wolfe’s Growling Musings

An amusing, and fairly clean humor website, even if they do descend to (literal) toilet humor. Anita Bath (ha, funny) has posted here, and not even asked for a blog mention. So she gets one!

Have you ever been sitting in a restaurant and wondered: “Gee, why do they place toilets in a separate room?� Or … when taking time away from dinner to dispose of some hazardous waste, have you thought: “I’d much rather eat in here, how homey!� Well, if you are among the 3 non-institutionalized people who have thought this, now there’s a restaurant for you:

Yes, those are toilets IN the restaurant. Bowls are also shaped like toilets, dessert dishes like bidets/urinals

I’m directly stealing their bandwith with a direct link to a photo on their site here, but I think they’ll let me get away with it since it’s a post promoting their site. If not, let me know.
They appear to offer ‘cash prizes’, which makes me think that they have some capital backing and readership goals, but hey, again, she didn’t ask for a link, and I do find the site amusing.

Not quite as good writing as Diesel, but very good nevertheless.

-wolfe

A big freezing rain storm here. I’ve lost at least 10 trees. I find more as I wander around the property. Going to have to get the chainsaw out.

A couple of them I’d like to keep, and they’re still technically alive, but they’re bent over at 90 degree angles above the drive/house/powerlines: that kind of thing. Don’t want to take them down, but don’t really have a choice.

I like trees. I’m a literal tree-hugger (though right-wing and contemptuous of the moral and mental vacuity of most environmentalists). Climbed them as a kid, climb them even today. I’d quote something by Emily Dickinson, but this isn’t Sunday Sonnets.

The forest on my property is quite young — well under 100 years old. A mix of coniferous and deciduous, but mostly stage one cedar as my land slopes down to wetlands. Some awesome spruce, pine, a great oak, a good weeping willow, and elm and maple.

The wetlands? Not literally swamp, thanks to the reclamatory efforts of farmers 150 years ago, but pretty close. Over the years, I’ve put in about a hundred (literally) shorn cedar logs horizontally myself to make it more land than swamp.

I then add to my ‘environmental mischief’ by digging a pond (where all the wetlands can go) and pumping out waste heat to it. Keeps the fish alive during the winter. The top ices over, but the bottom few feet stay warm enough and oxygenated enough for fish to survive.

On the plus side, the private road into my place is now blocked to all but the most determined 4×4 off-roaders. Bonus.

On the minus side, I’ll have to clear that too, with my neighbors.

Ah well, life is life.
-wolfe

Words fail me, just as they seem to have failed this poor young woman.

There are those who have been moved to great eloquence and passion by the death of the eminent film director Robert Altman. And then there is Lindsay Lohan.

[She went public with a condolence letter that]… was also spectacular in its incoherence and disregard of basic grammar and spelling.

“I am lucky enough to of been able to work with Robert Altman amongst the other greats on a film that I can genuinely say created a turning point in my career,” she began, less than certainly. “He was the closest thing to my father and grandfather that I really do believe I’ve had in several years… He left us with a legend that all of us have the ability to do.” A little lower down, she fell into improv philosophy, apparently riffing on the notion that life is too short to waste: “Make a searching and fearless moral inventory of yourselves’ (12st book) - everytime there’s a triumph in the world a million souls hafta be trampled on. - altman Its true. But treasure each triumph as they come.” And she signed off, “Be adequite. Lindsay Lohan.”

…
Lohan fans sought to argue that the letter really was not that incoherent after all - the errors no worse than the average teenage e-mail exchange.

Utterly bizarre. Maybe I’ll make my new motto (Old one: “Be excellent to one another”) “Be adequite”.

I tend to think her fans are right. (According to the article, Lohan was a straight A-student in the schools she attended.)

This says a great deal about our educational system, the students in it, and Hollywood.

Glad she has something to smile about.
Source: theidealgirl.com via Google Images.

At least Lohan can smile perkily for the camera, and has plenty of self-esteem. (She’d have to have, to voluntarily release that letter!)

So. Be adequite. The voice of a new generation.

-wolfe

Hat tip: The Register.

Luka’s cool, I owe her a debt of explanation why I detest the rhymes of one of her favorite poets.

She’s highly rational — doesn’t make her right, but she’s always prepared to discuss why she isn’t.

Her aim is to have a site that discusses gender in a sensible way. If you’re a new reader, I highly recommend her; if you’re an old reader, you know her. Check her out here. Her rules are grossly similar to mine.

