PC Bookshelf?

     Kind of at a loss for topics -- I could link to Penn and Teller's replaying of Luis Walter Alvarez's experiment showing you don't need a second gunman, but history's history and no matter what you think happened, it's long over. (Thanks to Whipped Cream Difficulties for the first link.)

     Nope, I'm here to talk about Political Correctness. --Now you may cheer, thinking I'm about to rip speech codes and the kind of ninnies who get Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn thrown out of school libraries, and I suppose I am, too.

     But what about you?  I've had readers tell me none o' that John Scalzi SF has ever sullied their eyes, no ma'am, 'cos he is, you see, a Democrat and a lib'ral.  There are folks passing up the amazing, pellucid prose of Kim Stanley Robinson on account he is Green-ish and has socialist leanings -- and never you mind that his work expresses some familiar concerns about individual rights vs. the collective or that he hammered out an entire novel about an underground, quirky revolution that seizes an entire continent.  Across the aisle, nitwits are yet sweatin' over how to go see Ender's Game at the movie house without losin' their lefty street cred over supporting a man with such awful, horrible opinions on who otta be allowed to commit wedlock on whom -- and never mind that by the time the movie hits the screen, the guy who wrote the book the thing is based on has already seen about as much as he's ever gonna: Hollywood knows how to keep their money in town. There are folks who rail against Ursula K. LeGuin's fiction on account of her politics, both real-world and in print.  And so on and so forth, all across the spectrum of political thought and personal philosophy.  Is Robert A. Heinlein a staunch supporter of women's rights and/or* a dirty old man?  Depends on who you ask!

     Me, I kinda admire a writer who builds her own utopia and then pokes it full of holes (The Dispossessed) and while I think a world of Odonians would drive people insane at a far higher rate than she imagined, I'm glad someone ran the thought-experiment, especially in such an entertaining way.  Would LeGuin and I agree on who to vote for, even for dogcatcher?  Probably not.  Do I read her work?  Darned right I do.

     See, over here, we have the writer, who may be a kind of mean guy with Red sympathies -- and over there, his work, which includes such libertarian classics as And Then There Were None.  Yes, that's Eric Frank Russell, and yes, I have a shelf-full of his work.

     Sure, an author's beliefs and personality influences what they write -- but the stuff's got to sell, too.  Despite what those deconstructive critics are tryin' to tell ya, the work is not the person.  It's just a glimpse through a bent kaliedoscope at some part of who they are and what they know.  Charles Stross and H. P. Lovecraft would very likely have found themselves at odds on most issues from gay rights to the British Crown -- and yet Stross's yarns about the occult-intelligence agency "The Laundry" are just a Concorde flight (or step through an intradimensonal transatlantic portal) from Lovecraft's Innsmouth and Miskatonic University.

     Read (or don't read) authors because of what they write, and let the politics go hang.  It's not gonna pollute your head and you're not "sending a message" by not reading a talented author just 'cos you and them didn't vote for the same prospective oppressor.

     Increasingly, we live in an over-polarized world; we might as well be Blue vs. Green (vs. White vs. Red) rioters in Imperial Constantinople.  Depolarize.  Read what you like -- and read to find out what else you'd like to read more of.
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* Because I forget that to most people "or" is what I mean by XOR, while in my head, "or" is OR, with a truth table that runs: A=0, B=0, Output=0; A=1, B=0, O=1; A=0, B=1, O=1; A=1, B=1, O=1.  For XOR, that last  set, A=1, B=1 has an Output = 0 and all the others are the same as before -- which is how you end up with "one or the other but not both," the causal meaning of spoken alternatives, "either A or B," an eXclusive OR.  What is it with you people?  Mr. Boole?  Mr. Boole?

Pass The Gravy, Pass Up The Politics

     My Official Family Thanksgiving is yet to come; those of my relatives not too much at loggerheads* will be gathering Saturday to bond through overeating.

     Despite a range of political opinions that range from religious-Right through center-right to RINO and past to a younger generation that calls itself "progressive," votes Dem and would move to bluer shores if only they weren't making so much more money in this benighted red state (and besides, do you know what taxes are like there?), and my very own firearm-friendly anarchism, we don't talk much politics.

     First off, why look for things to disagree about, when a plate of dammnable (my brother claims "delicious") yams trimmed with marshmallows is right there on the table, reeking?  Second, we all of us go vote, with the secret, smug satisfaction that we're cancelling out one evil or stupid person's effort, at least.  Third, whatever our disagreements, nobody wants to make my Mom sad, and she would be if we started in on politics.

