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Gag Reflex

Food & Drink

This article sparked my interest simply because I have a personal “worst dish” (one I will never eat, under any circumstances):

Irish Stew

Seriously, just looking at the pic makes me gag.

It’s a strange thing because lamb is one of my favorite meats of all — if roasted or barbecued — but I think it’s the lamb fat released in the cooking of the stew which revolts me — after eating it, one’s mouth and teeth are coated in a furry slime which

Ugh, I can’t write anymore or I’ll puke.

So, Gentle Readers:  what’s your  won’t-eat-at-any-cost dish?

Another Modernized Failure

Drive Time

I have written before about auto companies relaunching beloved older models, but in modern (post-modern?) shape and form.  To remind everyone of the concept:

Now comes Land Rover, who sold their soul company to some furriners, only to have said furriners turn around and re-release a model long ago discontinued by the British Land Rover (for reasons which escaped me then, and still do).  I speak of course of the peerless Defender model, as exemplified by the one owned by The Englishman, Stout Bulldog that he is:

In that Defender’s place comes the newer version, to the universal acclaim of journalists and the undiluted scorn of the people who are in the target market of prospective purchasers.  Even better [eyecross], the New-N-Improved Defender is made not in Britishland, but in Slovakia.

I’m not going to post any pics of the new version because copyright hucksters and asshole lawyers (some overlap), but follow the link above and form your own opinions.  (Spoiler:  it’s the one that looks like a 4×4 New Mini.)

Now all that said:  maybe the new Slovo-Defender provides a more comfortable ride than the Anglo-Defender — it could hardly be less  comfortable, and I speak as one who has driven from Wiltshire to Scotland and back in Mr. Free Market’s Defender, as well as from Wiltshire to Cornwall and back in The Englishman’s one, and have the distressed kidneys to prove it.  But that’s not the point of a Defender, is it?  I mean, one could (technically speaking) drive a Caterpillar bulldozer from Wisconsin to Iowa along the interstate highway system, but that’s not what it was designed for.

However, I rather think that I’m missing the point.  I bet that the target market is not members of the farmer-Stout Bulldog Set [massive overlap]  such as The aforementioned Englishman and Mr. Free Market.  Instead, the new owners of Land Rover are aiming for the suburban / urban middle class, purchasers of “utility” vehicles such as the Porsche Macan, BMW X3 and Audi Q5 (vehicles referred to in Britishland as “Chelsea Tractors” and in north Texas as “Plano Off-Roaders”, for obvious reasons).

And this was written in all seriousness:

“…down the toilet.” FIFY

Anyway, the reaction of existing Defender owners to this new product can best be summed up from a joint communique issued by Mr. Free Market and The Englishman via my email:

“Looks like we’ll be holding onto our old Defenders for some time to come.”

Oops.

Unfair

Men & Women

LOL I see that Monopoly is getting in on the War Between The Sexes:

Hasbro has introduced the first Monopoly that celebrates women trailblazers
Aimed at players 8 years old and up, properties are replaced by groundbreaking inventions and innovations made possible by women throughout history
Players are told ‘Collect 240 salary as you pass GO, if you’re a man collect 200’
Women also get a $1,900 at the start, compared to $1,500 for male players
Tokens include a pen, jet, glass, a watch, a barbell, or Ms. Monopoly’s white hat
Ms. Monopoly celebrates everything from scientific advancements to everyday accessories – including WiFi, chocolate chip cookies, and solar heating
Players of any gender can build business headquarters around the board to collect more money from others
In hope of inspiring others, it spotlights women who challenged the status quo

To make the thing even more true to life, CHANCE cards should include ones like:

  • “Congratulations on your divorce!  Collect your free house on Boardwalk*” or
  • “Congrats on your new baby!  As you aren’t sure of its paternity, collect $500 from each male player every time you pass GO” or
  • “You accuse someone of sexual harassment at your job.  Collect $50,000** from the bank” or
  • “You were caught shagging one of your students, a fifteen-year-old boy.  Go straight to jail.  (Just kidding;  get three extra rolls of the dice)”

The funniest part of all of this is that the more Ms. Monopoly is tilted in Teh Grrrls’ favor, the fewer men will want to play this poxy game — which will no doubt cause women to write weepymoany articles in Salon or HuffPo about how men are shunning them.