Take care, Luka,

And you’re blogrolled, baby, as “Wonderful Luka”! (sorry, even Diesel had to endure being called “baby” by me when I blogrolled him!)

-wolfe-baby.

Language advisory in this post.
I should have been a coward. I can’t imagine why I did what I did other than testosterone and arrogance. Yeah, wolfe is occasionally arrogant. Sorry.

Here’s the story. My telling it arises out of a post on MABTW where SotS said “Fleeing from a battle you did not ask for is the epitome of cowardice.”.

I thought that statement was foolish and poorly thought out. And I respect the lad greatly. But he was a damn fool for saying what he said. (And only I’m allowed to say that; he’s a respected member of this community, so don’t give him a tough time.)

Here’s a true story.

When I was younger, I’d just come back from a camping trip. So I’d changed into “suit wolfe” garb, looking like every Wall-Street businessman (except my suit was off-the-rack), carrying my Samsonite briefcase. But I still had some of the accoutrements of the trip.

And I’m walking along a park pathway, consumed in my thoughts. Yeah. Bad situational awareness. At least it’s broad daylight.

So a bunch of tough young punks (16-21), about 6 of them, close in on me. Again. Bad situational awareness.

“Hey dude. Give us your money”.

He held a knife. 4 to 5 inches, if you want to know. Some kind of crap switchblade. Weak, as Eric Cartman would say.

“Piss off”. (I don’t normally use vulgarity but I’m certainly not going to refrain from doing so when scumbags are trying to rob me).

“Give us your money or we slice you up”

Inwardly, I chilled. Death was near and I could feel the soft silent beat of his wings.

Controlled, I said “I need to open my briefcase”.

Slowly, I did so. I reached in, and I made my choice.

My thumb flicked the leather sheath’s latch and my glorious hunting knife, brought back by (my at times too distant) Dad, from Austria, came forth, naked.

I had to pull it out of the case carefully, scraping the sheath off the blade.

I couldn’t resist.

I looked at the young punk’s 4 or 5″ blade.

“You call that a knife? Now this is a knife”

I drew on memory… I sure didn’t need to draw on courage; my veins were on fire.

“There are 6 of you. If you rush me, you will win, and get my wallet. I will kill three of you, I guarantee it. Two more will be badly wounded, and the final may escape unscathed”

I couldn’t believe time stood still long enough for me to say that. It sounded like something out of the movies. It was. I wasn’t running on my courage, I was running on society’s representation of old-school male courage. And it fucking worked for me.

“But three of you will die, I guarantee it. The rest of you will be wounded, perhaps crippled, and all for forty dollars in my wallet.”

“Do you wish that”?

And they retreated. They ran.

I was almost disappointed.

Yet had I fled from this battle? I’d not be a coward.
Hell no.
I’d have been smart. I was an idiot. If I’d been married my wife would possibly have been justified in divorcing me on this. I made an arrogant call, to engage where I could have fled.
Yet. Fleeing from a battle you did not ask for is NOT the epitome of cowardice.

I was an idiot for behaving as I did. If I’d been smart, I’d have done the ‘cowardly thing’. Doesn’t make me a coward, simply makes me a human being. A man. As it was, I as arrogant, and risked it all on a toss of the die. I won. I was ‘brave’. And damn near got myself killed.

I’m no more a man for saying “you call that a knife”? and standing up, than I’d be for fleeing. That’s that.

Note that the calculus changes totally were I with a woman. My sole goal then, would be her survival. Then my arrogance would be courageous and appropriate. Alone? It was stupid and arrogant. Foolish. But I’m a man. And that’s that.
-wolfe

UPDATE: 30 November 2006. a) I didn’t link Diesel; remedied. He inspired this post. b) Diesel’s brother-in-law, John, died earlier this week. Please keep John and his family in your thoughts and, where if you pray, in your prayers.

“Yes. All the books have to be in English.”

“So no Pynchon or Joyce?”

– Diesel

Alas, I’m posting too slowly… So, here’s where I steal someone else’s idea, respond to it, and turn it into a post.

These are just a few rapidly sketched thoughts. What are your favorite slightly lesser-known/intellectually regarded books and why? (We exclude the OBVIOUS canon — 1984, Animal Farm, Brave New World, etc.)
Here are some of mine. 1 on philosophy, 2 on pre-WW1 history, 2 SF novels about war and revolution. I’m going to deliberately avoid anything published within the last 10-15 years if I can. Let’s look for classics. (all these are lazily from memory, so apologies for typos):

“Godel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid by Douglas R. Hofstader”

Nearly 30 years old. A series of discussions ostensibly on music, computing, thought, philosophy, mathematics, art and consciousness.