     Much as I'd like to think my family was in some way unique, I doubt it. Most families avoid discord at the holiday table -- the holidays are stressful enough without trying to add to it.  Does that stop our would-be Great Leaders?

     Oh, hells no and it's not just the President's insidious effort to get supporters to talk up Obamacare and shout out those wicked ol' GOP uncles who might talk it down.  Nope, it turns out along with your ACArgument, soon-to-be-ex-Mayor (against guns) Bloomberg is handing out an anti-gun Thanksgiving placemat for the kids.

     Move over, Mom, the State wants a seat at the table. And I bet it won't even eat up those yams and spare me the sight and smell of 'em.  Oh, what happy holidays are these, that have such people in 'em?

     (H/T to Alphecca for the link!)
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* The family tradition of a relational style that has much in common with trench warfare has expanded to a new generation and I'm not entirely unsympathetic to the combatants. Nor especially surprised.

Turkey. Day.

     I spent about four hours in the kitchen, though twenty minutes of it was making coffee and enjoying a cuppa' and a bowl of cereal.

     The remainder?  Turducken with mushrooms, "popcorn" asparagus, green salad, mashed skin-on russet potatoes and bacon/onion/Surry sausage gravy.  Plus a nice glass of mead.

Artsy version [TAMFOTO]

     Photo may has followed.

A clearer view [TAMFOTO]

     It was dee-lish.  Adding a chopped-up Surry sausage to the gravy pan (and as a source of some of the hot fat) was an interesting addition.  I put a package of mushrooms around the turducken for the last half-hour, and kept it basted with butter for the last forty-five minutes or so.

     Dessert?  Who has room?  Tam and I watched a couple of Season 2 Venture Brothers episodes, laughed like madwomen, and we'll both be napping soon, possibly accompanied by one cat each.  If I stake out the window seat (where sunlight is streaming in), I may get both cats all to myself.

     As ever, Farmmom gets credit for any success I have with gravy: I'm just following her advice.

Happy Thanksgiving

     What are you doing on the internet?  Shouldn't you be helping out in the kitchen?

     20 degrees here; I'm thinking the kitchen is an especially good place to be.

Former Officer Bisard, Off To Jail

         David Bisard, the IMPD officer who struck a group of motorcyclists three years ago, killing one and injuring others while intoxicated on duty, has been sentenced to sixteen years in jail.

     While he has expressed remorse, he's still maintaining he wasn't drunk at the time.  The jury disagreed and the judge has made undergoing treatment for alcohol abuse a part of Bisard's sentence.

     Still to come: a second DUI charge, stemming from an incident while he was out on bond; that DUI put him back behind bars and he's facing an additional year in jail if found guilty.

     And yes, it's "former officer:" he resigned this week, before IMPD could get around to firing him.

What Was It Thoreau Said?

     Oh, yes: "If I knew for a certainty that a man was coming to my house with the conscious design of doing me good, I should run for my life."

     In other words:

     However, my boundless faith in the inefficiency, ineptitude and occasional malfeasance* of the Federal Government does leave some room for hope.
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* Or, at least, misfeasance.  A lot of the bureaugentsia couldn't work up a really good mal even if it was their only ticket out of perdition.

Mr. Colt's Collier's Revolving-Cylinder Firearm

     Hunh.  Who knew?  Like most firearms hobbyists, I was aware of odd precursors to the Colt revolver, but I sure didn't know about Elisha Collier's relatively-successful flintlock revolvers -- or that Samuel Colt had seen them.

     This takes no glory away from Colt, who devised a more-compact mechanism and was the first to incorporate percussion caps, resulting in the first genuinely-reliable repeating sidearm and jumpstarting seventy years of remarkable advancement in gun design.

"I'm Thankful For..."

     A local car dealer runs a commercial consisting of short video snippits of each of his offspring -- they're up to grandkids by now, at least -- sharing whatever scripted-cute thing they're thankful for.  While a jaded eye notes the ads are updated only at long intervals, presumably whenever there's a new crop of photogenic young, and it is likely no few of the "kids" have diplomas and dependents of their own while we're still cooing over their tongue-tied efforts, it is a sign of the season and a reminder to consider what one might be thankful for.

     I'm thankful I'm not in Texas just now -- or Oklahoma.  Or in any of the locations the TV is telling me are going to get ice-stormed good and hard over the next few days.

