‘In all three countries, physically strong males consistently pursue the self-interested position on redistribution.’
Men with low upper-body strength, on the other hand, were less likely to support their own self-interest.
No wonder why the men who seem most bent on relying on the protection of the collective instead of being the protector always seem to be milquetoasts.
It is a hell of a lot more plausible than Global Warming. So get thyself in the gym, move steel, and try not to act like Mary-Ellen Sisterpants. Bulk up or be crushed.
Where can you go for a shopping trip and get everything on this shopping list without leaving the building?
Loaf of oat bread
Oscillating lawn sprinkler
$150 bottle of rare wine
11/16ths combination wrench
Dress pattern for a prom gown
An apple-maple muffin
A box of .35 Whelen in 250 grain FMJ
Spread satin latex paint
A fill-up of premium gas
A post card of wintertime Norwich VT
The classic electric game “Operation”
Yep. Dan and Whits. The leading image in the post shows the building when it was Merrill’s Hardware, around 1890. The building to the immediate right is the Norwich Inn, which inspired the setting on which the 1980s sitcom Newhart was based.
So, if you ever find yourself in eastern Vermont, and there is something you really need, head to Norwich and stop in. You might find you need some deer urine, and remember suddenly that you have been meaning to pick up a crochet hook for the missus. You might even see Larry, Darryl, and Darryl. The real-life version, of which there are surprisingly many.
The ministry’s paper said: “French industry is increasingly losing its competitiveness. The relocation of companies abroad continues. Profitability is meagre.”
Relations between France and Germany are chilly after Mr Hollande’s Socialist party accused Mrs Merkel of “egotistical intransigence” and called for “democratic confrontation” with Berlin.
While France clings to its totemic 35-hour working week, workers in Germany are increasingly discontented at having to endure years of low pay rises.
It points out that France has the “second lowest annual working time” in the European Union, while its “tax and social security burden” is the highest in the eurozone. It also warns that France has made too little investment in research and development.
One cannot but think of the stereotypes of the humorless, hard-working German looking over his factory apron at his lazy, decadent French neighbor with contempt and frustration, while the Frenchman stares back from his sidewalk table, eating his wine and cheese, confident of his moral and cultural superiority.
What could go wrong? It isn’t like these two countries would actually fight over something. That would be unprecedented….
Huh. To show how significant this catastrophe is, all one has to do is “AlGorify” the data. (Not to be confused with “algorithm”, which could lend some statistical validity to the process.)
So, there’s where next year’s spring temperatures will be come the end of April. Just a little above freezing. 2015? Frozen solid. Anthropomorphic? I dunno. And I am also confused by what to do about it. When the coldest spring of 1975 happened, we were told that we needed to stifle industry and redistribute wealth to the Third World (and Environmentalists’ pockets) to keep the world from freezing. THEN we were told that we needed to stifle industry and redistribute wealth to the Third World (and the pockets of those same Environmentalists) to keep the world from roasting to oblivion.
I can’t for the life of me understand why 0.00000000035% of the data is not conclusive. Even though it was unevenly collected with a wide variety of instruments and methods. But hey, it is “settled science”, innit? Like predicting Presidential election results by counting four tenths of a vote.
Nobody, but NOBODY does outrage like our Boston Maggie. With a mix of sarcasm and incisive logic (now and then) she can unscrew the legs of a stupid argument in the blink of an eye. Perhaps it comes naturally to the Irish Catholic crowd in Boston. Regarding Boston terrorism suspect Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, apparently Republican Senator Lindsey Graham thinks we should bypass giving the accused the rights due an American citizen who is a defendant in a capital case. Which makes Graham as despicable as anyone else who asserts such nonsense, irrespective of which side of the aisle they call home.
…like it or not, Tsarnaev is an American citizen. He gets due process. That’s it.
If we abridge the Constitutional rights of this piece of shit, we will be doing more harm than he or his brother could have hoped for.
Everyone is talking about “Boston Strong”. If we sell the Constitution down the river out of petty vengence, what is there to be strong for?
Read the whole thing. It is short, but oh-so well done. She nails it. It is not the people, nor the government, nor its officials, nor my seniors whom I am sworn to support and defend. It is the Constitution. The same document Senator Graham and every other Congressman was sworn to uphold. Irrespective of which side of the aisle.
Comedic genius and Marine Veteran Jonathan Winters has passed away at 87. Steve Martin called him one of the “great greats”, and so he was. A master of improv, and THE master of innuendo, Winters’ physical and intellectual comedy never failed to bring laughter.
