continue directly toward Wrightsville Beach, and eat lunch somewhere near there. We also both began getting urges from our bladders, a situation that was resolved when we saw a Harris Teeter grocery store sign, a chain that we are familiar with in Charlotte. Clean bathrooms, conveniently near the entrance. We then continued a search for a mutually agreeable restaurant on the way to Wrightsville Beach. We simply didn't see any we wanted to dine in, so out to the beach we went, over the bridges and onto the island that is Wrightsville Beach. Since it is a small island, you can circumnavigate it in a half-hour's time or even less, depending on traffic. Down at the south end we found a public beach access, paid $1.50 to park, and walked out onto the beach. The weather had given way to sun and hazy blue skies. Most of the beachscape photos from this first beach encounter weren't good enough to post here, but I'll post a representative one so you can see the beach:
I was reintroduced to my favorite gull, the Laughing Gull:
Laughing Gulls are so named because of their laughing call, usually sounded while flying. Their black heads will change color during the course of the year, fading to white during the non-mating season.
Sara and I discovered that walking the sands of Wrightsville Beach was a real chore, the sand being so softly-packed that our feet would sink in up to 6" each step; quite a walking chore for two sedentary (not to say fat) people. We gave up extended beach walking as a bad investment, and thus our haul of sea shells is rather pitiful, indeed. None of the beaches we visited, though, had an abundance of seashells.
After struggling through the Wrightsville Beach sand for a while, we headed back to the car in search of lunch. We finally decided on Smithfield's Chicken 'N Bar-B-Q, a chain that Sara was familiar with. The BBQ was good, pork cooked Eastern-NC style; I had two sandwiches. The hush puppies looked rather like dog turds and were lacking in flavor. Copious quantities of Diet Coke washed everything down.
Satiated we got on the road again, this time to visit the USS North Carolina memorial. It's the actual WWII battleship, moored by the Cape Fear River. We paid our admission fee and went out to the ship. By now the weather was warm and sunny, the sky very blue. We toured the main deck and took the below-decks tour, skipping the topsides tour of the bridge. Going up and down the ladders was more of a chore than when I was 20, unfortunately, and some places (the 16" gun turrets, for example) I was no longer prepared to enter, so I skipped those. Still, I got a few photographs, such as the float plane at the stern of the ship:
Here's the inevitable shot of the 16" guns from the bow of the ship:
The ship was equipped with 9 of these guns in three triple turrets, two forward and one aft. To fire them the ship would normally turn broadside to her target so that all 9 guns could fire, sometimes simultaneously, a tremendous blast that would be felt all around the ship. The shells weighed each as much as a Volkswagen Beetle and had a range of 20 miles.
Smaller than the big 16" guns are the 5" guns, located all over the ship in twin turrets:
These were multi-purpose guns, useful for shore bombardment, ship-to-ship action, and even anti-aircraft, I believe. 5" guns are currently the biggest that the Navy still uses, most other purposes being served by missiles.
The lower decks of the ship were hot, with ventilation only coming in at a few places such as the mess decks and laundry area. It wasn't air conditioning, or it didn't seem to be, just ventilator fans, so consequently we both worked up a sweat on the below-decks tour. They had recorded sounds of navy life piped throughout the ship, such as announcements for mail call, VIP's arriving/departing, and even period music playing on the mess decks. There was a lot of vintage gear in some of the cabins, such as nice old baseball mitts/bats/footballs in the officer's cabins, and I saw a genuine old Diver's Knife in the dive locker, it looked similar to this:
I'd love to have one of those.
Here's a last photo from the ship, the sign that told the sailors what time liberty ended and what the liberty uniform was, also any information that might be necessary to know in a liberty port:
It was nice to see an old Navy ship again. This fall I plan to visit Norfolk again, and will probably visit the USS Wisconsin in Portsmouth, she's a tourist ship there now.
After we departed the North Carolina, it was time to check in at the hotel. We did so, finding it to be in a nice area, fairly safe, and close to pretty much everything in Wilmington. It was the Comfort Suites on Market Street, and I can recommend it to anyone staying in Wilmington.
After a rest and a shower, we went to dinner at a Golden Corral. I can't say it was a memorable meal. No hamburgers available, so I ate fish (cold), scallops (overcooked, small), some rolls and some softserve ice cream. Disappointing, but not so expensive as to be tragic.
After dinner we returned to the hotel and bed, early for us at only 9 or so, but I'd been awake since the previous evening and was worn out. Sara was, also. Apparently I began talking and mumbling in my sleep, as Sara reported the next morning. I must have been dreaming of being a judge in old times or perhaps a vivisectionist, because Sara reports that I said at one point, "Go and chop his dick off." She says I then mumbled for a while and finally said "Strange substance. What the fuck is it?" This provoked howls of laughter from both of us, and was a running joke for the rest of the weekend; even on the trip home, I broke out in spontaneous belly-laughter several times thinking about it. Go and chop off his dick, indeed.
*laughs*
Next morning we ate breakfast in the hotel dining room before departing; scrambled eggs, sausage patties, and we split a fresh-made waffle. We then departed for the beach at Fort Fisher, the site of a battle during the Civil War. The trip down took about 45 minutes, I think. We parked in the park HQ parking lot, and walked out to the beach. Pretty day, clear and sunny. Sara, who had drunk two cups of coffee for breakfast, suddenly had an urge to relieve herself so we went back to the HQ building. Although the ladies' room was already unlocked and it was only 5 minutes until opening time, the officious NC State employee would not allow Sara into the ladies' room, instead directing us to one further down the beach. We cursed and grumbled about the malice of government employees as we got back into the car and drove to the other restroom.