*Mayfair, in the Brit version

**I know $50,000 would bankrupt the Monopoly bank and end the game.  So?

Eye Witness

Terrorism

From Reader Mark D, an account of 9/11:

September 11, 2001 was a beautiful fall day.  The sky was blue, the day was mild. I’d gotten up a little late that morning.  My wife suggested that I should take the later train (about 40 minutes later), but I really wanted to stop in Borders Bookstore in the World Trade Center that morning.  I did that once every couple of weeks, just to browse thru the books.  So I pushed myself out the door, drove to the train station, and caught my usual train which took me to Hoboken, NJ.  From there I took the Path train to the World Trade Center, but completely forgot that I wanted to stop at Borders, and entered the Courtlandt St subway station.  After I paid my subway fare I remembered that I’d intended to stop at Borders, but decided that I’d either stop tonight on the way home or tomorrow morning.  The time was about 8:10. I got my usual R train and headed into Brooklyn, just as I had every work day for the last several years.  I arrived, as usual, at my desk at about 8:30.

About 9:00 a co-worker came in and told us that a plane had apparently hit the World Trade Center, that he saw the smoke on his way in.  We turned on a radio and heard that a small plane had hit the North Tower.  It seemed like an accident.  As the news rolled in, we learned that it was a passenger jet, not a small plane, that hit the tower.  Then the South Tower was hit.  Then there were reports of a plane hitting the Pentagon.  I called my wife to tell her I was OK, she said they were watching the news on a TV.  I thought it was a little odd that she didn’t seem concerned about me since my commute took me thru the World Trade Center, but I decided not to press the issue.

A few of us decided to walk down to the East River to see what was happening, when we got there my first impression was that there was a lot of paper in the air, apparently sucked from the towers.  There was a huge hole in the North Tower, full of flames.  The South Tower was partially hidden from view by the North, but it was obvious that it was burning too.  We were too far away to see the people falling, we didn’t hear about that until later.

At this point I was thinking that the fire department would evacuate the buildings, put out the fires, and then something would need to be done to repair the towers.  It never occured to me that the towers might be too badly damaged to repair.  Then the South Tower (or what I could see of it behind the North Tower) sort of tipped at the top, then collapsed in a rain of dust and debris.

I didn’t have another coherent thought for the rest of the day.  I couldn’t stay there anymore, we left, headed back to our office building, where we found that the building (a New York City municipal building) was evacuated and locked down, we weren’t allowed back in.  We met up with our manager, and we all went to her apartment a few blocks away.  On the way I stopped in a store for a bottle of soda and learned that the North Tower had collapsed, but I was numb at that point.  I remember repeatedly thinking “This day needs to be over.”
Since New York City was pretty much locked down I couldn’t get home, so I and some others spent the night at our managers apartment.  The next morning we decided not to open, and by then the transportation system was functioning, so I headed for home via the Path train in Mid-town Manhattan.  Everyone I saw on the way home had a thousand-yard stare, like they were in shock.  From the train I could see the smoke rising from where the towers had been, that column of smoke would be part of the landscape for a long time.
I arrived home in the early afternoon.  My wife arrived home from work at her usual hour.  As we talked about the events of the previous day I mentioned that I’d been in the basement of the World Trade center a half-hour before the first plane hit.  She sat bolt upright and said “You were WHAT?” She’d completely forgotten that my daily commute took me thru the World Trade Center, which was just as well or she’d have been beside herself with worry.

Do not forget what happened that day.  Do not forget what you were doing, where you were.  Do not forget that three thousand people who did nothing more sinister than show up for work or ride a plane died that day.  Do not forget that those people were murdered, they did not die in a natural disaster.  Do not forget who murdered them.

Can’t (and won’t) add a single thing.  Thank you, Mark.

SHTF Talk

SHTF

Yesterday’s post about Britishland’s .gov SHTF preparations triggered a response in Comments about a post from the old blog.  Here it is:

No Helping Hand

January 6, 2007
5:00 AM CDT

I thought I’d share with you an email exchange I had recently with Reader Jim K. from the Seattle area:

