Firstly, Look at California….
California TRIED To DELETE Linux — Now The BACKLASH Is DESTROYING Them!
Today, I offer one of my answers to a Quora question of whether or not the United States can complete against China:
The United States has the ability, the skills, the manpower, the brainpower, and the technical proficiency to compete with any other nation on this planet.
What hampers it, especially now, during this time of great Geo-political structuring, are a number of things that are systemic to the nature of the United States.
I just want to touch on some of these contrary forces briefly.
[1] The United States is unabashedly capitalist.
That means that it is unlikely that any private company would invest in the time, the resources, the manpower, the training, the various support networks, the research and the development if they cannot reach a profit in an expedited fashion. For products and projects that take a long time to mature, the desire for American-based private industry to get involved is simply not present.
[2] The United States government is run by bankers, hedge fund managers, and lawyers.
If the private enterprises within the United States are unable to invest in critical industries, then it falls on the Untied States government to do so. That means that talented and experienced manufacturers, engineers, scientists and businessmen need to be in senior administrative positions inside the Untied States government. If they are not present, then any government run enterprise is destined to fail. To put it simply, you do not ask a banker to do brain surgery.
[3] The American society does not respect the recycling and manufacturing industries.
After decades of denigrating the Manufacturing economy in favor of a service economy, and the changes in social mores that reward the accumulation of wealth though white-collar enterprise, the manpower for manufacturing isn’t available. And even if a handful of such individuals can be located, many will not be motivated sufficiently for sustainable efficient labor.
So…
Yes, the United States is fully capable of doing anything. As well as the American citizenry in participating in that exercise. The problem, as I see it, lies in the American culture, and the structures inherent in a capitalist society.
It is my belief that with some changes to the American government, and the American society, it can once again regain it’s role as a competitive leader in all fields of endeavor.
Today…
IRANIAN PILOTS TRAINING IN RUSSIA ON ADVANCED FIGHTER JETS
Coquilles St. Jacques
Ingredients
- 1 pound mushrooms, sliced
- 1 lemon, juiced
- 5 tablespoons butter
- 1 pound fresh scallops, cut
- 1 cup dry white wine
- 1/4 teaspoon ground thyme
- 1 bay leaf
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1/8 teaspoon pepper
- 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
- 1 cup light cream
- 3/4 cup soft bread crumbs, buttered
Instructions
- Heat oven to 400 degrees F.
- Sprinkle mushrooms with lemon juice. Sauté in 2 tablespoons butter.
- Place next 6 ingredients in saucepan. Simmer, covered, for 10 minutes.
- Drain and reserve 1 cup of broth.
- Make white sauce with remaining butter, flour, broth and cream.
- Add scallops and mushrooms.
- Spoon into individual buttered shell dishes or casseroles.
- Top with bread crumbs.
- Bake for 10 minutes until browned.
Alice Cooper – I’m Eighteen REACTION
The Janitor and The Machine
Written in response to: “A character clings to a ritual until it transforms into something unexpected or dangerous.“
Thomas Wetzel
**********
The second time I used the machine I was transported to some other place. I think it was maybe another time as well. I don’t really know. I was only there for about a minute or two, I think, before I was back in the pod as the lights slowly faded.
I did some research when I got home and I am pretty sure I was somewhere in Cambodia, but I can’t say when. Sometime in the last 100 years is my best guess. The ancient temples looked familiar but I could hear the sound of automobiles somewhere in the distance.
The next day I woke up and my left ring finger was missing.
**********
The third time I used the machine I visited ancient Rome and stood beside Romulus and Remus and heard them speak. I don’t speak Latin so I do not know what was said.
When I returned I had an identical twin brother. He couldn’t speak at all, but he clearly understood my words.
“Follow me,” I said, and he followed me down to where my car was parked. We drove back to my place and I turned up some heavy metal on my stereo system and then I went to the bedroom and wrapped up the muzzle of my little .22 caliber pistol with a thick wet towel and then came back and shot him in the chest just once, hoping the neighbors wouldn’t hear. He looked at me in confusion and fear just before I pulled the trigger. Then I rolled him up in an old tarp, cleaned up the blood and waited for nightfall to drag him out to the parking lot downstairs to dump him into the bed of my Ford F-150 before driving out to the lake.
