Chapter three, in which Joel plays good neighbor, regrets it...

Yeah, I know. I'm a dick. But I didn't become a hermit because of my people skills...

Introducing a new neighbor, whom we'll call SurvivalDave. He's kind of a wannabe, but they can be cute when their hearts are in the right place and his seems to be. I dunno - maybe when he's in the city he's the second coming of Charles Manson. But what I see is a perfectly nice guy who doesn't deserve this crap.

Long story. Between the Property and S&L's Place, there's another settled parcel. Sort of settled. It's a nicely skirted trailer, a couple of utility sheds, solar panel rack, well and cistern. It was put in long before I arrived here, maybe ten years ago, and for all that time it has sat there untenanted, just sort of slowly falling back apart. It's not that rare. For years I never met the owners. One time, a couple of years ago, I saw activity there, went up to see what was up, and by the time I'd climbed the ridge the boys had this total stranger cornered against the wall of the trailer...

That was my introduction to SurvivalDave, though it was nearly two years before I saw him again. The property in question was a family affair, and a very complicated one even by the standards of many, er, dysfunctional families of my acquaintance. Suffice that the owner of record decided to sell it recently, more-or-less out from under his son-in-law who had been the driving force behind it. That would be SD. But property agreements out here can be...informal. S&L wanted the parcel as a buffer against possible unacceptable neighbors moving in too close to their place. They knew SD, and didn't really care about that little patch of buildings on the ridge, so they subdivided it and agreed to sell it to SurvivalDave. So he's become a more familiar visitor lately, and when I spotted him coming in yesterday I didn't think much about it.

Went up this morning to say hey. He was sitting on his porch, and before I was even out of the Jeep he started pouring out a sad story. He'd been on a business trip out of state for a week. When he got back he was served with protection papers right in the frickin' airport. He's been having problems with his soon-to-be ex-wife, and she apparently decided that while he was gone she ought to see about screwing up his life good, instead of simply divorcing him like a civilized person. He had to have a cop come with him just to collect some of his clothes. All his guns, gone - what little the ex hadn't disappeared he had to turn in to the cops. He didn't have anywhere else to go, so came up here to try and wrap his mind around it and make plans. Good thing he had it available, and that it isn't legally in his name yet. I gather he plans to leave it that way for a while. Can't blame him.

Nice. The "protection order" thing is the one trick my ex hasn't pulled on me, but for a while I waited for it, just because she could and conceivably would. Just to be mean. It seems to require no evidence that a guy is an actual danger to anyone. Just go to a judge and bang! Ruin a guy's life. You're done.

Sweet.

I really hate society sometimes. In a passionate and childishly nihilistic way. I really do.

Addition to the "20 Questions" Response...

S, a regular reader and commenter here, had some comments to add to last week's "20 Questions" post, but for some reason his comments kept getting knocked off the blog. I still don't know what that was about, but when he sent the comment to me via other means I found it much worth saying. So here it is.

The answer to all twenty questions is the same:

You and I are different. I will not use violence to achieve my personal goals. I make my way in the world using peaceful, voluntary, mutually beneficial trade. I use violence only when necessary to defend my life and property from violence initiated by others. Even then, my response will be appropriate to the threat and circumstances.

You and your ilk use violence to get what you want. Whether it is market outcomes that displease you or tools you fear and loathe violence is your first and only tool. It's quite pathetic really, how limited your imaginations have become. You can't even imagine solutions to most problems that don't involve violence. I typically have to choose from a myriad of options when negotiating a solution to a problem that troubles me; all you can ever do is demand new laws.

You're also a coward, and unwilling to do the dirty work required by your reliance on violence. So you rely on others to pass "laws," hire men armed with the very same guns that so terrify you, give them costumes and costume jewelry, steal the money to pay for these parasites from their victims, and then set them upon me.

There's your answer. There is no frontier here, only a bleeding edge. Because you will try to have me killed if you can't make me agree with you, while I will go my peaceful way and do my best to ignore and shun you. I have trades to make and a life to live. There's really no point to further discussion with you, since the outcome has already been decided. By you.

Couldn't say it as well myself. In fact, I didn't.

This kind of tone-deafness is difficult to believe.

WARNING: The contents of this video are gross and offensive. Really. No Joke.

