Rannie, The Food Critic

     I am pleased to have discovered there is one (1) additional brand of olive oil Rannie Wu will accept.  Well, the same brand, different variety: Bertolli "Light."  The were out of Bertolli "Classico," so I tried it instead.

     Most of the other brands she has rejected in the past were either Extra Virgin, which I think is too strong-flavored for her, or they have a kind of bitter taste.  Bertolli gets consistently good reviews for flavor and purity.  Even by critics who aren't cats.

The Internet Likes Gun Pictures...

     Here's mine, from a trip to Eagle Creek Range with The Data Viking yesterday:

     My Hi-Standard nine-shooter and S&W "kit gun" ("Combat Masterpiece," IIRC), double-action .22 revolvers because there's still no better practice sidearm to build good habits.

[That preposterous moment when you realize that not only is the world so rough you're worried you may die standing in a big pile of brass, it's so petty that it's probably going to be a pile of .22 brass.  And you'll have gone broke buying it.]

     Target from one bout, at 7 yards: statistically, I'm an okay shot--

     Target I shot at the same distance with DV's remarkable Hi-Standard model G-E .22 target pistol:

     A few words about that particular iron: they were only made between 1946-50 and only 2,900 were made; $1500 is a pretty typical price if you find one.  His has the longer 6.75" barrel and one of the nicest sets of target grips I've held.  You're probably wondering, "Fifteen hundred dollars?  What's it got that a Colt or a Ruger .22 hasn't got?"  Take another look at that target.  I am a slightly above-average shot.  There are five holes in that paper, my first five shots with it, ever.  One is unmarked at about 5:30 at the edge of the gray at top left, followed by one just at the edge of the black on the same radial, then shots centered in the large target, centered in the top-center and not too far off at top right.  The only instruction from the Data Viking was that the sight picture was set to have the point of aim just above the sights and not covered by them as is now typical.  Most good .22s are more accurate than the person shooting them -- this Hi-Standard G-E hauls the shooter up to its level.  If that's typical of the breed, it goes a long way to explain why they sell for four or five times the price of a Ruger Mk. II or III.

     I also brought my one of my Colt .32-20s, which makes a fine loud noise and puts holes in the paper where I aim it -- with the teeny-tiny sights, so let's just say my Standard isn't quite as Hi with it. (See also the scatter of hits around twelve o'clock on the wide image of the target, above.)

     All in all, a fun way to pass the mid-day, especially on the covered firing line in on-and-off rain

Seven of the ten lanes in the East half of Eagle Creek Park Range -- it's a police range all week and a public range on the weekends.  These days, they even share a classroom and washrooms in the range office, a big improvement in facilities.

Howcome?

     Why:  The two most sure ways to have the media use all three of your names are to be either a female judge/elected government attorney or a male political assassin or mass killer?

     Sarah Evans Barker, Virginia Dill McCarty, meet John Wayne Gacy and Lee Harvey Oswald.

     Weird.

And It's Off--

     Much as predicted, the stay on same-sex marriages requested by the State Attorney General's office has been granted.  Tolja you'd better write a check for your side if you had one, though it appears the wallets and pocketbooks of taxpayers have been drafted on the don't-let-them-wed side.

     A couple of observation: according to the AG's office (and vigorously debated by the newly-wed and their supporters), this leaves recognition of the initial batch of new spouses (and out-of-state same-sex marriages) in limbo, including, one assumes, the "poster girl" case that prompted the curent ruling:

     "Last month, the state of Indiana asked Judge Young to lift his order requiring Indiana to recognize the out-of-state marriage of Amy Sandler and Niki Quasney, who is terminally ill.
     "The couple wants their Massachusetts marriage recognized on Quasney's death certificate. She has stage 4 ovarian cancer."

     Heart-rending stories are not a sound basis for laws but you'd have to have a heart of stone to read that and feel nothing.

     Meanwhile out in the rough and tumble world of real politics, petitions have been signed and delivered in their tens of thousands, signs have been waved, various experts and human-interest subject have been interviewed and nobody's fighting in the streets.  That's actually remarkable, and yet the lack of violence is so common in even the most deeply-divisive issues that it passes without notice.  Consider that even the most yammerheaded types on each side of this issue, decrying the uncivilized immorality and awfulness of their opponents, aren't heading out with baseball bats, brick bats or Molotov cocktails, they're writing letters, making phone calls, holding petition drives, lobbying, praying -- and the most dangerous thing any of 'em have picked up are little candles for a vigil.  --Call it what you like; I call it amazing.