I can’t have two of me walking around here. One who can’t even speak? What would people think? It’s just not tenable. What was I supposed to do?
**********
I intentionally timed my cleaning of Lecture Hall 208 until Professor Hallison was scheduled to teach his class of engineering students again that afternoon. I rolled my mop and bucket in towards the end.
“Recently, through the successful research and development of new technologies that we have labored over for the last two decades, I am very proud to announce that we have achieved a breakthrough achievement, one which will fundamentally alter the world as we currently know it.”
And that was all he said. I was hoping to learn much more than that but he offered no further details. He just muttered something about a non-disclosure agreement and a pending announcement.
For just a moment, I thought about beating him to death with the wooden handle of my mop.
**********
The fourth time I used the machine was an experience that is very difficult to explain. I basically just found myself in a white space. No walls, no floor, no ceiling. Just an empty white space. I shouted out but there was no response. I didn’t know what to do so I just started jogging through the endless void.
When I returned and the lights in the pod died down, I realized that I was now blind in my left eye.
**********
When I got Professor Hallison back to my apartment a week later I kept the duct tape over his mouth at first and showed him the boxcutter. I explained the consequences of any verbal outbursts that might alert my neighbors and then, when I was confident that he understood everything, I cut a small slit in the tape, trying not to cut his lips. There was a little blood but not much, and I had a baseball bat and another strip of duct tape hanging from the arm of the chair that I had tied him up in, just in case I had miscalculated his sense of self-preservation. I had the boxcutter too. He surely wouldn’t scream for very long.
“What is it? The machine?,” I asked.
He stared at me for a while.
“So you’re the one who has been using it late at night?”
I wasn’t expecting that.
“What are you saying?”
“What I am saying is that we have a log that digitally records all of the details of the machine’s usage. You were fairly clever in your usage of coveralls and baseball caps and sunglasses and Covid masks. That much fooled the security cameras anyway. But we knew someone was there. We reported it to campus security yesterday. There will be a guard outside of the door from now on.”
I thought about this for a moment and then showed him the boxcutter again.
“You didn’t answer my question. What is it?”
He looked at the boxcutter and took a slow, resigned, breath.
“The truth is…we just don’t know yet. That’s why there has been no public announcement. We know we have something, we just don’t really know exactly what it is yet.”
“When will you know?”
“It is impossible to say right now.”
“Well, how can we undo the things that it has done?” I pointed at my milky white left eye, intentionally using the middle finger next to where my ring finger on my left hand once was. It was not meant to be a subtle gesture.
“It is impossible to say right now.”
I used the boxcutter and I cleaned up the blood and then I got the tarp and waited until sundown before dragging him out to the bed of my truck. I had a headache and a nosebleed. I had not eaten anything or slept a wink in the last three days.
**********
The fifth time I used the machine was the last. I had to kill the security guard just outside of the doors to the lab first. I really didn’t want to do that.
I ended up here in this strange unknown place and I have not returned. Swampland. I have no idea where I am or even when I am but I think I saw a small dinosaur running through the woods this morning.
My left leg was gone below the knee when I arrived here, so I have mostly just been sitting with my back pressed up against this tree. I really don’t know what else to do. I cannot walk.
They say Curiosity Killed The Cat.
I am the cat.
THE END
Pictures
What’s something a doctor did to you that you won’t ever forget?
He pulled me into a linen closet in a public hospital. He had something to say to me.
You see, my ex-husband was dying of cancer and was in great pain. He’d insisted on going home, but he was in a state of near-collapse and in agony. The neighbors alerted me, and I had taken him to the hospital the previous day. The next morning, he was dead.
That doctor told me something he could have kept secret, but I respect him for his honesty. He’d given my ex morphine, but he was still in great pain and begged for more. The doctor admitted that he may have given my ex too much morphine, hastening his death. He told me I was free to ask for an investigation into the matter.
I never did. My ex was suffering greatly. There was no chance of survival and no chance of enjoyment in his last days. The doctor relieved his pain and spared him what could have been weeks of agony and indignity.