So it seems there's this NGO called 10:10, and it got a lot of government money to convince people to "reduce their carbon footprint" because otherwise we'll all die or something. Purveyors of fuzzy bunnies and warm puppies that they are, their resort to brutal, bloody misanthropy right off the bat is ... actually rather typical of the breed, alas. These people would have been right at home during the Thirty Years' War, as long as they weren't the ones doing the actual bleeding.



Iowahawk gets the last word:

...And somehow, throughout this entire process, not one of the hundreds of people involved seemed to have questioned the wisdom of an advertising message advocating the violent, sudden death of people who disagree with it.

Don Draper, call your office.

Oh, and they've apologized. Sort of. Not very much.

H/T to Treacher.

On the Reasons for Living Simply...

Aristippus passed Diogenes as he was washing lentils.

He said, “If you could but learn to flatter the king, you would not have to live on lentils.”

Diogenes said, “And if you could learn to live on lentils, you would not have to flatter the king.”

M will get a kick out of this, because he knows I hate lentils. But I don't turn my nose up at rice and beans, and I bake a mean loaf of bread.

Thanks to TJIC for the reminder of a story I haven't heard in many years.

Okay, here's the story...

The Grey Lady has been a friend of the blog since...well, pretty much as long as there's been a blog. And a generous one! When the Official Blog Camera died, she sent a new one - just in time for LB's puppy pix, which is pretty much the only purpose I put it to for a while. Last winter she and her family sent me a care package with all sorts of winter goodies, including some cool hunting gloves/mittens I'll probably use the rest of my life. Count on Canadians to know how to make warm gloves.

Anyway, a generous and valued friend. One of the few who has my direct email addy. When I made the "hiatus" announcement yesterday morning, I went off to do my chores and came back to an email from GL containing a detailed and intricate plan for getting my connection back on its financial knees, and she wasn't taking no for an answer - not that I said no. But the account isn't in my name, of course, and since I not only have no bank account but also don't even have regular access to town, just sending me money wasn't really gonna be much of a help. I don't actually use much money. I put her in touch with Landlady, having first gotten L's permission, and they worked it out between them. Landlady likes the blog too, has been supporting it right along, and pulled the plug only reluctantly. But she's got her own problems right now and could just no longer pay for it. Between them they found their way around the legal issues - you can't just send money from one country to another, you know, because we must sacrifice a little convenience for a lot of security - but they're both a lot more capable in that regard than I am. And by mid-afternoon, GL sent me an email saying the deed was done and TUAK was back in business through the winter, by which time I'll have made other arrangements.

So that's the story of TUAK's near-death and sudden recovery, and my most heartfelt thanks to all involved!

Wow! Thank You!

A flurry of e-mails later, TUAK is back in business through the entire winter! Which also means I get to continue enjoying the wonders of e-mail and net access. No details right now, I'll tell you more after we get our stories straight I get certain permissions.

TUAK will likely be going on hiatus, at best.

Folks, as you may know or have guessed, I've been on a satellite link that I only partially pay for. Landlady has been subsidizing it for as long as it's been up, and of course when Claire was here she paid (at least) her share. But Claire's gone, it does Landlady no earthly good, she can no longer pick up the expense, and I can't pay the whole thing. As of Monday I'm likely to lose my connection, and that'll be that for a while. There won't be another connection until sometime after winter, probably quite a while after.

This isn't a bleg. To ask people to make sustained contributions for a little 200-hit-a-day hobby blog would be absurd, and I'm not doing it. I'll continue to explore options in the time I have, but the best that can be realistically hoped for is a part-time connection through neighbors which would be an enormous hassle for everybody and certainly cut down on posts.

Sorry about that, I'm working on it, but that's the way it is.

Salsola Pestifera

I hate frickin' tumbleweeds.

It's mid-autumn, which means cool nights and warm days. The monsoon - a fairly wet one this year - has pretty much gone away. Which means the tumbleweeds are mature, and oh, we got us a bumper crop.

Tumbleweeds only seem to grow in any profusion where the ground's been broken up, like if you dug a septic pit or tore up ground for a building foundation - All things that have happened a lot, here and there on the property. Each seed has a wicked little thorn, and the seeds start falling off before the plants die and break off. Which means walking anywhere but virgin ground or really packed-down trails is like walking on a carpet of caltrops. No big deal on shod feet unless your soles are really worn out, but it's hell on the dogs. No day goes by that I don't have a couple of three-legged dogs hobbling about and looking miserable. Poor Ghost must have picked up dozens of them and his pads are getting really tender. Crossing hard-pack, he looks like an old guy mincing across hot beach sand.