Years ago, I was a FFL firearms dealer.  I was Clintoned out of my license (that’s another story), but I still have leftover inventory including an unopened crate of semi-auto AK-47s.
Recently, four young families moved up here to Washington state after making small fortunes in the California real estate boom.  These people are all friends of a friend so I run into them frequently.  They are all liberal, but not of the raving moonbat type.  None of them are anti-gun, but neither are they much interested in fireams.
Last summer I mentioned to several of these Silicon Valley escapees that I had a crate of AKs (I love doing this – the reactions are usually interesting).  One guy responded with something like “when things get bad, we’re coming to your house.”  He said this as a joke so I did not think much of it.
Partially due to recent events (Katrina, the Indian ocean tidal wave) and following your and Instapundit’s suggestions, I have created an emergency “abandon house” kit and also stored several months worth of unperishable food.  I have also urged my friends and family to do the same.  Most have, to some degree.
Recently I was at a party with these four families present.  I was encouraging them to make their own emergency kits and store food.  Also, I described my efforts in this area.  Once again someone made the “when things get bad we’re coming to your house” statement.  This time it was not a joke.
They seemed to believe that I would feed and protect them in dangerous times; almost as if it was my responsibility to do so.
This pissed me off.  I did not slap down the idiot because I really was trying to get these people to become riflemen and prepare for emergencies. I said nothing.  Yelling at them would not help, but I don’t know how I should have responded.  What would you recommend?

Well, you all can guess my response:

Tell ‘em straight:  “You come to my house, you’re going to get chased off. It’s not MY responsibility to look after you;  it’s YOUR responsibility to look after yourselves.”
Then offer to show them how to shoot, on the condition that they buy their own guns—NOT your AKs, but other guns—and offer to help them buy their guns.
If they refuse all that, tell them that they’d better pray that disaster doesn’t strike, because you’re NOT going to help them—you have enough on your plate just to look after your own family.

And about a week later, I got this back from him:

On Christmas Eve I went to a party where the four liberal families I previously discussed were present, and followed your advice.  After bringing up the emergency kit issue again, lots of people complained and teased me (in a good-natured way) but as expected, the “we’ll just come to your house” meme reared its ugly head.  I stated, as you suggested, that I would *NOT* help them in an emergency unless they first took measures to help themselves.  This did not go over well. Much argument followed. The net result:

1) I am no longer welcome at any of the four homes (no great loss).

2) I am now morally equivalent to Hitler and George Bush.

3) One woman called me a potential child molester (I’m not sure of the logic, but it had something to do with not helping her starving kiddies when the world goes whacky).

4) Republicans are evil, therefore, I am evil (being a Libertarian, this seemed a bit unfair, but the finer points of political philosophy were lost in the debate).

5) Another woman (a hardcore feminist) screamed:  “I’ll call the police!! Hoarding in an emergency is just wrong.  You won’t get away with it.”

6) The case of home brew ale I brought to the party was consumed (even some liberals have good taste in beer).

7) It was the females who did most of the ranting about my vile character and lack of moral fiber.  They also had the worst potty mouths.

8) As I was leaving (actually, “kicked out” ) one of the guys said, with complete sincerity:  “If things get bad, I really hope you’ll help us out.”  I said nothing, just shook my head and left.

On the plus side, one guy asked me for help concerning firearms.  We will be heading to the local range in a few weeks.  Even more spiffy (spiffier? of greater spiffyness?), a city politician at the party told me that the city was also making plans for a disaster situation which included stored food, medicine and fuel, neighborhood leadership organizations, a volunteer emergency police force made up of armed citizens, a “sudden lack of resources to investigate shot looter issues” and a “flying sanitation training squad”, among other things.

For the first time, I feel semi-good about my city government.  They are still tax-swilling scum, but at least they have the foresight to prepare for bad times.  Furthermore, I am now officially part of the emergency police force.  In an emergency I suspect a shovel will be more useful than a revolver, but I plan on carrying both.

Thank you for the advice.  Using it was educational and entertaining.

My only comment, after re-reading this prior to posting it, is that I would have suggested, in the friendliest manner possible, that “Anyone attempting to storm my house to get at the supplies will be shot—present company included.”

What a bunch of dicks: but of course, considering the heritage of this bunch, not entirely unexpected. I am also not surprised that the women took the greatest umbrage at our Reader’s position—but I’ll bet that their husbands, if they are men at all, will be making quiet plans to set up a SHTF box or two in the not-too-distant future. Good grief: they’re Californians; one would think, given the earthquake situation in California, that this would be a group quite familiar with the concept of preparing for disaster.

But hey… if they don’t wake up and make preparations, then it’s just a Darwin situation.  That would be doubleplus spiffy, considering they’re California liberals.

Incidentally, I had a brief RCOB at the suggestion that SHTF preparedness could be characterized as “hoarding” by the Unprepared.  Reader Jim should count himself well rid of them.  Socialist pricks.

And one more observation:  I just wish I’d been at that party when the fur and feathers flew.