I think my ex-husband would have been grateful for a painless passing – and the doctor hadn’t deliberately euthanized him. Yes, he took a risk. He did it because he wanted to help. I’m OK with that. It was brave of him to tell me. If it really was the morphine, I could have wrecked his career. He didn’t deserve that.
If I’m not a Catholic but want to attend a Mass, is it rude to sit the entire time and observe, or should I join in with the kneeling, standing, genuflecting, etc?
It depends on why you are there.
I am an atheist, my wife is a Protestant that goes to church every Sunday. Once in while, she asks me to attend with her, if something special is going on. I have attend for Christmas carols, for example; I can sing loudly and on key; my wife cannot carry a tune in a bucket. But that way she can sing with me beside her, and nobody will really hear her. She wants to sing but doesn’t want to embarrass herself.
Other times, over the 35 years we’ve been married, she wants company to attend the funeral or wake of one of her friends. So I can hold her when she cries, so she won’t be alone.
Regardless, she has let her congregation believe I am a Christian, to avoid ridicule, so I pretend I am Christian, when I go to her Church. I know what to say, I will lie to their face.
When we got married, my wife wanted to be married in a little stone church in our city, that was well over a century old. As a child, she had dreamed of being married in that church.
We had to be interviewed by the pastor in order to book the church, and I walked into that interview fully prepared to lie my ass off and pretend to be a Christian. Churches don’t scare me, they are just another building as far as I am concerned. But this is what she wanted.
Turns out, we were over 30, and the pastor informed us the interview was primarily for “inexperienced” teens, and he expected we were not inexperienced. We confirmed that. The interview lasted about 15 minutes, he was just curious how we met. No litmus test was required.
And we got married in that church. Because if it is in my power, my wife gets what she wants.
Why are you there? Personally I think you should join in. It would be rude to offend the believers, their church is their safe space with their fellow believers. I lie for two reasons; to not pointlessly draw negative attention to my wife, and to not pointlessly offend the other parishioners.
I am an atheist, not an asshole.
The Yacht
Written in response to: “Start or end your story with a character looking out at a river, ocean, or the sea.“
Ian Walker
“Well, I haven’t really been paying attention,” Jamie replied, “But it is curious that it hasn’t moved.”
“Maybe we should call…. Wait who would we call for this? The police?” Thomas replied.
“I don’t know if we really need to get involved, Tom,” Jamie replied.
“What if the person or people on the boat died and now it’s just a floating carcass?” Tom replied.
“Well, it’s someone else’s problem. That is, unless the smell starts to reach our yard,” Jamie replied.
Just as Jamie finished her sentence, clouds passed in front of the moon and shaded the entire cliffside. For a moment, Thomas and Jamie stood there, still listening to the sound of the water. But now, with the clouds covering the moon, the boat disappeared into the blackness of the sea. It was as if the horizon faded into ocean, forming a cascading darkness changing from greys to blacks as the backlit sky faded into the ocean.
Then, the lights on the boat turned on, including a floodlight on the top – pointing into the sky.
“Woah, check that out,” Thomas said to Jamie, “It’s like they heard us or something.”
Then, the light changed from pointing towards the sky, to directly at the two on the shore.
“Ah, the light is so bright! It seems like they did hear us. How is that possible? We’re so far from shore, and the waves should shadow our voices,” Jamie replied.
“What’s that? Do you see the movement off the side of the boat? It looks like they are getting into a lifeboat or something. There’s at least two people but it’s hard to tell from this far,” Thomas replied.
“Tom, Tom! They’re coming this way. We should call the police, just in case they need help,” Jamie replied, a hint of fear in her voice.
“You’re right – let’s call them,” He replied.
“I don’t have any service. Damn living all the way out here, even if we get to look at the water,” Jamie replied.
“I don’t have any either,” Thomas replied, some hesitation in his voice.
Who are these people? What do they want with us? Was it an emergency?
“The boat is moving quickly. I mean, it’s flying towards us,” Thomas said after a moment of pause.
“What should we do?” Jamie asked.
“Let’s see if they continue to the shore. If they do, we can check if the emergency landline the prior owners installed in the basement still works,” Tom replied.