Winters served in the Marine Corps during World War II, and was a regular on the Tonight Show, with Jack Paar and Johnny Carson, Dean Martin, and a host of others. He was in a million things, but my favorite of all time was as Pike, the driver of the furniture van, in Stanley Kramer’s 1963 comedy epic It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World. ”D’ya know how many loads of furniture I’d have to take from Modesto to Yuma to earn that kind of money?” I’ve seen the movie close to forty times, and he makes me laugh, still, even when I know the lines are coming. To this day, when I have been trying to figure something out and it finally comes to me, I will say “That’s it! Sure! The Big W!!!”
Semper Fidelis, Marine. And thanks for the laughs.
I maintain that a great deal of the “music” of today’s youth is really crappy. Single-chord, over and over, with angst-filled lyrics sung by filthy rich twenty-somethings in a tone so whiny that they make Bob Dylan sound like the Righteous Brothers. Lyrics like “I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care…” You get the idea. Rap music seems to be usually obscene lyrics yelled to music that sounds like one sneaker going around in the dryer.
That said, I was in the gym today, and for some unexplained reason, the Dartmouth gym plays overhead music from a 70s rock station. And on comes “Free Bird”. And it occurred to me that our parents said the very same about OUR music. “That isn’t music! It’s just NOISE!” And I must admit, with the screeching strains of Lynyrd Skynyrd raining down from the speakers, Mom and Dad often had a point. Some of it was really was God-awful. ”Free Bird” was followed by “Le Freak”. Yep. They had a point.
One has to wonder how long this has been playing out. Did the Ragtime generation tell their kids that Artie Shaw was “noise”?
They may have typhus or cholera, but you can bet they aren’t fatties (only one of them, it seems, in the whole country!) and likely have great legs under those uniforms. No wonder Kim loves summer in Pyongyang.
I was out this evening, washing the old girl, when a couple drove by in a black 2012 Corvette. The car slowed down, and I see Doctor Combover and Tammi Botox both snap their heads around to see my ’64 LeSabre in the driveway sparkling in the setting sun. It was clear instantly what they were both thinking, it was written all over their faces. ”Boy! I wish I had one of THOSE!”
It is understandable, because the LeSabre has a ton of features theirs doesn’t. Lap belts. Drum brakes, front and back. A trunk you could rent out to a college fraternity. Bench seats, front AND back. No pesky side mirror on the passenger side door. Or headrests to get in the way. A dimmer switch on the floor. A 4-barrel Rochester carburetor. Spark plugs. Voltage regulator. 2″ white sidewalls. A locking gas cap. Gigantic bake-lite steering wheel. A Delco AM Sonomatic radio. And sex appeal. Lots and lots of sex appeal.
See, there are hundreds and hundreds of 2012 Corvettes registered in Vermont, quite a number in this immediate area. Jaguars, too. Mercedes Benz? Dime a dozen. But, to my knowledge and that of a number of people in the know, mine is the ONLY 1964 Buick LeSabre on the road in the entire State of Vermont!
Don’t despair, I am sure your Corvette is nice enough, and I do hope you enjoy it. But it isn’t a ’64 LeSabre. It just isn’t. But please don’t be envious. Be happy with what you have. Even if you never know the joy of setting ignition timing or installing a water pump.
Okay, so I’m gullible. Not to the point of looking up “gullible” in the dictionary to see if my picture is there, but enough that when I was a wee lass, my dad convinced me on one April 1st that the telephone company was going to clean out the lines. Yes, I held the phone over the garbage can at 4:00 so the dust wouldn’t go all over the place. He had me convinced that it would help because our lines were staticky. Duh.
The one I fell for today was at work. There is a services group that runs the gift shop, the vending machines, and the gym. They usually send out notices for gift shop sales, group buys of Honey Baked Ham at Easter, turkey at Thanksgiving, and nuts at Christmas, so it’s not uncommon to get an email from them every week or two. Today they sent out a notice for a new dating service called “Every Couple Has Its Moment”, with full geek explanation of coupling forces and moments of inertia for non-nerds, set up like eHarmony but with questions like:
Do you consider “repairing it” a victory and “replacing it” a failure?” (Yes.)
Did you name your pet after a scientist? (I know co-workers who have. Calling a cat Schrodinger is funny, I don’t care who you are.)
Does all your stationery have grid lines? (Yes.)
Have you ever assumed a “horse” is a “sphere” to make the math easier? (Seriously, in one college class, I did assume a spherical chicken.)
