Wow. How about this for a headline?
Keynote speaker at Bob Jones University diversity conference says Muslims should be ‘locked up’
Just kidding. Here’s the actual headline:
Keynote speaker at Harvard diversity conference says Christians should be ‘locked up’
Read the rest, if you feel like it. Then load up yer favorite gun and a couple hundred rounds of ammo, and head out to the range. That’s what I’m going to do, later.
Fuck ’em.
At his recent wedding, Idris Elba is reported to have said, “There’s no point in trying to fit in when you were born to stand out.” And while that’s true, there’s also that Australian(?) saying that “The tall flower will always be the first to be cropped.”
In rants passim, I’ve railed against the follies of architectural folly, wherein the ego of the architect takes over the aesthetic sensibilities of the building, making it a tall flower in the neighborhood. Making the building an extremely personal statement, therefore, is all very well, as long as you acknowledge the fact that your taste isn’t for everybody — with all its concomitant perils. Here’s an example:
The asking price of a property that appeared on TV’s Grand Designs has been slashed by almost £1million in just six months.
The owners Bram and Lisa Vis have taken the drastic step after the ultra-modern property with six bedrooms failed to sell.
The huge 7,200 square foot house is set within 2.2 acres of land with an additional 3.8 acres of private beach, along with a heated swimming pool and a jacuzzi.
The luxury home on the Isle of Wight was completed in 2014, and featured on Channel 4’s Grand Designs the following year.
The key word is this: “ultra-modern”. Here are a couple-three pics:
Because of all this, and despite having matchless coastal views:
And despite having had nationwide, even worldwide exposure on TV, we have this unfortunate outcome:
The significant reduction has seen the asking price drop from £3.95million in autumn last year to £2.99million today and means the couple are selling the property for less than the project cost to complete.
I have to admit, even if I had the money, there is no way I would even consider this modernist carbuncle — and clearly I am not alone in this judgement, hence the lack of interest in the market. Furthermore, there’s a life lesson to be learned from this sorry tale.
Go ahead and indulge your ego by all means. Just be aware that “standing out” (especially in the extreme, as in the above house’s style) may not always result in a favorable outcome.
Last Saturday I took New Wife out for a Full Texas Day (I know, I know: never go Full Texas).
Part One was the Fort Worth Gun Show (that was for me, of course, although she found several Girly-things to buy there, and did). Blessedly, there was more on display than the usual AR-15/Glock/Tacticool stuff (although there was plenty of that too):
… although that mythical unicorn (mint condition Colt Python for under $1,000) was nowhere to be found, of course. There was a S&W Mod 65-3 for sale, but it looked like it had been towed behind a Ford F-150 for a mile or two, and they wanted $700 for it, so: pass. However, there was a vendor selling from a huge selection of Anza knives, and somehow I managed not to buy a single one (although I could have bought six or seven, easily).
Good grief, they’re lovely knives. I’m rapidly starting to think of Anza knives as I do .22 rifles — i.e. every home should have at least one — and the next time I go to the Ft. Worth gun show, I’m going to buy another one, because… I shouldn’t have to explain myself on this one, should I? Here’s one that caught my eye, just because of the shape:
…but honestly, I could also see myself getting any one of these little beauties too.
We were planning on getting a late lunch of BBQ in downtown Ft. Worth (Part Two), but as it happened, there was a vendor at the show from Robinson’s BBQ (“since 1947”) so that was the brisket taken care of — and it was excellent.
We did take a little drive trip through Ft. Worth, and would have stopped to listen to the orchestra playing in Sundance Square, but parking in downtown is crappy, so we didn’t. Instead, we went out to The Stockyards for a little shopping and entertainment.
The shopping at the various Western wear stores (Part Three) was patchy — some expensive stuff there, Bubba — but I did manage to snag a decent summer-weight vest which doesn’t look like a mil-surp, fishing- or photographer’s vest for a decent price. New Wife, not so lucky. (She steadfastly refused to let me buy her some cowboy boots, but hey: she’s been in Texas less than five months, and I only got a pair of cowboy boots after over fifteen years here, so it’s a long-term project.) Also:
Anyway, it was getting late, so we went into Riscky’s for more BBQ and margaritas (Part Four):
Decent ribs, outstanding grilled shrimp (seriously, maybe the best I’ve ever tasted), and Ernesto the barman is brilliant. (I tended bar in my distant yoot, so I know the trade.)
Dinner over, we went to Part Five of the Full Texas Thang:
Oh yeah, baby… rodeo!