The boat continued to coast over the waves, minimally illuminated by the searchlight from the boat.
“They’re heading straight for the cliffside. They’re going to crash!” Jamie said in disbelief.
Thomas didn’t reply, he wanted to see what was going on. There’s no way they’re actually going to crash into the cliffs, so what are they doing?
The sound of the raft’s engine was now audible to Thomas and Jamie as it was within 100 yards of the cliffside. The engine’s sound transformed from a subtle hum to a blaring engine, filling the mostly quiet night with industrial sounds.
“Oh shit, they really are going straight into the cliffside,” Thomas said as he turned and started running toward their modern, glass home.
“Jamie, let’s get to the basement and use the landline to call the police,” he huffed after taking a few strides.
Jamie stood there for a moment in horror, wondering if those people just crashed into the cliffside and are on their way to a watery grave.
The two of them scurried over the grass and dirt of their backyard, narrowly avoiding the flowerbed wall. Tom grabbed the house’s metal doorhandle and ripped it open, slamming it against the side of the wall.
The lights were off inside the house, but both Tom and Jamie new it well. Gliding around the wooden, rectangular dining table, the two made their way to the basement. The uncertainty around what they just witnessed left them on edge, and the tension was palpable as they continued down the hallway towards the basement door.
It seemed like they just disappeared into the cliffs. I didn’t hear a crash, maybe there was cave that leads to dry land. If that boat has been there longer than us, they could know more ways to get on shore.
Finally, the doorhandle. Thomas thought to himself.
“It’s locked? Did you lock it?” Jamie asked as Tom jiggled the doorhandle.
“It didn’t even know it had a lock! We’ve been here what, six months now. How have we never used this room?” Tom said.
“I was in there this morning to grab a few decorations for the yard, there’s no way I locked it,” Jamie said.
The two of them froze, and Tom thought, has someone been in our home? Or did Jamie just forget that she locked it?
“Where are the keys? The previous owner gave us 5, and we never really got around to changing the locks. They said they were moving out of state, so why would we rush? That was a stupid move,” Tom said.
“They’re by the front door, in the bowl on the table in the alcove. You get them, I’ll stay here,” Jamie replied.
“Why am I the scout? Ugh, fine. I’ll get them,” Thomas replied, heart beating out of his chest.
Realizing they might not be alone in the home, Thomas’s steps slowed, and his breaths became short and quick.
Down the hallway before reaching the dining room, the photos on walls truly felt as if they had eyes, following his every move and digging into his back like a knife. Each family portrait looking increasingly sinister as he ran forward.
As he reached the door, he felt around the table for the bowl. Hand sliding around the polished wood, he felt a cold breeze on the back of his neck.
His eyes widened in terror while he thought, why would I feel a breeze if the door was closed? It was locked before I went to the backyard.
Slowly turning, he saw the slightest crack in the door. It hadn’t been closed all the way and the outside air was leaking in.
His hands scrambled across the top of the polished wood surface, smacking into the bowl and almost knocking it to the floor. He grabbed all the sets of keys and took off back towards Jamie.
In moments, he reached the basement door.
“Jamie? Jamie, where are you?” Tom said, head on a swivel.
Then, he noticed a light from a flame where the basement door used to be.
But, the basement was locked. How could Jamie have gotten it open? No, it wasn’t her.
“Jamie!!!!” Thomas shouted. His body tensed and his feet carried him towards the door, a place his mind did not want him to go.
Watching the shadows behind the flickering flame, he heard a muffled cry.
Jamie.
Pausing, Tom now knew that anyone in that basement was an intruder. He collected himself and realized a few more things: they probably had the keys to the house, had been in the house before, and had seemingly captured his wife.
Damn, a gun really would have been helpful here. I can’t just barge in. What do I do?
He turned, planning to grab a knife from the kitchen and charge in. As he turned, a behemoth stood in front of him.
“Professor Thomas Burgess of Santa Barbara?” The figure asked.
“Yes,” Thomas replied, just as he was smacked in the head and went unconscious.
Waking for a brief moment, he noticed that he was being dragged from his legs down the stairs. The unfinished basement was lit by flames down the sides of the walls, but there was a hidden hatch that was underneath a carpet the previous owners left in the home. As he began to black out again, he saw his captures slink down into the hatch.