     It's no coincidence the bigger holidays generally fall when the weather's lousy: they started out dodging around the necessarily seasonal work on farms.  Halloween provides a respite as harvest winds up and by (U.S.) Thanksgiving, you'd about have the crops all stored and all the canning (etc.) done, with any surplus left for the feast.  Another month of make and mend, and you're ready for the shortest day of the year, a time spent in religious observance and/or with family.*

     But that means the latter two come along as the year is winding up for a final bad-weather onslaught.  It means the tradition of gathering doesn't keep us in our homes and communities, but traveling to connect with scattered families.

     Spare a thought for the season's travelers, if you would, and for all their kith and kin.  Especially this year.
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* Snark back and forth at one another all you like about the happy coincidence, Cosmic Good Planning or cynical manipulation responsible for Christmas falling so close to the Winter solstice.  'Tis when it is either way and even the most long-standing of arguments over calendars doesn't move it much.

Complain About The Cold...

     Get more of it: 17 degrease F out there, which is like 30 below, Celsius; or -31, Centigrade.

     ....Okay, you got me; it's a tic over -8 C.  Went to double-fhefk and the cirst C/F fonverter I flicked on was really frummy.  Still afting up, in caft. Deceftive!

VOIP: The Wave Of The Future

     And like much of the future, it sucks.  My Mom has it -- so she can't dial 911.  Mind you, her VOIP service comes from the very same Big PhATT Phone Co. she has always had, the very same outfit that she gets cell phone service (with functioning 911) from, but by the eternal howling flame of the spirit of Mr. A. G. Bell, they can't figger out how to make her VOIP tell the system where her house is and find the right 911 call center to connect to.

      They also seem to have gnarfed up her first effort at a wearable call-for-help button.  Something about the connection provided by the plain-old-phones jack on the VOIP multimodemockery has the call-for-help hub convinced it should otta pulse-dial and there's no way to correct this short of getting the provider of that service to dial into it.  This, of course, they will happily do Monday through Friday between 8:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m., when it is well-nigh impossible for me to be there to plug the thing in.  Can't leave it connected, you see, because then it complains, loudly, every few minutes, asking, "PLEASE CHECK THE TELEPHONE CONNECTION.  PLEASE CHECK THE TELEPHONE CONNECTION," and who doesn't love that?

     Made of freaking win.  Or not.  Oh, Don Ameche, we hardly knew ye.  And we never appreciated what we had.

Yes, I Slept In

     It's twenty-four degrees out there.  24. 

     I've left a wake-up call for warm o'clock.

Hungarian Wax Pepper

     "What's that called?" The asker was a grocery checker at a supermarket I visit infrequently, a man who appears hard-used by life and who, when asked, "How are you?" invariably responds, "Unstoppable!"

     He was stumped by the pepper, though, an innocent-looking, smallish, waxy-yellow vegetable.

     I wasn't much help at first.  "I'm not sure.  There wasn't a label on the bin...  It was next to the jalapenos.  It could be...a Hungarian pepper?"

     He'd left it for last; now he picked up the laminated list of obscure, un-barcoded vegetables, and scanned it rapidly.  "A Hungarian wax pepper?"

     A dim light came on in my head, like the tiny bulb in a 1940s Shelvador fridge.  "Yes!  That's it."

     "I think that's the first time anyone's bought a Hungarian wax pepper at my lane. Interesting."

*  *  *

     I'd been picking up the makings of "Hoppin' John" when I bought the pepper: diced ham, blackeyed peas, onion, a red bell pepper, a can of mild green chilies, some rice to serve it over.  The little hot pepper seemed like a good addition.  When I was making dinner, I offered Tam a taste, and she pronounced it delicious.  Raw, I found it a bit hot but not overwhelming.

     It turned out to be exactly right.  Diced and sauteed, it calmed down a little but retained a nicely flavorsome bite; I wish I'd bought one or two more.

     Recipe, it's nothing fancy; first dice and saute the fresh veggies.  I used half a white onion and half a red bell pepper along with all of the Hungarian wax pepper, starting with the onion and when it was getting translucent, added the peppers briefly.  Then pour in a can of blackeyed peas (drained and rinsed if you want to keep the sodium down) and the diced ham (some of the cheaper ham can benefit from a rinse, too), cover and heat well.  The mixture should be moist and will develop a bit of liquid.  Add water if it seems too dry.  Serve over rice.  Refinements?  Better ham, and/or fresh blackeyed peas, various interesting varieties of rice.  The basic version is fast, easy, filling and tasty. (If you start with fresh or dried legumes, they get first shift in the pot, for however long it takes 'til they are nearly done.  Ham next, then the sauteed veggies.)

     Tam pronounced it "delicious" and cleaned her bowl.  Given that she is not a big fan of either rice or blackeyed peas, I was pleased.