Dreadnought, by Robert K. Massie.
http://dannyreviews.com/h/Dreadnought.html

A fascinating book. Admittedly it’s in my field so I’m biased. Well, one of my fields. A Naval history of Britain and Germany, leading up to the First World War, where the “lamps went out all over Europe and [were not] lit again…”.

The Guns of August, Barbara Tuchman. A classic. She writes very well. Lead up to WW1 from a more diplomatic/political/land perspective than the sea/naval perspective of Massie.

The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, Robert Heinlein. A great work of libertarian (science) fiction. Though not many regard Heinlein as a stylist, he certainly is one here, as his narrator has a limited and functional grasp of English.

Forever War, Joe Haldeman. A commie-pinko (I say that in jest, for new readers) SF antidote to Heinlein’s classic “Starship Troopers” (forget the film, read the book). Well written, and says a lot about America and the 1970’s. I don’t agree with him, but I think everyone should read what he wrote, and try to understand his perspective. I also think everyone should do the same with Heinlein.

Update: gwallan has mentioned Dune. I agree. I’ll add more to the update section as suggestions flow.
-wolfe

For those not in the States, well, have a great weekend. Blogging will probably be light, unlike the deluge of posts there’s been this week!

A letter probably describing the first Thanksgiving:

You shall understand, that in this little time, that a few of us have been here, we have built seven dwelling-houses, and four for the use of the plantation, and have made preparation for divers others.  We set the last spring some twenty acres of Indian corn, and sowed some six acres of barley and peas, and according to the manner of the Indians, we manured our ground with herrings or rather shads, which we have in great abundance, and take with great ease at our doors.  Our corn did prove well, and God be praised, we had a good increase of Indian corn, and our barley indifferent good, but our peas not worth the gathering, for we feared they were too late sown, they came up very well, and blossomed, but the sun parched them in the blossom.

Our harvest being gotten in, our governor sent four men on fowling, that so we might after have a special manner rejoice together after we had gathered the fruit of our labors; they four in one day killed as much fowl, as with a little help beside, served the company almost a week, at which time amongst other recreations, we exercised our arms, many of the Indians coming amongst us, and among the rest their greatest King Massasoit, with some ninety men, whom for three days we entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five deer, which they brought to the plantation and bestowed on our governor, and upon the captain, and others.  And although it be not always so plentiful as it was at this time with us, yet by the goodness of God, we are so far from want that we often wish you partakers of our plenty.

Happy Thanksgiving!
-wolfe

If any regular reader finds my language objectionable, they’re welcome to complain. That said, I’m a bit tired of saying that I use ‘ladies’ in the same sense that I use ‘gentlemen’.

Since I’ve gotten a bunch of email from (not regular readers or commenters), I’m going to post on this.

In the academic world there’s been a tremendous uprising and counter-attack against men who use the term ‘ladies’ or ‘lady’. The implication is that we want to put women in some kind of sexual box.

That’s largely rubbish. (Yeah, I would prefer both men and women in a similar sexual box; that’s it. I despise denial of women’s sexuality, and I don’t want to force anyone to do anything.)

I use the term ‘girls’ to mean immature females of the human species. These can sometimes be 20-25 year old females. Is Paris Hilton a girl? I’d say yes.

I use the term ‘boys’ similarly, though of course I’m cognizant of the racial terminology involved in ‘boy’.
Lad and lass I use to simply mean a young human capable of learning.

My female readers are ‘ladies’ to me.

They may not all behave as ladies, but they mostly do, and I honor them with that term, which I view as a mark of honor, not deprecation.

My male readers are ‘gentlemen’, similarly. They may at times be jerks, but I expect them to adhere to a code of conduct, and I honor them as such.

Yeah, I’m a bit ticked off at the crap I’m getting. So be it. This is how I see the world; I shall not change, even if I get 100 or 1000 emails instead of 20, all sent within the same 45 minutes, on the same subject.

It is annoying in that it’s preventing me from replying rapidly to long-time readers.

I make some posts women can disagree with. Fine. But hang me for what I am, don’t  give me the crap that because I refer to female readers as “ladies” that I have some contempt for them.

That’s a repulsive argument.

Best to all, ladies, gentlemen, and even those who don’t feel they are ladies or gentlemen. My readers are ladies and gentlemen. I hope.
-wolfe

A lot of people thought we stopped this garbage
back in the 1940’s. Guess we didn’t. Nice salutes.
Photo credit: Szzuhzaila Sazzhmarani,
Agence France Press, via Wikipedia.