Yeah, I fell for it. Apparently someone at work did not find it as clever as I did, because there was soon a followup email apologizing for the joke. I then clicked the link for the dating service, which said, “April Fool’s!”
So what’s the best April Fool’s joke you’ve fallen for or pulled on someone?
THE PENTAGON — A visibly tired and still intoxicated Chuck Hagel pleaded with his Deputy Secretary of Defense this morning to cover for him at The Pentagon’s morning formation, according to multiple eyewitnesses.
“Oh f*ck me, what am I doing with my life?,” asked Hagel, still rubbing his bloodshot eyes and attempting to recall what happened last night. “Last thing I remember I was making out with that stripper, and then some asshole gave me another shot.”
Best St Patty’s Day tribute ever. (Sorry XBRAD!) H/T Masta G (Sorry, linking didn’t work. Here you go:)
I know this is not really a place for sports posts, but there is sad news from Baltimore. Legendary Orioles manager Earl Weaver has died at 82. For those of us who grew up in the late 60s and 70s watching and playing baseball (on the East Coast anyway), Earl Weaver was synonymous with “manager”.
Even as a Red Sox fan, I had to admire Earl and his chess-match style of managing. He seemed to care more about winning and losing than his team did. And he didn’t coddle his players. Baltimore would come north from Spring Training at times with only eight pitchers, because of the early season days off. He expected pitchers to be in shape to throw nine innings every time out. And they did. Jim Palmer, Mike Cuellar, Mike Flanagan, Dennis Martinez, and a bunch of others had their greatest success in Baltimore on Weaver teams. His position roster was pretty good, too. Brooks Robinson, Eddie Murray, Al Bumbry, Cal Ripken. Not too shabby a line-up. No wonder his management philosophy was “pitching, defense, and the three-run homer”.
A good-field, no-hit infielder who never played higher than mid-minor leagues, the 5 foot 7 inch Weaver bled baseball. Fiery and demanding, he naturally had a love-hate relationship with his players. He once told the Sun that he was removing Jim Palmer from the rotation, after he’d “given him more chances than my ex-wife”.
Here is Weaver’s epic argument with umpire Bill Haller, who had been wearing a microphone for a documentary about umpiring. (Warning: As you might expect, NOT SAFE FOR WORK OR KIDS)
Earl Weaver led the Baltimore Orioles to the 1970 World Series Championship, defeating Sparky Anderson’s Cincinnati Reds. He was right about his argument with Haller. He was elected to the Hall of Fame in 1996.
We shall not see the likes of him in a Major League dugout again.
Gotta Love Vermont sometimes. Yes, we are the People’s Democratic Soviet Socialist Republic of Vermont from time to time. Okay, most of the time. But not all the time.
A shooting range in Morrisville, Vt. is no longer letting Burlington Police officers train there.
The Lamoille Valley Fish and Game Club voted on the issue, saying it can no longer support a city that is threatening Constitutional freedoms.
More action such as this is exactly what needs to happen. If I were in LVFG at this juncture I would take copious notes regarding ANY interaction with Lamoille County or Morrisville or Burlington officials, especially law enforcement. If anything at all is not entirely proper and legal, I would begin building a case for harassment to go to the State’s Attorney. Because I don’t trust Law Enforcement that represents a city that legislates to infringe on my Constitutional liberties any more than I trust the city officials that do so.
This pathetic rejoinder from the Deputy Police Chief:
“It is unfortunate that this important and much-needed community dialogue regarding gun control currently under way in the city of Burlington and across the nation has resulted in this action,” writes Deputy Chief Andy Higbee.
Much-needed dialogue? Is that the part where the City Council infringes upon the rights of legal gun owners in some idiotic gesture of sympathy because of the acts of an evil man? THAT dialogue? You reap what you sow, buddy. It is very fortunate that the arbitrary, capricious, misguided, unconstitutional action of the Burlington City Council resulted in Burlington PD getting the heave-ho. Your City Council is comprised of jackasses, Deputy. That you call the Obama gun-grab “needed dialogue” makes you a bit of one, too.
I have seen how Burlington cops shoot. You better forward your mail to Ethan Allan range. And if I didn’t live a hundred miles away, and belong to three other ranges already, I would join LVFG in an instant.
So there it is. The Anti-Monopoly board game. I can’t say as I am surprised, but I just can’t see kids running out to play a board game that shows all of the exciting aspects of cooperative management and the joy of overpaying to purchase Fair Trade coffee from a three hundred million dollar company that uses a Guatemalan farmer for a logo.