There are some wonderfully twisted trees at Fort Fisher, pruned and worked by salt vapor into fantastic shapes:
And:
After wandering the beach for a while, we decided to take the ferry across to Southport and Oak Island, North Carolina. We got to the ferry a few minutes before 10, when the first ferry departed, and watched the antics of the Laughing Gulls while waiting to board. Finally we drove aboard the ferry and it pulled away from shore. The day was lovely by this time, cloudless and blue, with a warm sun.
Along the way we saw a sailing yacht heading out to the open ocean:
We also saw a little island, perhaps an islet, or maybe it's just a sandbar, off to our left; uninhabited, it looked like a fine place for an overnight party:
This little islet doesn't have a name when I checked on Google Earth, although it's probably named on nautical charts, no doubt. Looks like a fun place to bury treasure. Arrrr.
When we neared the Southport ferry terminal, I noticed an old abandoned coastal lighthouse:
I've often wished to have lived a hundred years ago, working as a lighthouse keeper on a screwpile lighthouse in Chesapeake Bay.
After we offloaded in Southport, we decided to visit Caswell Beach and the Oak Island lighthouse. The trip down there took about a half hour, and as we approached and passed the Oak Island light we noticed that people in miltary uniforms were actually rappelling from the top (sorry, no pics of it). We discovered that there was a Military Appreciation Day going on at the lighthouse site, although we decided not to stay for it. Sara liked the looks of the Coast Guardsmen who were directing traffic through the area, they were wearing their blue working uniforms.
Caswell beach was pretty, and by now it was early afternoon. The sky was blue and clear, and the wind was blowing hard from the southwest, directly onto the beach. Rather than go onto the beach itself, we contented ourselves with sitting on a bench on the access walkway and observed the beachgoers. I was wearing a sun hat, Sara was bareheaded and had forgotten her sunblock, so she ended up getting a sunburn on her face, although I offered to let her wear my hat.
While we sat on the bench there at Caswell both pelicans and gulls would pass down the beach in front of us, flying back and forth, sometimes quite closely. I did my best to get some action photos of these birds in flight, and had to content myself with one acceptable shot, of a brown pelican:
And here's a beach shot of Caswell:
After about an hour and a half at Caswell we decided to leave and search for a lunch. We decided that we wanted hamburgers, and that if we didn't see a place advertising huge, juicy charcoal-grilled hamburgers we would content ourselves with a Burger King stop. We quickly found that the section of North Carolina north of Oak Island is one huge backwoods wilderness until you get back up to US Highway 74. In fact, it was so backwoods that it made me think uncomfortably of this:
So we didn't find any burger joints on NC 133 until we got back to 74, and when we got there we didn't see anything acceptable either, so we went back into Wilmington and ate at a Burger King on Market Street, not far from the Smithfield's BBQ we had eaten at the day before.
After lunch we made a quick trip to the hotel to clean up a bit and then went to the Cape Fear Serpentarium in downtown Wilminton in the historic district. The Serpentarium is nice, with both an upper level and lower level of glass-fronted exhibiting vivariums featuring a collection of snakes, lizards and crocodiles. We watched the director of the Serpentarium, Dean Ripa, feeding Bushmasters, Gaboon Vipers, a Nile Crocodile and a Reticulated Python. I took a couple of photographs through the glass, and was happy with the results:
Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnake (Crotalus Adamanteus)
And:
Gaboon Viper (Bitis Gabonica)
After we finished at the Serpentarium we returned to the hotel to prepare for supper. We decided on Michael's Seafood Restaurant in Carolina Beach for supper, followed by a visit to the fishing pier, also at Carolina Beach. We drove down the same road we had taken that morning to get to Fort Fisher. The evening was clear and warm. When we got to Michael's we had a choice of eating outside immediately or waiting fifteen minutes for a table inside. Since the day was still hot we chose to wait for an inside table.
I had a lobster tail and scallops for dinner, Sara had coconut shrimp. Sara hadn't had lobster in years and had never tasted scallops, so I gave her portions of my plates. She decided that she didn't like either one, and went back to her shrimp. The lobster was a bit overdone and tough to cut; the scallops were cooked correctly, but since I had ordered them blackened, were a bit too spicy to eat until I had dipped them into a horseradish aioli that had accompanied them. All in all, an expensive but rather undistinguished meal.
After supper we proceeded to the fishing pier at Carolina Beach. It was about a half hour from sunset as we made it out to the pier. With me I carried a message in a bottle that I had made up using an empty plastic water bottle, a message typed on the computer in Poor Richard font (a nice touch, I thought) and a $5 bill, both pieces of paper sealed inside a Ziploc bag and placed inside the bottle. The note simply congratulated the finder and awarded them the $5 bill, and asked that the letter be returned to me with finder's information such as date and where the bottle had been found. We went out to the end of the pier, past all the fishermen, and I tossed the bottle overhand into the Atlantic. The pier was pretty long and we weren't in the surf zone out there at the end of it. It appeared to me that the bottle was heading north when I last saw it, rather than headed directly towards shore. I'm hoping that it will make its way out to sea and that I won't get the message back from Carolina Beach with a finder's date of the very next day after I tossed the bottle. Most likely of all is that the bottle won't be found.
Sara and I stayed on the fishing pier until after sunset. A bold pelican, half-tamed from receiving free fish handouts, posed for photographs:
Here's a shot of the Carolina Beach fishing pier, a wooden structure:
Out at the end of the pier the wooden structure was swaying slightly, which made Sara remark that it was making her nauseous.