It happens every year, but as with so many things it's worse some years than others. This has been the summer of the housefly, weevil, and tumbleweed. Next year I'm looking forward to unicorns, Skittle showers, and chocolate toads.

Munchausen's Syndrome Trips Up Top Reporter Joel...

Back in June I uncritically repeated a claim that was not entirely dismissive of a cop's hero story. I should know better than to do that.

It appears the story was unraveling even before I saw it, but the local sheriff's department and evil brown menace illegal immigration alarmists had every reason to want the story believed. Since I have no trouble believing that drug mules would shoot back at cops intent on destroying their lives, I didn't question it at the time and in fact haven't given it much thought since then. Well, bad on me.

PHOENIX — Two nationally known forensic pathologists are questioning a sheriff deputy's version of how he was shot in the remote desert south of Phoenix, adding to theories that the incident was a hoax timed to enflame the debate over illegal immigration.

Pinal County Deputy Louie Puroll told investigators he was following a group of smugglers carrying bales of marijuana on April 30 when he was ambushed by men firing AK-47 rifles. In what Puroll described as a running gunbattle, he said he was grazed by a bullet in the back.

The pathologists, Dr. Michael Baden of New York and Dr. Werner Spitz of suburban Detroit, examined photos of the wound released by the sheriff's office. They told The Associated Press on Friday they concluded the bullet was fired from inches away, not at least 25 yards as Puroll said.

Thanks to Balko for the tip.

If the WH clan were the cast of Enemy At The Gates...

"Look, the voters' only choice is between GOP policies and ours. They're screwed either way. But there's another way. The way of courage. The way of love of the Homeland. Without getting our fingerprints on it, we must scare the shit out of them with something more frightening than us or the GOP. Then we must give them hope. We must rescue the friendly newspapers again. We must tell magnificent stories, stories that extol sacrifice, bravery. We must make them believe in the victory over this evil. We must give them hope, pride, a desire to fight. Yes... we need to make examples. But examples to *follow*. What we need are heroes."

This is some funny stuff, right here. Complete with slideshow!

Paulo Update

Since somebody asked a few days ago, I'll tell you that Paulo is recovering nicely from his impromptu surgery. He's eating well, and surprisingly quickly coming back to his sweet self. Today while I was cleaning his paddock he was calm and friendly as can be, demanding affection and actually considering obedience when I demanded he get the hell out of the way.

H is starting to lightly work him in the round pen, and he's even taking that cheerfully. Hopefully she'll get her awesome saddle horse back from this disaster.

This will, um, really disappoint you...

...But the song in my head comes from a bootleg copy of a Leslie Fish riff on a Rudyard Kipling poem. Which means no crappy video of a crappier '70's song today. Sorry.

I've never figured out how to post .mp3 files here (and PLEASE don't put instructions in the comments. Oh, please. I looked up instructions, found them, and failed to understand anything that came after "It's real easy. Here's what you do..." Not a computer guy. Really.)

But I can still cut&paste a poem!

The Quest
Rudyard Kipling

The knight came home from the quest,
Muddied and sore he came.
Battered of shield and crest,
Bannerless, bruised and lame.
Fighting we take no shame,
Better is man for a fall.
Merrily borne, the bugle-horn
Answered the warder’s call:—
“Here is my lance to mend (Haro!),
Here is my horse to be shot!
Ay, they were strong, and the fight was long;
But I paid as good as I got!”

“Oh, dark and deep their van,
That mocked my battle-cry.
I could not miss my man,
But I could not carry by:
Utterly whelmed was I,
Flung under, horse and all.”
Merrily borne, the bugle-horn
Answered the warder’s call!

“My wounds are noised abroad;
But theirs my foemen cloaked.
Ye see my broken sword—
But never the blades she broke;
Paying them stroke for stroke,
Good handsel over all.”
Merrily borne, the bugle-horn
Answered the warder’s call!

“My shame ye count and know.
Ye say the quest is vain.
Ye have not seen my foe.
Ye have not told his slain.
Surely he fights again, again;
But when ye prove his line,
There shall come to your aid my broken blade
In the last, lost fight of mine!
And here is my lance to mend (Haro!),
And here is my horse to be shot!
Ay, they were strong, and the fight was long;
But I paid as good as I got!”

And if anybody's got any idea as to why I keep waking up with these offbeat damned songs in my head, I'd appreciate your giving me a clue.