Remember The Spider

     So, trash is out, air-conditioning got fixed yesterday -- or at least recharged; there's a tiny leak somewhere and it's probably in the condenser coil -- and my car is repaired, also for a given value of "repair" given its age and condition.

       Which is not to impugn the mechanic.  Based on the symptoms, he had much the same first diagnosis I had, "something gone awry in the exhaust," but rapidly discovered my car was, in fact, only running on two cylinders thanks to a toasty ignition wiring harness.  He odds-and-endsed that back together (instead of the $900 all-the-copper-under-the-hood replacement kit the manufacturer sells) and it's back to running as well as it ever did.

     I do have about a mile-and-a-half bike ride between the U-haul place where I'll be renting the rental and the car-repair shop, much of it on busy streets, but I think I have a route mapped out through parking lots* and secondary roads that should avoid the very worst of it.

     Everything's going according to plan--  Walking through the kitchen yesterday, I reached up and pushed my hair back behind my right ear.  When I brought my hand down, I discovered I'd snagged the climbing-silk of one of those tiny, translucent "ghost spiders" that spin gossamer webs in ceiling corners in search of nearly-invisible insects -- and a visit by The Broom.  It was swinging to and fro, climbing back up the line knuckle over fist as quickly as it could go, unaware that at the top awaited not the ceiling but my hand.  (I gave my hand a flip and spider and web-strand sailed away; I'll broom 'em later, probably, but for today she's free.)  Think about it from the spider's perspective, something like a scene from one of those spy or crime films:

    The Spidress has carefully rigged lines so she can drop right down over the museum exhibit of The Treasures of E. Nugatoria and steal the Crown Jewels; the museum is quiet, empty and right at the stroke of midnight she begins to rappel down.  It's all just as she had planned and she relaxes as the cable slides through the rappelling brake. Then, suddenly-- Earthquake!  She's swinging like a pendulum, frantically braking to a halt, rigging ascenders, and climbing back up, unaware that agents of The Museum Board have grabbed the cable in the window-washer's crane and nothing but handcuffs await above.

      You're never more vulnerable than when you figure everything is right in the groove.
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* Originally, "parking lost," which is what happens to me nearly every time I go to the mall.
    

Gay Marriage? In Indiana?

     Yep.  It happened.  Curiously, the sun rose right on schedule anyway.  If you are a same-sex couple and you do want to get married, better get down to the courthouse: the state Attorney General will be filing an appeal and he may ask has filed for a stay on the ruling. Whoever you are, if you were after a license to commit wedlock, expect BMV-like waiting lines without the BMV's nice waiting room and efficiency.

     State GOP politicians are cheering on the appeal and seem to be implying there's a circuit split (which would be an excellent reason to haul the mess up before the Supreme Court, who might even hear it -- I wonder how many appeals are refused after a Justice has a nightmare about Dred Scott?).  If there is a circuit split, I'm not finding it.

    The next step, according to some, will be dogs and cats living together, followed by Nazis riding dinosaurs, people marrying houseplants and legalized polyamorous unions -- I suspect the last strongly supported by the divorce attorney union in quivering anticipation of the financial resources of an 8-person marriage.* (Conversely, nobody older than age six really wants stormtroopers on T-Rexes goose-stepping down Main Street.  Common ground at last!)

     Supporters of both sides -- if they are serious about their support -- should remember that Their Team just had one not-inexpensive slog through the court system and is now facing another.  Better write your guys a check, they've got bills to pay.

     Let Round Three begin!  I'll make popcorn.

     ETA: From Kitchen v. Herbert, which is precedential in much of the U.S. West, this line (emphasis mine):  "The court noted that while the state electorate had voted in a popular referendum on the issue, a person's fundamental rights may not be submitted to a vote, citing W. Va. State Bd. of Educ. v. Barnette." If it takes same-sex marriage to get that notion to percolate into the popular conscience, it might take away some of the sting for opponents.  Hasn't the right to keep and bear arms been found fundamental already?
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* "Buy in bulk and save!"  One would expect more huddling-up when times are difficult, especially in this age of extended families no longer living in the same neighborhood.  This leads me to suspect the demand for more-formal polyamory is already well-matched to supply: pretty small.  The "If they legalize it, everyone will want to do it," argument is bilgewater: the people who want to already are.  One might apply this principle more widely....

Independant Publishing: 3 Out Of 4 Horsemen Of The Apocalypse Prefer....