The return trip to the hotel was uneventful, other than the howls of laughter as we kept saying go and chop off his dick to each other.
After returning to the hotel we ate some of the watermelon, which was rather bland, and went off to bed.
Next morning we packed up our gear for the return to Charlotte, but decided to swing by Wrightsville Beach again and sit on the fishing pier there for a while for a last look at the ocean. Thus, after checking out of the hotel, we found ourselves back on US Highway 74 headed eastward.
The morning was glorious at Wrightsville Beach. Parking that early was free, but a nominal charge was imposed to let us onto the concrete fishing pier. We sat quietly, watching the waves and the beachcombers, taking a few last pictures:
Wrightsville Beach, NC, 10 May 2009
And:
Here is an amusing "litany of NO" that can be found at the Wrightsville Beach fishing pier:
And with that, we said goodbye to our beach weekend.
The trip back to Charlotte was uneventful, other than my temporary panic at not finding my pocket knife in my trousers pocket, and remembering that they were in the pocket of a different pair of trousers. We got home about 1 in the afternoon.
Thanks again, Sara, for a wonderful weekend.
Sara took Friday off from work; I, who work 3rd shift, start my weekend at 7:30 Friday mornings when I get home. Thus we had most of Friday, all of Saturday, and a few hours on Sunday to enjoy our coastal excursion.
Sara arrived at the house around 8:45; we loaded the car up and got underway. I had a canvas weekend bag and my canvas briefcase; Sara had three bags already in the trunk. We both took cameras. I took along my Eee 1000 netbook computer, hoping that the hotel we had booked would be true to its advertising and have free wi-fi.
The trip down was uneventful, a straight shot down US Highway 74, about 200 miles. The weather in Charlotte the previous week had been miserable, a mixture of rain, thunderstorms and warm humidity. The sky was overcast as we wound our way southeast.
We had decided not to overplan the journey, so meals and itinerary were improvised, although we had a few definite destinations, such as the memorial to the USS North Carolina (BB-55), which is moored (sunk in the mud, actually) beside the Cape Fear River in Wilminton.
We didn't stop for lunch on the way down, neither of us feeling hungry enough until nearly in Wilmington. We arrived around 1:00 p.m. Rather than check into the hotel we decided to continue directly toward Wrightsville Beach, and eat lunch somewhere near there. We also both began getting urges from our bladders, a situation that was resolved when we saw a Harris Teeter grocery store sign, a chain that we are familiar with in Charlotte. Clean bathrooms, conveniently near the entrance. We then continued a search for a mutually agreeable restaurant on the way to Wrightsville Beach. We simply didn't see any we wanted to dine in, so out to the beach we went, over the bridges and onto the island that is Wrightsville Beach. Since it is a small island, you can circumnavigate it in a half-hour's time or even less, depending on traffic. Down at the south end we found a public beach access, paid $1.50 to park, and walked out onto the beach. The weather had given way to sun and hazy blue skies. Most of the beachscape photos from this first beach encounter weren't good enough to post here, but I'll post a representative one so you can see the beach:
I was reintroduced to my favorite gull, the Laughing Gull:
Laughing Gulls are so named because of their laughing call, usually sounded while flying. Their black heads will change color during the course of the year, fading to white during the non-mating season.
Sara and I discovered that walking the sands of Wrightsville Beach was a real chore, the sand being so softly-packed that our feet would sink in up to 6" each step; quite a walking chore for two sedentary (not to say fat) people. We gave up extended beach walking as a bad investment, and thus our haul of sea shells is rather pitiful, indeed. None of the beaches we visited, though, had an abundance of seashells.
After struggling through the Wrightsville Beach sand for a while, we headed back to the car in search of lunch. We finally decided on Smithfield's Chicken 'N Bar-B-Q, a chain that Sara was familiar with. The BBQ was good, pork cooked Eastern-NC style; I had two sandwiches. The hush puppies looked rather like dog turds and were lacking in flavor. Copious quantities of Diet Coke washed everything down.
Satiated we got on the road again, this time to visit the USS North Carolina memorial. It's the actual WWII battleship, moored by the Cape Fear River. We paid our admission fee and went out to the ship. By now the weather was warm and sunny, the sky very blue. We toured the main deck and took the below-decks tour, skipping the topsides tour of the bridge. Going up and down the ladders was more of a chore than when I was 20, unfortunately, and some places (the 16" gun turrets, for example) I was no longer prepared to enter, so I skipped those. Still, I got a few photographs, such as the float plane at the stern of the ship:
Here's the inevitable shot of the 16" guns from the bow of the ship:
The ship was equipped with 9 of these guns in three triple turrets, two forward and one aft. To fire them the ship would normally turn broadside to her target so that all 9 guns could fire, sometimes simultaneously, a tremendous blast that would be felt all around the ship. The shells weighed each as much as a Volkswagen Beetle and had a range of 20 miles.
Smaller than the big 16" guns are the 5" guns, located all over the ship in twin turrets:
These were multi-purpose guns, useful for shore bombardment, ship-to-ship action, and even anti-aircraft, I believe. 5" guns are currently the biggest that the Navy still uses, most other purposes being served by missiles.