Now I have to confess that I’m no expert on rodeo — mostly, I think it’s cheap country entertainment — but you can’t go Full Texas without rodeo, right? So we watched the bull-riding, bronco busting, calf-roping and all that, until the over-loud PA (and screaming commentator) got to my tinnitus and the hissing/whistling sound became unbearable (my ears are still ringing as I write this, the day after).
But New Wife enjoyed the day thoroughly, even the gun show — although she won’t be going to another one anytime soon — and hey… how often do you get to go Full Texas with a newbie?
We interrupt this blogging stuff for a brief (and completely un-sponsored) blatant plug non-commercial message.
As Loyal Friends & Readers know well, I love me my gin. Mostly, I love it with Angostura Bitters (to make it pink) and a 7-Up/Sprite mixer to make it a thirst-quencher, which it is, oh yes indeed it is.
Because I add the above mixers, the brand is mostly irrelevant, as long as it’s London dry — Booth’s, Beefeater, Gordon’s, etc. — although I will confess to buying Bombay Sapphire or Tanqueray quite often too, especially if they’re on sale.
Most of the “new” gins (e.g. Hendrick’s and Bulldog) have a flavor distinct from London dry, which makes the unadulterated sipping thereof a little problematic for me — others have compared it to sipping the peaty Laphroiag vs. the smooth Glenmorangie whiskies — and in general, I’ve pretty much grown up drinking “pink ‘n lemonade” (Brit-speak for 7-Up) by the pint, rather than sipping the lovely stuff anyway.
That’s all about to change, because I have discovered a fine “sipping” gin at last:
Good grief. Smooth, clear taste; no afterburn or bitterness… I don’t even want to try adding bitters and 7-Up to the lovely stuff, so good is it on my tongue. And it’s relatively new on the market (story here) which may be why I’d never tried it before.
It’s a little pricey — about $15 a bottle more than, say, Gordon’s — but considering that I’ll be sipping it and not (ahem) chugging it down in beermugs with my bacon & eggs in the morning [some exaggeration], the cost isn’t that important.
There are other varieties of Sipsmith, e.g. “VJOP” and “Blue Label”, and the distillery also makes vodka and sloe gin, amongst other types,
…but for now I’m going to stick with the “regular” London Dry until I’ve sampled a case or two before I start going crazy and experimenting. And the next time I’m in Londonistan, it’s to the Sipsmith Distillery I’ll be going.
Seriously, this is lovely stuff — and if you’re one of those heretics unfortunate souls who doesn’t like gin, you could do worse than to try this on the rocks at first, just to see. It may change your life*, as gin has done for so many others over the centuries.
*not always for the better, of course, but we’re all grownups here. Oh, and as always, I get nothing from anyone for plugging their products, and this time is no exception.
Ripped from the headlines:
Mediterranean diet tamps down overeating, study says
Small wonder. That’s because all that stuff tastes like shit without one of these consumed alongside:
Bloody stupid studies.
I have spoken before about my distaste for men hugging each other (other than family). Even Doc Russia, who despite his fearsome appearance is a hugger, only gets a brief one-armer from me, and even that only because he is one of my closest friends. Maybe I’m a closet Brit:
In today’s touchy-feely society, it may seem like everyone is hugging and planting kisses on each other.
But people are still only comfortable with a formal introductory handshake with a study finding British reserve is alive and well when meeting people for the first time.
A demonstrative hug or continental double kiss is unlikely to go down well, as we are really only comfortable with strangers touching just our hands.
Researchers asked people to mark, on a computer, the parts of their body, front and back, that those in their lives were allowed to touch.
British people had no problem with close relatives and friends touching their face or upper torso when giving them a hug, but did not want strangers to do the same.
No kidding. This is where, despite my French surname, I part ways with my heritage. Men doing the kissy-cheeks thing? Fuck that.
It amazes me that in a time when we seem to be drifting apart from each other, that this unwarranted intimacy is becoming more popular — or maybe the first is the cause of the second, I dunno.
I only hug women, and only women whom I’ve known for a long time or who are intimates (e.g. are themselves close friends, or are married to same), and there is considerable overlap between the two groups.
But men? Nu-uh… it just feels wrong. Some amateur/professional psychologists — once again, overlap — are doubtless going to ascribe this trait to either latent homosexuality or [gasp!] homophobia, but at the best of times I don’t care what other people think of me (and psycho-weenies least of all). Hugging men feels strange, and I don’t like strange.
A good, firm handshake is all we men need. Leave the huggy-kissy bullshit to the Frogs and fags [yes, again some overlap]. Hell, I’d even feel uncomfortable giving a hug to Carol Vorderman, and y’all know what I think of her.
Of course I’d hug her; but only if she asked me to. I have standards.