This has been here the whole time?
_____
Waking, he realized he was tied to a chair and immediately felt the rocking of the room he was in.
Am I on the yacht? Where’s Jamie?
“Where’s Jamie? Where’s my wife?” Thomas yelled, alone in the room.
He heard footsteps above him and a large thud on the other side of the ceiling. The footsteps began to cascade down towards the door in front of the room.
There was a brief pause, and a rattling of some keys. Then, a quick slip of a key into the lock. The doorhandle turned and Tom held his breath.
The giant being he saw earlier walked into the room, face and body completely covered with a trench coat, gloves, a smooth mask, and some technologically enhanced boots. The only thing that stood out was the being’s piercing purple eyes.
A human followed in the same outfit, but around 6 feet tall, dragging his wife by her handcuffs.
“Jamie, thank god you’re alright,” Thomas said to her in relief.
She was upright and, on her feet, but didn’t reply and looked like she was in a daze.
Thomas’s mood returned to its grim state. Probably a concussion, but we’ll see when we get off this boat.
The behemoth hadn’t said a word this whole time and now stood on the opposite side of the room from Thomas, next to the human holding his wife.
Finally, the being spoke, “You sold us the patent to your work, the liquefier machine that turns all matter into energy – allowing the world to rid itself of the problem of trash and human waste.”
“But, ” The being continued, “You didn’t read the fine print. You were part of the patent purchase. You were given six months to get your affairs together, before we came. We were the ones who directed you to this house, our holding cell.”
“Why is Jamie here then? Let her go! Why capture us?” Thomas replied, looking over at his dazed wife.
“You get to take one person with you,” The being replied.
“With me? With me where?” Thomas replied.
“To our underwater city. The yacht was just one of our entrances, off the coast of our holding cell. We purchase all the great patents and take the scientists to live there, creating a utopia. Everything on the surface is leftover. It’s biological matter as we see the rabbits and coyotes living in their own ecosystems, part of the whole but nothing inherently special. The real life, well that’s down here with us.”
What would Taiwanese soldiers realistically do if China attacked?
Just surrender.
This already happened many times during the Chinese Civil War.
Whether it was the Communist or Nationalist armies, when fighting the Japanese they often fought to the last man.
But in a civil war, both sides are Han Chinese. Surrendering carries no ideological burden.
The Communist forces, after capturing Nationalist soldiers, would give them a sum of money and a travel pass, allowing them to return home.
But when the Nationalists captured Communist soldiers, they would usually torture them to death.
This resulted in Nationalist soldiers having a very strong impulse to surrender, while Communist soldiers would rather fight to the end than suffer physical torment.
I cannot understand this foolish battlefield policy of the Nationalists!
Mao Zedong attached great importance to the humane treatment of prisoners and elevated it to the level of formal policy.
By the way, prisoners of war could also voluntarily join the Communist forces, and through this, the Communists gained 3 million seasoned soldiers.
I once read a memoir in which a Nationalist soldier, after being captured, was given three silver dollars as travel expenses. That amount was roughly enough to pay for three sumptuous banquets in Beijing at the time.
He got a mischievous idea: instead of going home, he randomly joined another Nationalist unit, got captured again, and received another three silver dollars…
He repeated this cycle five times and made a tidy little fortune.
However, the Communist forces didn’t really suffer a loss, because captured weapons could not be taken away. A rifle with sufficient ammunition — sometimes even grenades or a machine gun — was worth far more than three silver dollars!
There are two things foreigners may not know:
- When retired Taiwanese soldiers travel to the mainland, they can use their Taiwanese military retirement ID to get free admission at certain tourist sites. I once saw a guy’s video bragging that he saved a 70-yuan ticket (about 10 USD).
- Some Taiwanese soldiers have secretly signed agreements with the mainland. If war breaks out, they would turn their guns around or desert, and the mainland promises they will receive rewards afterward depending on the situation. One person was caught and was going to be sentenced, and he complained that it was because his superior had signed the secret agreement first, and he merely followed.