The lower decks of the ship were hot, with ventilation only coming in at a few places such as the mess decks and laundry area. It wasn't air conditioning, or it didn't seem to be, just ventilator fans, so consequently we both worked up a sweat on the below-decks tour. They had recorded sounds of navy life piped throughout the ship, such as announcements for mail call, VIP's arriving/departing, and even period music playing on the mess decks. There was a lot of vintage gear in some of the cabins, such as nice old baseball mitts/bats/footballs in the officer's cabins, and I saw a genuine old Diver's Knife in the dive locker, it looked similar to this:
I'd love to have one of those.
Here's a last photo from the ship, the sign that told the sailors what time liberty ended and what the liberty uniform was, also any information that might be necessary to know in a liberty port:
It was nice to see an old Navy ship again. This fall I plan to visit Norfolk again, and will probably visit the USS Wisconsin in Portsmouth, she's a tourist ship there now.
After we departed the North Carolina, it was time to check in at the hotel. We did so, finding it to be in a nice area, fairly safe, and close to pretty much everything in Wilmington. It was the Comfort Suites on Market Street, and I can recommend it to anyone staying in Wilmington.
After a rest and a shower, we went to dinner at a Golden Corral. I can't say it was a memorable meal. No hamburgers available, so I ate fish (cold), scallops (overcooked, small), some rolls and some softserve ice cream. Disappointing, but not so expensive as to be tragic.
After dinner we returned to the hotel and bed, early for us at only 9 or so, but I'd been awake since the previous evening and was worn out. Sara was, also. Apparently I began talking and mumbling in my sleep, as Sara reported the next morning. I must have been dreaming of being a judge in old times or perhaps a vivisectionist, because Sara reports that I said at one point, "Go and chop his dick off." She says I then mumbled for a while and finally said "Strange substance. What the fuck is it?" This provoked howls of laughter from both of us, and was a running joke for the rest of the weekend; even on the trip home, I broke out in spontaneous belly-laughter several times thinking about it. Go and chop off his dick, indeed.
*laughs*
Next morning we ate breakfast in the hotel dining room before departing; scrambled eggs, sausage patties, and we split a fresh-made waffle. We then departed for the beach at Fort Fisher, the site of a battle during the Civil War. The trip down took about 45 minutes, I think. We parked in the park HQ parking lot, and walked out to the beach. Pretty day, clear and sunny. Sara, who had drunk two cups of coffee for breakfast, suddenly had an urge to relieve herself so we went back to the HQ building. Although the ladies' room was already unlocked and it was only 5 minutes until opening time, the officious NC State employee would not allow Sara into the ladies' room, instead directing us to one further down the beach. We cursed and grumbled about the malice of government employees as we got back into the car and drove to the other restroom.
There are some wonderfully twisted trees at Fort Fisher, pruned and worked by salt vapor into fantastic shapes:
And:
After wandering the beach for a while, we decided to take the ferry across to Southport and Oak Island, North Carolina. We got to the ferry a few minutes before 10, when the first ferry departed, and watched the antics of the Laughing Gulls while waiting to board. Finally we drove aboard the ferry and it pulled away from shore. The day was lovely by this time, cloudless and blue, with a warm sun.
Along the way we saw a sailing yacht heading out to the open ocean:
We also saw a little island, perhaps an islet, or maybe it's just a sandbar, off to our left; uninhabited, it looked like a fine place for an overnight party:
This little islet doesn't have a name when I checked on Google Earth, although it's probably named on nautical charts, no doubt. Looks like a fun place to bury treasure. Arrrr.
When we neared the Southport ferry terminal, I noticed an old abandoned coastal lighthouse:
I've often wished to have lived a hundred years ago, working as a lighthouse keeper on a screwpile lighthouse in Chesapeake Bay.
After we offloaded in Southport, we decided to visit Caswell Beach and the Oak Island lighthouse. The trip down there took about a half hour, and as we approached and passed the Oak Island light we noticed that people in miltary uniforms were actually rappelling from the top (sorry, no pics of it). We discovered that there was a Military Appreciation Day going on at the lighthouse site, although we decided not to stay for it. Sara liked the looks of the Coast Guardsmen who were directing traffic through the area, they were wearing their blue working uniforms.
Caswell beach was pretty, and by now it was early afternoon. The sky was blue and clear, and the wind was blowing hard from the southwest, directly onto the beach. Rather than go onto the beach itself, we contented ourselves with sitting on a bench on the access walkway and observed the beachgoers. I was wearing a sun hat, Sara was bareheaded and had forgotten her sunblock, so she ended up getting a sunburn on her face, although I offered to let her wear my hat.
While we sat on the bench there at Caswell both pelicans and gulls would pass down the beach in front of us, flying back and forth, sometimes quite closely. I did my best to get some action photos of these birds in flight, and had to content myself with one acceptable shot, of a brown pelican:
And here's a beach shot of Caswell:
After about an hour and a half at Caswell we decided to leave and search for a lunch. We decided that we wanted hamburgers, and that if we didn't see a place advertising huge, juicy charcoal-grilled hamburgers we would content ourselves with a Burger King stop. We quickly found that the section of North Carolina north of Oak Island is one huge backwoods wilderness until you get back up to US Highway 74. In fact, it was so backwoods that it made me think uncomfortably of this:
So we didn't find any burger joints on NC 133 until we got back to 74, and when we got there we didn't see anything acceptable either, so we went back into Wilmington and ate at a Burger King on Market Street, not far from the Smithfield's BBQ we had eaten at the day before.