Ooooh...

So today J&H poured concrete. Eight yards worth. Three pads: One for the front door entry, one (the one that started the whole thing) for a new storage room attached to the house (which will also incidentally insulate the pipes inside that outside wall, which is why you don't put your main plumbing in an outside wall if you can help it) and one at the main hitching post.

Had a fair turn-out. J&H, of course. D&L. Me. And another neighborhood couple I don't talk about much, who - since I'm sure they wouldn't give a damn about my privacy - I'll just call Darrell and Marta*. Three hours of hilarity ensued, leaving us all feeling rather battered. But then there were hamburgers and bratwurst, which was very, very nice. Except that my normal diet is very bland and damn near vegetarian, and bratwurst invariably gets me running to the john. Which, since afterward I needed to shovel the shit of J&H's horses, could have been better timed...

*He's a cop. She does admin work in whatever government office will hire her. No neighborhood is perfect. I keep my distance, and forbid friends to discuss The Secret Lair in their presence.

"It's who I am, Baby!"

Jon Stewart has something to say about the Repub's Pledge to America...

Meet the new boss/something something old boss...

"So yeah. Tyranny."

You can’t even make the weak argument that the executive at least has to claim this power in the course of protecting national security. Because it doesn’t matter. Obama is arguing that he has the right to keep everything about these executions secret — including the reasons they were ordered - merely by uttering the magic phrase “state secrets.” In other words, that this power would only arise under a national security context is deemed irrelevant by the fact that not only is Obama claiming the president’s word on what qualifies as “national security” is final, he’s claiming the power in such a way that there’s no audience to whom he would ever need to make that connection.

Whoo! And also Hoo!

If you're not familiar with the Hardyville columns, you're in for a treat. It was a long-standing feature of Claire's columns that she decided to bring to an end a couple of years ago, and that I feared would fade away forever. But now she and Backwoods Home have revived some version of them in book form, and I'm a'gonna get me one as soon as I figure out a mailing address to send it to. Especially if you haven't read the columns, I can strongly recommend this book even though I haven't actually seen it yet.

Heard at a Tractor...

M: (After replacing the fuel filter) "Think we can start it up now?"

Me: "Can't hurt to try."

Tractor: Crankcrankcrankcrank...crank...crank.

Me: "Stop. Memory kicking in. I suddenly recall that with real diesels, you can't start the engine after opening the fuel system without highly intricate bleeding procedures."

M: (Goes and gets the manual) "Holy crap! Dig this: 'Open and bleed the filter housing, the fuel pump, the injector pump, each fuel injector...' We could build a tractor with less effort than this!"

Me: "Uh...heh. Belated memories are a terrible thing..."

Heard at a concrete wall...

Me: "Augh. Concrete is just spilling out of this hole. I've got to plug it with something."

M: "Here you go." (Cobbles together Rube Goldberg contraption of blocks and boards) "What could go wrong?"

Me: "GYAAH!" (Contraption collapses, and Uncle Joel is inundated with wet concrete)

M: "...Except for that..."

Paulo is no longer the Stallion from Hell...

...or from anywhere else. This is the first time in my personal experience a castration was ever viewed as emergency surgery.

Paulo's excessive hormones have been driving him insane for some time now. Friday he went over the line - or at least over the fence. He managed, more or less from a standing start since he had virtually no running room, to clear a five-foot iron fence without killing himself for the purpose of murdering the horse in the next paddock. In J's serious opinion, it was dope and cut him or just shoot him. Once upon a time he was H's favorite saddle horse, because his trail endurance is very impressive for an Arab, and she likes spirited horses. But she's progressively been less and less able to ride him because of his unpredictability - it's been quite a while since she could ride him at all in the company of other horses. There's a line between spirited and crazy, and Paulo had pretty clearly crossed that line. Selling him in that condition was out of the question, so they decided the best of the list of bad alternatives was to geld him.

It is to be hoped that, in a few weeks when the testosterone works its way out of his system, Paulo will go back to his sweet self. He really can be a very pleasant horse. I'm sorry it happened, but can't really say I disagree with the decision.

Holy Crap! Did he EAT $787,637 a year?

The spectacle of corrupt government officials* arresting other corrupt government officials for being too publicly corrupt is...amusing, if meaningless.

Hey, here's a joke! What do you call 1000 tax-eaters at the bottom of the ocean?

*Yeah, I know. Report me to the Department of Redundancy Department.