Sir Whiskerton and the Phonk Phobia
Ah, dear reader, you’ve returned once again to join me, Sir Whiskerton, in another delightfully absurd adventure! Today’s tale is one of sonic skirmishes, maternal panic, and the deep, philosophical divide between what one creature calls music and another calls “obscene vibrations.” It was a conflict that rattled the very foundations of the henhouse and my patience. So, adjust your volume and prepare for the bass-heavy tale of The Phonk Phobia.
The Cracking Point
It began on a perfectly pleasant morning. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and from the barn, a new, ground-shaking track from DJ Fader Fuzz was entering its final, earth-quaking drops. This particular piece, titled “Dirt Nap,” was a masterpiece of Agri-Phonk, featuring a bassline sampled from a slamming barn door and a rhythmic scratch that was, in fact, the sound of Rufus vigorously digging for a bone.
I was appreciating the technical complexity from a safe distance when a screech of pure, unadulterated outrage cut through the mix.
“MY EGGS! MY PRECIOUS, FRAGILE MASTERPIECES!”
Doris the Hen came storming out of the henhouse, her feathers puffed up in apocalyptic fury. Behind her, Harriet and Lillian flapped in a synchronized panic.
“The vibrations!” Doris squawked, pointing a trembling wing at the barn. “That… that noise is jiggling my yolks! It’s an assault on poultry artistry! I demand it cease!”
“Cease! It’s dreadful!” Harriet clucked.
“Dreadful! My shell has a wobble!” Lillian cried, fainting directly into a conveniently placed pile of hay.
I investigated. Sure enough, a gentle, persistent tremor was running through the henhouse, causing the eggs in their nests to quiver with every booming wub-wub.
The Protest and the Pig
Doris, never one to suffer in silence, organized a protest. She and her entourage marched in a tight, furious circle in front of the barn, holding signs painted with berry juice that read: “CRACK DOWN ON NOISE!” and “MAKE MUSIC QUIET AGAIN!”
“We demand a return to light classical music!” Doris declared. “Something by that nice fellow, Mootzart! Not this… this auditory earthquake!”
From his mud pit, Porkchop the Pig watched the proceedings with utter delight. “I don’t see the problem,” he snorted, rolling over to let the vibrations ripple through the mud. “Ooh, that’s the spot. It’s a natural jacuzzi! Best thing since sliced… well, since sliced anything!”
Meanwhile, inside the barn, the music came to an abrupt halt. The Most Feline looked up from their writing pad, annoyed.
“My creative process is being disrupted by avian hysterics,” MC Scratches sniffed.
“Bruh, they’re harshing the vibe,” Lil’ Paws agreed, his energetic tail drooping.
DJ Fader Fuzz simply tilted his head, his large headphones amplifying the sound of the protest. “Analysis: The target audience is experiencing a negative physical reaction to frequencies below 80 Hertz.”
The Quest for Egg-Safe Phonk
A lesser artist might have surrendered. Fader Fuzz saw it as an engineering challenge.
“I shall create ‘Egg-Safe Phonk,’” he announced in his low purr. “All the aesthetic grit, with none of the destructive resonance.”
For the rest of the day, the farm was subjected to a series of bizarre sonic experiments. He tried removing the bass entirely, resulting in a track that sounded like “a angry mosquito in a tin can,” as Porkchop put it. He tried pitching the bass up several octaves, which made it sound like a chipmunk with a terrible attitude. It was Phonk with its teeth pulled, and The Most Feline were appalled.
“This is anemic!” Scratches moaned. “Where is the weight? The gravity?”
“It’s got no soul, man!” Paws cried.
The protest, hearing the feeble new versions, only grew more confident. Doris began lecturing a confused butterfly on the virtues of the harpsichord.
The Hatching and the Harmony
Just as the stalemate seemed permanent, nature intervened. A faint tap-tap-tapping came from the henhouse. One by one, Doris’s precious eggs began to hatch.
But the chicks that emerged were… different. They didn’t cheep. They didn’t scurry to their mother. They simply stood in their shells, their tiny bodies swaying. Then, from the barn, Fader Fuzz, in a moment of frustration, let a single, pure, and deeply resonant BOOM escape his speakers.