After lunch we made a quick trip to the hotel to clean up a bit and then went to the Cape Fear Serpentarium in downtown Wilminton in the historic district. The Serpentarium is nice, with both an upper level and lower level of glass-fronted exhibiting vivariums featuring a collection of snakes, lizards and crocodiles. We watched the director of the Serpentarium, Dean Ripa, feeding Bushmasters, Gaboon Vipers, a Nile Crocodile and a Reticulated Python. I took a couple of photographs through the glass, and was happy with the results:
And:
After we finished at the Serpentarium we returned to the hotel to prepare for supper. We decided on Michael's Seafood Restaurant in Carolina Beach for supper, followed by a visit to the fishing pier, also at Carolina Beach. We drove down the same road we had taken that morning to get to Fort Fisher. The evening was clear and warm. When we got to Michael's we had a choice of eating outside immediately or waiting fifteen minutes for a table inside. Since the day was still hot we chose to wait for an inside table.
I had a lobster tail and scallops for dinner, Sara had coconut shrimp. Sara hadn't had lobster in years and had never tasted scallops, so I gave her portions of my plates. She decided that she didn't like either one, and went back to her shrimp. The lobster was a bit overdone and tough to cut; the scallops were cooked correctly, but since I had ordered them blackened, were a bit too spicy to eat until I had dipped them into a horseradish aioli that had accompanied them. All in all, an expensive but rather undistinguished meal.
After supper we proceeded to the fishing pier at Carolina Beach. It was about a half hour from sunset as we made it out to the pier. With me I carried a message in a bottle that I had made up using an empty plastic water bottle, a message typed on the computer in Poor Richard font (a nice touch, I thought) and a $5 bill, both pieces of paper sealed inside a Ziploc bag and placed inside the bottle. The note simply congratulated the finder and awarded them the $5 bill, and asked that the letter be returned to me with finder's information such as date and where the bottle had been found. We went out to the end of the pier, past all the fishermen, and I tossed the bottle overhand into the Atlantic. The pier was pretty long and we weren't in the surf zone out there at the end of it. It appeared to me that the bottle was heading north when I last saw it, rather than headed directly towards shore. I'm hoping that it will make its way out to sea and that I won't get the message back from Carolina Beach with a finder's date of the very next day after I tossed the bottle. Most likely of all is that the bottle won't be found.
Sara and I stayed on the fishing pier until after sunset. A bold pelican, half-tamed from receiving free fish handouts, posed for photographs:
Here's a shot of the Carolina Beach fishing pier, a wooden structure:
Out at the end of the pier the wooden structure was swaying slightly, which made Sara remark that it was making her nauseous.
The return trip to the hotel was uneventful, other than the howls of laughter as we kept saying go and chop off his dick to each other.
After returning to the hotel we ate some of the watermelon, which was rather bland, and went off to bed.
Next morning we packed up our gear for the return to Charlotte, but decided to swing by Wrightsville Beach again and sit on the fishing pier there for a while for a last look at the ocean. Thus, after checking out of the hotel, we found ourselves back on US Highway 74 headed eastward.
The morning was glorious at Wrightsville Beach. Parking that early was free, but a nominal charge was imposed to let us onto the concrete fishing pier. We sat quietly, watching the waves and the beachcombers, taking a few last pictures:
And:
Here is an amusing "litany of NO" that can be found at the Wrightsville Beach fishing pier:
And with that, we said goodbye to our beach weekend.
The trip back to Charlotte was uneventful, other than my temporary panic at not finding my pocket knife in my trousers pocket, and remembering that they were in the pocket of a different pair of trousers. We got home about 1 in the afternoon.
Thanks again, Sara, for a wonderful weekend.
Friday, May 08, 2009
On The Road: Wilmington, NC
I decided to go to the beach this weekend with Sara, my girlfriend. We're in Wilmington, NC, about 200 miles from our home in the Charlotte area. We've already visited the beach (first time for me in over 15 years), eaten lunch, and visited the USS North Carolina (BB-55) memorial. Just checked into the hotel. Dinner in a couple of hours, then tomorrow more beach. Home Sunday.
Book Him, Spocko.
The original choice to play Star Trek's Captain Kirk was Jack Lord. He didn't get it because he wanted ownership of the show.
He'd have made a good one, too. Still, I can't imagine him shouting Khaaaaaaan! the way Shatner did.
He'd have made a good one, too. Still, I can't imagine him shouting Khaaaaaaan! the way Shatner did.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
I'd Definitely See That Movie
The Hero stands in front of a firing squad. By most accounts, the new dictator and his younger brother are present at the execution; by some accounts, so is a rather creepy, long-haired fellow who speaks in the sing-song accent of a faraway country.
The executioner orders the Hero to kneel; the Hero answers:
“I kneel before no man.”
They riddle one of the Hero’s knees with machine-gun fire. He staggers but props himself up on one leg. They riddle the other knee with machine-gun fire, and only now does the Hero fall to his knees.
They fire at his shoulders and knock him onto his back.
The executioner, carrying the pistol with which he will deliver the kill shot, approaches the dying Hero and taunts him, “See, we made you kneel.”
The Hero’s last words: “I didn’t kneel.”
The executioner, knowing he can deliver death but not dishonor to the Hero, angrily fires multiple shots into the Hero’s skull, destroying the Hero’s noble face.
William Morgan, the Hero. True Story. The dictator, his brother and the brutal longhair? Fidel & Raul Castro and Ché Guevara.
Such a movie would not be made in modern Hollywood, obviously, to our eternal shame.
h/t Big Hollywood.
Here's a pic of Morgan, by the way:
He even looks like a hero, doesn't he?
The executioner orders the Hero to kneel; the Hero answers:
“I kneel before no man.”