These are Hezbollah fighters saluting, ready to be martyrs for The Cause. Perversely, this is Martyr’s Day, 11 November 2006. Lebanon is asking the US to remove Hezbollah from the list of terrorist groups. Because … uh… well, they just want to kill Jews. They don’t really want to kill Americans. Unless, you know, they have to.

There’s an evil at work here that we ignore at our peril. For a shining nanosecond, Gloria Steinem looks good. Then I realize feminism is in league with these monsters.

NB- I have inserted Z’s in the stringer’s name so that he’s not identified in a google search with this website which opposes Islamofascism. Don’t want him being hurt over something I write. For his actual name, remove the Z’s.

-wolfe

The traditional Libertarian argument is that you’ve a right to swing your fists as much as you want to (that’s a manly metaphor, for the slow readers amongst us) provided you don’t hit another’s nose.

Regular poster Teri is an awesome combination of left, right and libertarian. I regularly disagree with her, but she knows her mind and responds accordingly.

She said, on a recent thread:

I also think I should have the right not to wear a seatbelt or a helmet. I hate being micro-managed.

Well, she’s right and wrong.

I am not making up a single word of my response to this. Not that I normally do, but I might well spin a detail to tell a better story. I try to be a story-teller on this blog as well as a blogger. On stories I tell, I certainly shift the facts to protect people’s real-life identities; I also do so, as I say, to tell a better story. A conversation that occurred over two months might be condensed into 20 words. So be it.

Here I shall give you the unvarnished facts.

I was 17. Driving. With my mother. Oh God.

What worse punishment can you inflict upon a young man (or an older woman)?

She has the terror of not possessing his reflexes, and not knowing if he really knows what he’s doing. It wasn’t until years later that I realized that wheeling into a tight parking space at speed and relying on a downshift and brake combination to stop me was very disturbing to women. So much for sensitive Wolfe.

But leave that aside. The (true) story is this. I was approaching a red light in our aging 1980’s car. My mother screamed “STOP!!!”. I braked, being very uncertain as to what was happening and modulating the breaking so as to ensure we slowed then stopped about a foot short of the line.

I had about 250 milliseconds to recover from that unholy screech when WHAM!

WHAM!

WHAM!

WHAM!

we were run into repeatedly. Three to four times.
Whiplash city. Dull pain in my lower back.

Somehow, my brain processed the fact that I had to keep my foot on the brake.

Shaken, I picked up my glasses. My mother did the same. Then we realized we’d put each others’ glasses on.

After an embarrassing moment with my first cross-dressing experience (are glasses really gender-oriented?) we exchanged them. I put the vehicle in park, turned off the ignition, and asked her to call the police on her Cell.

I staggered out, wincing. I approached the 1970’s vehicle that had hit us, painted a hideous, well, forgive me, but this was the color… a hideous “shit brown”.

The elderly lady (probably 70 to 80) inside was semi comatose. I opened the door. I said loudly “Ma’am are you OK?” I repeated it, twice. (that means 3 times in total for those who’ve suffered from socialized education).

She stirred, and looked up at me perkily.

“Hi there!” she said.

“You’re ok, ma’am?” I was angry at her for smashing into me, but I was disoriented more than anything else. I did have enough presence to know I needed to call an ambulance, stat, if she was hurt.

She looked up at me and smiled sunnily, exposing her British dentist’s work.

“Oh…” she said, feebly, still smiling.

“Are you all right ma’am?”

“I braked.”

“Yes ma’am, but you didn’t stop.”

I was somewhat glacial.

She responded “Well, I wasn’t wearing this silly seatbelt and my head hit the window [windshield]….”

Yeah.

OK. So she didn’t want to wear her seatbelt so she slammed into me again and again and again.

My back is still a bit f-d up from that.

It was her choice; I paid the cost.

Sure, I could massively sue her, but why the #$(*) do that?

The

WHAM

WHAM

WHAM

where she kept bumping my car forward and slamming into me?

Yeah, she had the right to do so, I paid the cost.

And that’s where I draw the line. Where someone else has a right, and you pay the cost.

Especially when it’s something so trivial.

That’s why I moved towards being a conservative, rather than a libertarian. Libertarians were filled with imaginative but not very realistic solutions, mainly involving me suing her. She was an elderly lady. I didn’t want to do that.

Nevertheless, her choice of not wearing a seatbelt meant additional injury to me.

-wolfe