     Who knew I was a threat to the established order?  A rebel, a radical, and a hapless tool of reactionary forces?  (You thought I was going to say The Patriarchy, didn't you?  Probably them, too, and Rand Paul besides.)

     Because, you see, I have self-published!  The horror of it!

     ...Wait, what?  A decentralized, disintermediating movement, a bypassing of gatekeepers, that's a bad thing?  That's a regressive thing? Quick, someone warn Tom Standage!

     It is a Very Bad Thing, according to some ghit at the Guardian, to whom I shall not link; Dave Freer (a self-published SF writer; likely has got horns and a tail as well) has fisked it, with links.  Go!  Enjoy!
 

Rain

     Not yet, but it's coming -- and here I am, with only walking, bicycling or my motor scooter until I pick up the rental van.  Yeah, I'm happy.

My Car Is Messed Up

     On a mission for Mom X, I was returning to Broad Ripple when...  The Hot Needle Of Inquiry, my '03 Hyundai Accent, began to falter.  Sitting at a stop sign, waiting to turn right, it coughed and nearly quit.  When I turned the corner, it had hardly any power at all.  At low revs, it was puny.  Seriously puny.  Sound rough, too.  (I stopped and had a look: no holes in the exhaust system that I could see.)

     I babied it down to the auto-repair shop, barely.  Waited a long time for a cab, Miss Tam being otherwise occupied.  A storm blew in with high winds and plenty of rain, so no scootering.  (It's not really much in the rain, especially early on.  Better after the oil washes away but we're talkin tiny contact patches.  High risk.)

     Four cars at Roseholme Cottage and one (1) of them is running.  I knew this day might come, but what did I do?  Nothing.  Oh, well done.

     I have Things To Do, so I've rented a U-Haul van for a couple of days.  Picking it up tomorrow, if everything goes as planned.   

Um, Good Morning...?

     Hi.  I thought I lost my scooter keys and went on a panicky search mission this morning.  --Hanging up in the kitchen all along!  And so it goes.  Much to do today, the HVAC isn't cooling worth a darn in my house or my car.

     On the bright side, yesterday afternoon after mowing all the lawn, weeding, sweeping the front porch, etc., I made a delightful treat: a float, with Seagram's ginger ale (mild but very good.  You'd not mistake it for Vernor's or Blenheim but the stuff holds up) with a few drops of black walnut extract (something between 1/8 and 1/4 teaspoon, closer to 1/8) and a big scoop of Tahitian vanilla gelato.  Ice cream goes in last, to avoid over-foaming.  Yum!

     This morning breakfast, not so bad either, an omelette with mushrooms, a little bacon, Swiss cheese and red bell pepper. ('druther Anaheim or Poblano but that's what I had on hand).  Crushed corn tortilla chips in the eggs, with a bit of cold water and some cilantro and good Hungarian paprika.  Wonderous!

     ...And with that, it's time to go get stuck right in.  Ow!

Word On The Street

     Actually, it's just off the street: there's a short retaining wall between a home lot and a parking lot along College Avenue and 38th Street, where whoever owns it (possible the homeowner) has been painting pithy aphorisms for many years.

     The sign-painter appears to have a keen sense of his (or her) audience; the various phrases are usually non-partisan,* "political" in that they address general issues in an uplifting way.  The current one is a nice snapshot of the general approach:

     KNOW HISTORY - KNOW TRADITION - KNOW PRIDE - KNOW RESPECT.

    Something of a koan, really.

     ETA: It turns out the artist/aphorist is Clayton Hamilton, who retired from AT&T a few years ago, and has been painting that wall for over twenty years.  He's modest about it: "'They're just humanistic insights that everybody probably has,' says Clayton about his work. 'I have a big tapestry. I could say things that maybe people would be interested in, maybe they won't.'" (Found in an article about his son, a local artist.)  I think most of us are interested, Mr. Hamilton.
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* I seem to recall exactly one in recent years that expressed support for a local candidate, a man held even by his opponents to be particularly honest and well-meaning.

"...And This Musical Number Goes Out To...."

     "....Mr. Chaz G. Hill of Dustbury."  I think this might be in his wheelhouse: 18-year-old Ann Margaret and a 24-piece student orchestra turning in a remarkably mature (if languorous) rendition of "Heatwave."  (No, not the Martha and the Vandellas hit, Ann-Margaret Olsen is singing an earlier number by some Irving fellow, last name of Berlin. 'Dja ever hear of him?)