They riddle one of the Hero’s knees with machine-gun fire. He staggers but props himself up on one leg. They riddle the other knee with machine-gun fire, and only now does the Hero fall to his knees.
They fire at his shoulders and knock him onto his back.
The executioner, carrying the pistol with which he will deliver the kill shot, approaches the dying Hero and taunts him, “See, we made you kneel.”
The Hero’s last words: “I didn’t kneel.”
The executioner, knowing he can deliver death but not dishonor to the Hero, angrily fires multiple shots into the Hero’s skull, destroying the Hero’s noble face.
William Morgan, the Hero. True Story. The dictator, his brother and the brutal longhair? Fidel & Raul Castro and Ché Guevara.
Such a movie would not be made in modern Hollywood, obviously, to our eternal shame.
h/t Big Hollywood.
Here's a pic of Morgan, by the way:
He even looks like a hero, doesn't he?
Volcano Boarding
No, volcano boarding is not a method of extreme interrogation approved by Dick Cheney and utilized by the CIA on Islamofascist terrorists.
Volcano boarding is a new extreme sport, in which participants glide down the ash and scree of a volcano in much the same manner as in snowboarding.
Here's a pic:
I guess that in places lacking snow but not lacking in volcanoes, this is the way to go.
More info in a UK Telegraph article here.
Volcano boarding is a new extreme sport, in which participants glide down the ash and scree of a volcano in much the same manner as in snowboarding.
Here's a pic:
I guess that in places lacking snow but not lacking in volcanoes, this is the way to go.
More info in a UK Telegraph article here.
Over The River And Through The Woods...
...to Grandmother's house we go.
But the 3-year-old boy got lost along the way.
Lucky for him a major search managed to find him, minus a shoe and diaper, covered in ticks, but otherwise OK.
But the 3-year-old boy got lost along the way.
Lucky for him a major search managed to find him, minus a shoe and diaper, covered in ticks, but otherwise OK.
Today Is Odd Day!
Story.
Basically today's date, May 7th, 2009, consists of all odd numbers when lined up in the usual m/d/y format, 5/7/09. Apparently it doesn't happen often, and gives a thrill to the mathematically inclined, since it doesn't happen often.
Basically today's date, May 7th, 2009, consists of all odd numbers when lined up in the usual m/d/y format, 5/7/09. Apparently it doesn't happen often, and gives a thrill to the mathematically inclined, since it doesn't happen often.
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Kirstie Alley Gained It All Back, And Then Some
Surprised?
I have to say that I'm disappointed, although I have to admit that when she disappeared off the radar for the last year I wasn't sharp enough to suspect that she'd fallen off the control wagon. Too bad.
I've always liked Kirstie when she was slim; the combination of aquamarine eyes, brunette hair and arched eyebrows I found immensely attractive. A hotter version of Meg Foster, who without a doubt has the coolest-looking pale eyes in Hollywood.
I'm not going to snark, either; I have a weight problem of my own, so I know how hard it is to yo-yo up and down as your willpower alternately strengthens and weakens, and it only grows worse with age.
Good luck, Kirstie. My best wishes to you in your struggle.
I have to say that I'm disappointed, although I have to admit that when she disappeared off the radar for the last year I wasn't sharp enough to suspect that she'd fallen off the control wagon. Too bad.
I've always liked Kirstie when she was slim; the combination of aquamarine eyes, brunette hair and arched eyebrows I found immensely attractive. A hotter version of Meg Foster, who without a doubt has the coolest-looking pale eyes in Hollywood.
I'm not going to snark, either; I have a weight problem of my own, so I know how hard it is to yo-yo up and down as your willpower alternately strengthens and weakens, and it only grows worse with age.
Good luck, Kirstie. My best wishes to you in your struggle.
Hmmm, That's Better Than The Current Book Value Of My Car...
Congress plans to pass "Cash For Clunkers" legislation that would give car owners up to $4500 to get rid of old cars as incentive for purchasing a new car.
Damn, $4500 is almost half of the sticker price of my 1993 Nissan Sentra when it was new. And current book value on the Sentra is less than $1000.
Do I really want to screw my fellow taxpayers like that? What have they done to deserve it?
Damn, $4500 is almost half of the sticker price of my 1993 Nissan Sentra when it was new. And current book value on the Sentra is less than $1000.
Do I really want to screw my fellow taxpayers like that? What have they done to deserve it?
Is That Your Aspergillum, Father, Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?
In Miami, a popular Catholic priest is caught by paparazzi cavorting on a beach with a woman.
Father Alberto Cutié (yes, that's his name) has confessed all and been removed from his church.
Oh, well, it could have been worse. He could have been caught diddling an altar boy.
Bless Me, Father, I Wish To Sin...
Father Alberto Cutié (yes, that's his name) has confessed all and been removed from his church.
Oh, well, it could have been worse. He could have been caught diddling an altar boy.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
War Crime: U.S. Military Shot Muslims With Ammo Made By Jews!
Story.
Relevent passage of story:
By some estimates, U.S. forces expended nearly 250,000 bullets for every Iraqi insurgent that they killed. As Andrew Buncombe reported in The Independent, a London newspaper, on Sept. 25, 2005, the United States was even forced to import bullets from Israel to meet the increasing demand.
Notify the UN!
Relevent passage of story:
By some estimates, U.S. forces expended nearly 250,000 bullets for every Iraqi insurgent that they killed. As Andrew Buncombe reported in The Independent, a London newspaper, on Sept. 25, 2005, the United States was even forced to import bullets from Israel to meet the increasing demand.