The chicks’ heads snapped up. And in perfect, tiny unison, they began to bob their heads. Bop. Bop. Bop.
They were, to Doris’s horror, the coolest chicks on the farm. They only responded to deep bass. A gentle clucking earned no reaction, but a sub-bass rumble would send them into a contented, synchronized head-bobbing trance.
Doris stared, her protest signs falling from her wings. Her babies… her legacy… were Phonk fans.
The Moral of the Story
A compromise was reached. Fader Fuzz agreed to angle his speakers away from the henhouse and to keep the bass at a level that was “vibrational, not vacational.” In return, Doris and the hens grudgingly tolerated the music, especially since it was the only thing that seemed to soothe the chicks at bedtime.
The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: Compromise is key; one group’s noise is another group’s music. The world is full of different frequencies, and harmony isn’t about everyone liking the same song, but about ensuring no one’s nest is rattled apart by the beat.
As for Porkchop, he commissioned Fader Fuzz to create a special “Mud Jacuzzi Mix,” and is now the most relaxed pig in three counties. And the chicks? They’re forming a duo with Lil’ Paws. They’re called The Yolk-rockers.
The End.
Why is the control cabin always at the back of long ships?
I asked that question a long time ago to a captain on a long circumnavigation. He said the crew prefers a pilot cabin (and crew quarters) in the middle of the ship’s length; a century ago that was also a habit.
If an ocean ship sails over the wild waves, the mid-length movements are still tolerable. Sailors get used to the “sea disease” but everything has a limit.
In these ships, the cargo section is divided into two compartments, in front of and behind the superstructure with a wheelhouse on it. That turned out not to be useful for loading and unloading. The engine compartment was also either at the very rear at the great distance from the driving cabin and the crew quarters or in the middle with a very long propeller shaft to the rear because the ship’s propeller was on the back of —, that long axle was a source of malfunctions. So both options are bad.
This created a design with a wheelhouse at the stern…
Or at the bow at the front.
A wheelhouse at the front gives the helmsman a better overview, but in a storm this is inhumane —. When the bow hits a large wave, the crew is sometimes launched half a meter up.
Choucroute Garni
Literally “garnished cabbage,” this classic Alsatian dish features mellow sauerkraut garnished indeed-with a wealth of smoked meats. Serve an Alsatian white wine with this dish, and lightly buttered rye bread or pumpernickel.
Ingredients
- 4 pounds sauerkraut, refrigerated, rinsed well and drained
- 1/2 pound bacon, diced
- 2 large onions, peeled and coarsely chopped
- 3 carrots, pared and sliced
- 1/2 cup parsley, chopped
- 2 bay leaves
- 10 black peppercorns
- 10 juniper berries
- 4 whole clove
- 3 cups white wine (fruity, Riesling or Mosel)
- 4 cups chicken broth
- 1 pound boneless pork loin roast, cubed
- 1/2 pound ham,cubed
- 1 pound smoked pork sausage, sliced
- 1 pound brats, sliced
- 2 green apples (tart), cored and coarsely chopped
Instructions
- In a large Dutch oven, or other kettle with lid, slowly cook bacon with carrots and onion over medium heat, stirring occasionally, about 8 to 10 minutes.
- Place parsley, bay leaves, peppercorns, juniper berries and cloves in cheesecloth bag or large tea strainer. Add to pot along with sauerkraut, wine and broth. Bring to a boil; cover and simmer for 1 hour.
- Add pork loin, ham, sausage, and bratwurst; simmer another hour.
- Add apples and simmer for 20 minutes more.
- Serve immediately or refrigerate overnight and reheat to serve.
With Hegseth threatening Mark Kelly with a uniform inspection over his medals, Are there pictures of Hegseth showing his medals?
I served with the Army in Vietnam and Iraq. I considered myself a field soldier and not a garrison soldier, and thus paid very little attention to medals and other niceties of the dress uniform.
Acting Deputy Commander, Task Force Shield (Mechanized Infantry), Iraq 2005. Back row, middle, all in desert camo.
I had no idea of where or how to put the 4 rows of medals I had accumulated or anything else. We never wore them in the field. And unlike the Marines, the Army combat vets I knew had little interest in playing dress up.