I suppose squeezing Marvin Gardens out of your brother because he landed on Board Walk while the paint on your hotel was still fresh and he couldn’t afford the rent is now strictly verboten. Evil, evil Parker Brothers. The 1% is reviled, even if the money is pink and blue and yellow and lime-green.
There should be a special level of hell for parents who give their kids Mummenschanz puppets when they ask for a cap gun, or who proudly display the “Participant Trophy” when the kid finishes next to last in the sack race at the school picnic. (Front and center on the shelf where the “You’re really something!” certificate lives because Junior didn’t manage to actually WIN anything but needed an award to preserve the all-important self-esteem.) Or who buy their kids this game.
One has to wonder, in this Co-opoly game, if every card is a “Community Chest”, and when the bank runs out of money, there is a provision to go and print a bunch more. Which makes the money in the game less valuable to all the players. The little board pieces? A Sherpa hat, a little Subaru Outback, perhaps. A Birkenstock sandal. You get the idea.
“Where everyone wins, or everyone loses.” I doubt the board game makes mention that, in reality, when you are forced to be lumped in with “everyone”, there is no winning, only losing. Or that the enforcement of collective responsibility (and collective guilt) is entirely antithetical to individual freedom. But hey, grab your Fair Trade coffee and an organic bran muffin, pull up a wicker chair, turn the thermostat up to 58 and have fun. And remember, we are all winners for trying. Except in the real world.
USS Inaugural, AM-242, was a 535-ton Admirable-class minesweeper commissioned in December of 1944. One of 120 ships completed in that class, she saw action off Okinawa, and after the war was decommissioned in 1946. From mothballs she was towed to St Louis, to serve as a museum ship in 1968. She supposedly broke her moorings during the flood of 1993, and sank a couple days later. Supposedly. She is in the news again, as the drought-lowered Mississippi River has dropped enough to reveal her rusting hulk lying to port, a few meters from shore.
But oh, what a story behind this old ‘sweeper. As Riverfront Times News tells us. Fraud, influence peddling, conflict of interest, theft, conspiracy theories, a wandering Bofors 40mm, hard feelings, shady shenanigans, you name it. Long article, but definitely worth the read! A site called SubLunar Photography has some nice shots of Inaugural in service, and as a derelict before the 3″/50 was removed.
Take fifteen minutes and put down the fruitcake and nog, and have a read.
There are twelve days and nights of Christmas. So, I present to you visions of some very nice sugar plums to dance in your head. There are even workshops, apparently, to help these lovelies learn to North Pole-dance.
Those stockings appear to have been hung with considerable care.
Lovely ornaments. And look! Mistletoe.
Baby’s first Christmas? She seems nervous. Oh, and save that wrapping. It’s expensive!
Sensible fur linings. It’s cold at the North Pole. Yes, that’s Jessica on the right.
Getting those down the chimney is part of the magic of Christmas morning.
Oh, those reindeer games. And didn’t you used to get a lump of coal when you were naughty? Or is she the gift for being nice?
Merry Christmas, everybody! May you get just what you want this year! HO! HO! HO! There, I said it!
Dinesh D’Sousa boils down the problem with Obama, Obamacare, the “Occupy Movement”, wealth redistribution, socialism, communism, class warfare, and higher taxes on the makers to pay for the takers.
He also mentions that the Paul of “pay Paul” fame becomes a perpetual supporter of whoever promises him the most. Nothing to do with “Southern Strategy” or Lee Atwater, or War on Women. That immutable fact is the most dangerous aspect of all of the election fallout.
Reggie, a 19-year-old commissary employee, abandoned his dreams of playing college basketball to move across the country with his new wife, a Private First Class. Reggie’s inability to ever remember to log out of his Gmail account puts his marriage at risk.
Kyle, a 22-year-old commissary employee, juggles the demands of marriage and trying to make it big with his shitty garage band. In the pilot episode, Kyle forgets to clear his Internet history, putting his marriage at risk.
Tom, a 21-year-old commissary employee, is married to a female Infantryperson. Bored at home, he spends all her money on muscle cars and Tapout T-shirts. Whenever his wife is sent downrange, Tom puts his marriage at risk by going to bars and sleeping with wives of deployed soldiers.
And finally Jared, a 32-year-old commissary employee and stay-at-home dad, feels unappreciated as he raises his preschool-age twins during the day and works stocking shelves at night. Jared’s marriage is put to the test when his wife wakes up and catches him on the other side of the bed having sex with another woman.
Sounds like a hell of a fall line-up for my favorite channel, Lifetime.
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The opinions expressed are solely those of the authors and do not represent those of any other person or entity.
Craig Swain
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