Notify the UN!
Don't Drop A Peanut On a Squirrel In Montreal
You could be fined $50.
That's what happened to Bruce Kert, a blues musician. He commemorated the resulting legal hassle in a blues called Squirrelgate.
That's what happened to Bruce Kert, a blues musician. He commemorated the resulting legal hassle in a blues called Squirrelgate.
UK Home Defense: The Booby Trap And The Cricket Bat
The booby trap will, of course, result in the homeowner being arrested, and the cricket bat is cautioned against.
What do the police suggest you do?
Turn your house into a castle/prison, lots of locks, bars and other passive security measures.
*laughs, sings to self*
Rule, Britannia, Britannia rule the waves,
Britons never, never, never shall be slaves!
What do the police suggest you do?
Turn your house into a castle/prison, lots of locks, bars and other passive security measures.
*laughs, sings to self*
Rule, Britannia, Britannia rule the waves,
Britons never, never, never shall be slaves!
Sikhs Try To Re-Establish Forgotten Martial Art
Shastar Vidiya, a blade-oriented martial art from India.
Pic:
Which naturally made me think of this:
He Brought A Knife To A Gunfight
Pic:
Which naturally made me think of this:
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Trip To King's Mountain National Military Park
Saturday my girlfriend and I visited nearby King's Mountain National Military Park in South Carolina, the scene of a battle of the Revolutionary War in which Loyalist forces (Americans loyal to King George) under the command of Major Patrick Ferguson of the British Army were defeated by the Overmountain Men (American Patriots from what is now Tennessee, North Carolina and Virginia).
The mountain (it's more of a hill, actually, and not a particularly high one, at that) is completely forested, with a few rock outcrops but no cliffs or steep slopes. Its current appearance seems to match that of the mountain as described in accounts of the battle.
The weather Saturday was overcast and mild, no breeze, rather humid. When we got to the park, we decided to walk around the paved trail around the perimeter of the battlefield:
You could, in fact, push a baby stroller or a person in a wheelchair around this trail if you wanted to, but it would be quite strenuous to do so.
Since the last time I hiked King's Mountain ten years ago, the National Park service has added benches along the path. I theorized aloud to my girlfriend that they had picked their fattest ranger or trail worker and given him a bundle of sticks, and to place a stick in the ground whenever he got out of breath, and that was where they would place a bench:
My girlfriend and I are both woefully out of shape, so the benches came in handy. We sat in nearly every one we came across in order to catch our breath on the hike.
The battle was fought with the Loyalist troops and Major Ferguson surrounded on the hilltop by the Overmountain Men. The Loyalists charged down the mountain three times trying to break the Patriot lines, but were repulsed each time by rifle fire from the Patriots, who utilized Indian tactics of shooting from concealment to minimize their losses. Here's a photo looking uphill from the Patriot positions:
We saw no wildlife, probably because of some boisterous children who, with their mother, overtook and passed us on the trail, shouting and crying out as they ran up the trail.
The trail eventually began to climb toward the summit of the hill, and we became more and more grateful of the benches that were regularly placed along it. At the summit, both of us panting and staggering, we discovered that the bench we desperately needed was occupied by a couple who had passed us earlier. We staggered on until we came to the memorial obelisk, the older of two placed at the summit of the hill:
Here we finally found a bench and rested for quite a while, both of us wishing that the Park Service would have seen fit to install a water barrel at the top, such as you might find on a golf course. Of course, we would have been much better prepared if we had simply carried a bottle of water apiece.
From this point the path went downhill. Just a hundred yards from the old memorial is the newer one, also an obelisk:
Here is a close-up of the relief sculptures and the commemorative plaque on the obelisk:
Just downhill from the obelisk is Major Ferguson's grave. Ferguson died in the battle as he directed his men; wearing a bright checked shirt, he made a too-tempting target for the expert riflemen on the Patriot side, and ended up shot to doll rags, as Louis L'Amour might say. Ferguson had angered the Overmountain Men by publishing a speech against them, and describing them in the following terms:
Gentlemen: Unless you wish to be eat up by an inundation of barbarians, who have begun by murdering an unarmed son before the aged father, and afterwards lopped off his arms, and who by their shocking cruelties and irregularities, give the best proof of their cowardice and want of discipline; I say, if you wish to be pinioned, robbed, and murdered, and see your wives and daughters, in four days, abused by the dregs of mankind - in short, if you wish or deserve to live, and bear the name of men, grasp your arms in a moment and run to camp.
The Back Water men have crossed the mountains; McDowell, Hampton, Shelby and Cleveland are at their head, so that you know what you have to depend upon. If you choose to be pissed upon forever and ever by a set of mongrels, say so at once and let your women turn their backs upon you, and look out for real men to protect them.
The Overmountain Men, remembering Ferguson's words about pissing and mongrels, urinated en masse upon Ferguson's corpse before it was buried. Anyway, here's the grave:
What isn't as well known is that Ferguson isn't in that grave alone. Along with him is one of the two mistresses who accompanied him and died earlier in the battle; known as "Virginia Sal," she was described as buxom and red-headed. A lot like Christina Hendricks, I'd imagine (I didn't encounter Ms. Hendricks on the trail, this is a pic from the internet):
Ferguson's other mistress, Virginia Paul(ina), apparently survived the battle. Ferguson was apparently quite a cocksman, sleeping with both of the girls on the night before the battle. At least he died satisfied, right? I would guess that he had so many mistresses that he labled them by the states where he acquired them, and hadn't yet traded his Virginia girls in for some Carolina beauties.