But we still had to face promotion boards, where the dress uniform had to be perfect. And here is where senior NCOs came in handy. Every one of them knew every uniform regulation and even little tricks to spiff up uniforms for official photos, such as judicious use of tape, ribbon racks, etc. All you had to do was take your uniform and various accoutrements to them, ask nicely, and they would make you look perfect. Since you were part of their unit, it would reflect badly on them if you were non-reg or somewhat unkempt in your official photo. It was just like having mom dress a rambunctious child for church.
Final product, ready for that promotion board. Not a hair out of place. And thanks to the NCO Corps, the real backbone of the Army.
So that is how it is done. No free lancing allowed.
What is it like to be a piano player on a cruise ship?
I played on a cruise ship once for just two weeks (I was subbing for someone short term), but that was enough time to get the picture. Some key things I gathered:
- It’s really fun and interesting – for the first few times you do the itinerary. After that, you don’t even bother to get off at port.
- There will be attractive dancers/singers/musicians. They will have all slept together.
- It’s very easy to get complacent – you have a place to sleep, food, and a gig you can play drunk.
- When you started you told yourself you were just going to do it for one 6-month contract (contracts are usually for 4 or 6 months). You were doing it to save money so you got rid of your apartment and car. When the 5th month came, and since you didn’t have an apartment or a car, you figured you’d just do it for one more contract. That was 6 years ago.
- You meet interesting people and you learn about foreign countries. A lot of musicians come from Canada, Europe, and Australia, as well as Trinidad/Tobago on warm itineraries (they hire steel drum players for a carribean feel. They’re really good).
- You get really good at your instrument from so much performing – usually 6 days a week. You do both solo and small ensemble playing by day, maybe jazz or light classical, then you’re in the showband at night playing rock and pop people can dance to. You have to back guest artists who come on board with their book with just one rehearsal, so your reading improves drastically. You get good in a way you can’t get any other way.
- You will have to play “Sailing” by Christopher Cross and “Rock the Boat” by….wait for it………Hughes Corporation. If you knew who did “Rock the Boat,” you should sign up immediately.
All in all, it’s definitely worth playing on a cruise ship – it’s an experience every musician should have. But just for a little while.
What are some crazy things truckers haul across the U.S.?
Ping pong balls.
Imagine this: the shipper/manufacturer seals the rear of the trailer with mylar, except for a small round hole (about 8″ across) located up near the corner. Into this hole they insert a vent pipe, through which thousands, 10’s of thousands, of ping pong balls are blown into the trailer, filling it to capacity. It’s quite a sight. [These weren’t new, they were rejected off the line for defects and were being sent off to be shredded and recycled into something else]
When I got to the recycle center, they took a long-handled utility knife and cut away the mylar, releasing the “cargo” to go bouncing off in all directions.
One memorable trip with a former co-driver involved heavily armed security and a “blind” load. We had no idea what we had, only that we were going to be escorted by three SUVs with blacked-out windows . We were to stop only for fuel, and only when our escorts allowed. Oh, and no CB radio or cell phones allowed.
When we got where we were going, all we saw was a very nondescript warehouse, in the middle of a “facility” protected by double run chainlink fence with razor wire and more armed guards.
Once we got backed in, set the brakes and gave up the keys to a very serious looking young man, my partner couldn’t contain himself and asked, “Ok, we’re here. You’re armed. We’re completely secure. WHAT IN THE HELL DID WE HAVE??!”
The young man thought for a second, made a discrete radio request and said, “Come with me.”
We walked around to the dock area (after going through another checkpoint) to see a forklift pulling several pallets out of the trailer. On each pallet was a stack of large (3’x4′?) sheets of paper, dumping them into an incinerator. My partner looked at our escort and said, “And?”
“Take a look.”
Each of these pallets was stacked with uncut sheets of $100 bills! And they were being burned?!?!?
Turns out, there was a computer malfunction that no one caught in time and they ran off too many bills of the same series, so the overproduction had to be destroyed.
P.S. My partner tried to get them to stamp one sheet “VOID” and let him take it home for framing.
We were escorted back to the truck to wait while they unloaded the rest of the truck.