Anyway, here's a closer look at Ferguson's gravestone:
Not far from Ferguson's grave we discovered a rare tree species, a Shitter Oak (quercus commodus):
This one looks like a particularly fine and comfortable specimen of the species.
The walk concluded not far past the Shitter Oak, as we saw the visitor's center just around a bend. That concludes the photo essay.
You can read a lot more about Ferguson here. A clever man, he designed an effective breech-loading rifle, although the rifle didn't take part in the battle of King's Mountain; here's what the Ferguson Rifle looked like:
The late Western author Louis L'Amour wrote a novel in which the Ferguson Rifle featured prominently; it was titled, inventively enough, The Ferguson Rifle.
You can read more about the battle of King's Mountain here.
The mountain (it's more of a hill, actually, and not a particularly high one, at that) is completely forested, with a few rock outcrops but no cliffs or steep slopes. Its current appearance seems to match that of the mountain as described in accounts of the battle.
The weather Saturday was overcast and mild, no breeze, rather humid. When we got to the park, we decided to walk around the paved trail around the perimeter of the battlefield:
You could, in fact, push a baby stroller or a person in a wheelchair around this trail if you wanted to, but it would be quite strenuous to do so.
Since the last time I hiked King's Mountain ten years ago, the National Park service has added benches along the path. I theorized aloud to my girlfriend that they had picked their fattest ranger or trail worker and given him a bundle of sticks, and to place a stick in the ground whenever he got out of breath, and that was where they would place a bench:
My girlfriend and I are both woefully out of shape, so the benches came in handy. We sat in nearly every one we came across in order to catch our breath on the hike.
The battle was fought with the Loyalist troops and Major Ferguson surrounded on the hilltop by the Overmountain Men. The Loyalists charged down the mountain three times trying to break the Patriot lines, but were repulsed each time by rifle fire from the Patriots, who utilized Indian tactics of shooting from concealment to minimize their losses. Here's a photo looking uphill from the Patriot positions:
We saw no wildlife, probably because of some boisterous children who, with their mother, overtook and passed us on the trail, shouting and crying out as they ran up the trail.
The trail eventually began to climb toward the summit of the hill, and we became more and more grateful of the benches that were regularly placed along it. At the summit, both of us panting and staggering, we discovered that the bench we desperately needed was occupied by a couple who had passed us earlier. We staggered on until we came to the memorial obelisk, the older of two placed at the summit of the hill:
Here we finally found a bench and rested for quite a while, both of us wishing that the Park Service would have seen fit to install a water barrel at the top, such as you might find on a golf course. Of course, we would have been much better prepared if we had simply carried a bottle of water apiece.
From this point the path went downhill. Just a hundred yards from the old memorial is the newer one, also an obelisk:
Here is a close-up of the relief sculptures and the commemorative plaque on the obelisk:
Just downhill from the obelisk is Major Ferguson's grave. Ferguson died in the battle as he directed his men; wearing a bright checked shirt, he made a too-tempting target for the expert riflemen on the Patriot side, and ended up shot to doll rags, as Louis L'Amour might say. Ferguson had angered the Overmountain Men by publishing a speech against them, and describing them in the following terms:
Gentlemen: Unless you wish to be eat up by an inundation of barbarians, who have begun by murdering an unarmed son before the aged father, and afterwards lopped off his arms, and who by their shocking cruelties and irregularities, give the best proof of their cowardice and want of discipline; I say, if you wish to be pinioned, robbed, and murdered, and see your wives and daughters, in four days, abused by the dregs of mankind - in short, if you wish or deserve to live, and bear the name of men, grasp your arms in a moment and run to camp.
The Back Water men have crossed the mountains; McDowell, Hampton, Shelby and Cleveland are at their head, so that you know what you have to depend upon. If you choose to be pissed upon forever and ever by a set of mongrels, say so at once and let your women turn their backs upon you, and look out for real men to protect them.
The Overmountain Men, remembering Ferguson's words about pissing and mongrels, urinated en masse upon Ferguson's corpse before it was buried. Anyway, here's the grave:
What isn't as well known is that Ferguson isn't in that grave alone. Along with him is one of the two mistresses who accompanied him and died earlier in the battle; known as "Virginia Sal," she was described as buxom and red-headed. A lot like Christina Hendricks, I'd imagine (I didn't encounter Ms. Hendricks on the trail, this is a pic from the internet):
Ferguson's other mistress, Virginia Paul(ina), apparently survived the battle. Ferguson was apparently quite a cocksman, sleeping with both of the girls on the night before the battle. At least he died satisfied, right? I would guess that he had so many mistresses that he labled them by the states where he acquired them, and hadn't yet traded his Virginia girls in for some Carolina beauties.
Anyway, here's a closer look at Ferguson's gravestone:
Not far from Ferguson's grave we discovered a rare tree species, a Shitter Oak (quercus commodus):
This one looks like a particularly fine and comfortable specimen of the species.
The walk concluded not far past the Shitter Oak, as we saw the visitor's center just around a bend. That concludes the photo essay.
You can read a lot more about Ferguson here. A clever man, he designed an effective breech-loading rifle, although the rifle didn't take part in the battle of King's Mountain; here's what the Ferguson Rifle looked like:
The late Western author Louis L'Amour wrote a novel in which the Ferguson Rifle featured prominently; it was titled, inventively enough, The Ferguson Rifle.
You can read more about the battle of King's Mountain here.
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