Maybe He Is A Medium-Sized Dog

Or a very small tiger: Huck the cat has decided a great way to show affection is to lay down beside me in the manner of a dog: he relaxes snuggled up close, kind of rolling a bit as he stretches out. He remains the single most muscular cat I have ever met, too. Dozing next to me, he is as long as my torso. Dog, tiger, a miniature Charles Atlas in a fur suit? Nope -- its Huck the cat.

Meanwhile, Rannie Wu seems all the more delicate and elfin by contrast -- but not the cute kind for children's books. Nope, if the Sidhe have their own predatory and (relatively) big cat, it looks just like Rannie.

(Of some interest, the Little People do have an associated breed of cats, which I learned this morning is described as black with a white spot on the chest, just like my dear, gone Slinky and Tommy -- so perhaps The Slinker, built to a far smaller scale than most cats, was indeed a Fairy Princess Cat in more than nickname. And her father, a king!)

I Work On Starship: New Content!

Part 14 of Frothup: Dropping In is posted at last!

Internets...Broken...Must

Must...Struggle on...

C'mon, AT&T, try to at least fake it. 1.34 Mbps is not "high speed DSL." You might as well just mail me screengrabs!

We ate the last packet this morning, after a final, forlorn ping came staggering in from Illinois. The RJ45s are rattling like castinets, loose in their sockets. The Cat6 was withered down to Cat4 last time I dared look. Will we escape from this vast wasteland before it hits Cat-nil, rotting cloth-covered UTP flapping broken and bleached under the merciless sun?

Save yourself! The providers have dumped us here to live or die, and it's every modem for itself!

Recent Reading

The Hunger Games -- Again. Read it before seeing the film, read it after. I still think it's a good little book -- and the movie is one of the best cinematic adaptations of a book that I have yet seen. As good a job as Lord Of The Rings -- or a little better: they haven't left out The Scouring Of The Shire yet.

Young Rissa ("The first book in the 3-part saga of Rissa Kergulen") by Indianapolis-born F. M. Busby. In fact, it's the first book in a long series set against a common background with some similarity to my own "Hidden Frontier." An interesting work, a litte old-fashioned in some ways but the general themes are timeless. Well-written space opera, what I would praise as "first-rate pulp," in that it is strongly cast in the gothic mode of good -- or at least non-evil -- vs. evil and the good guys are supposed to win. (Had to go check my library: while Busby wrote starting before I was born, I didn't have any of his novels until recently. The shelf goes directly from "Burroughs" to "Busjaeger.")

Speaking of "Burroughs," (ERB, that is) and pulp for that matter, I just finished Richard A. Lupoff's Edgar Rice Burroughs: Master Of Adventure, an examination of the writing career of an early pulp writer who transcended the pulps. (Even to the point of becoming his own company, still a going concern 62 years after his death. Tarzan.com and related websites make for an interesting exploration). It is a fascinating book; Lupoff admires his subject but is quite willing to call out the low points as well as the successes. --I also picked up Tarzan, which I have never read despite having devoured all the John Carter of Mars* books while in Junior High. --Don't tell me how it comes out! ERB's science fiction is sometimes viewed as unsophisticated but much of it rewards a second look. Those interested in tracing the sources of ideas will find precursors of Larry Niven's "Fleet of Worlds," the group of Puppeteer planets sharing a common orbit and of his torus of atmosphere around a star from The Integral Trees (etc.), both in ERB's 1941 Beyond The Farthest Star. (I'm still irked that I missed the recent Disney John Carter Of Mars movie -- and that it sank so far, so fast, and perhaps more on poor promotion, stiff competition, and hostile reviewers than on its own merits).

Last but not least, Marblehead, also by Richard A. Lupoff, in which a largely fond and unflinchingly honest portrayal of H. P. Lovecraft and assorted other real-world characters are thrown into the midst of a proto-Nazi conspiracy in the late 1920s! HPL could be a fairly strident xenophobe, especially in abstract and in the mass, so a portion of the suspense comes from wondering just which side he'll end up on. Great fun, especially if you are a little familiar with the characters or the real-life events Lupoff is riffing from.

As ever, if any of this piques your interest, please shop via Tam's Amazon link: you get a book, she gets a tiny commission at no cost to you and I get steady rent checks: win-win-win!
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* They claim Barbie is daunting? Try livin' up to Dejah Thoris!

Just Flippin' Sad

Seen at the website for "Occupy Cleveland" (which I admit sounds to me more like a plea to move back to a rustbelt Dem/labor disaster area than a movement per se): "[We] plan a continued presence in the Mayor Tom Johnson/Free Speech Quadrant of Public Square."

What kind of frikkin' world is it when the leftie fringe -- some elements of it, anyway -- is just okayfine with having a "free speech quadrant" of a public square? Heck, when any of us are?

Hey, hippie, it's all a "free speech zone;" it's just not a free camping zone. (To their credit, they do seem to be cool with that, havin' applied for a permit to stick tentage on the sidewalk, and not seeming too miffed that after seven months [!], the local police are not going to renew it.)

But something is deeply sick at the heart of the Republic when we have "free speech zones" on only part of public property. Yeah, even speech I dislike ought not be outlawed, corralled, hemmed in.

OTOH, the Feds do seem to have rousted some old-fashioned bomb-tossers who were hangin' out at OC events -- and then tiptoed all around who/what/why/where (a-hem! Feebs, grow a spine, I don't think this lot were darlings of your boss). Still, they got 'em, and Cleveland's self-appointed Occupiers are probably even more relieved than you are.

It is tempting to suggest political violence is the result of suppressing political speech but in truth, there's always a thug or two who wants an excuse to make things go smash. They may come up with some high-and-mighty talk to justify it but in their heart of hearts, they're still kids with a magnifying glass on a slow summer day -- and civil society is just their bunch of ants. Decent folk won't put up with it. Even decent folk with whom one might disagree on nearly everything else.

We got the Constitution we have because a bunch of people with crazy political notions sought common ground, and a way to allow the freedom to pursue one's own goofball ideas. It's been pushed against ever since.

Might be a good idea to start findin' some common ground to stand on and push back. With gummint overreach and buddy-buddy pattycake with Wall street on one side and the "fight in the streets now" crowds on the other, decency and the ability to let the other fellow be his own special kind of nitwit tends to get crowded out. Don't let it.

I Got...Almost...Nothin'

Other than relief: my basement was spared the Minor Broad Ripple Flood, which put about a yard of water in Downtown Broad Ripple.

We had a lot of rain and "the strip" is nestled cozily up to the canal and the river, so you'll be expecting to hear one or both overflowed.... Nope. Storm drain! Reported to have been fountaining up as much as four feet at one point. The city says "storm gates" were not open; they've vowed to make a thorough investigation -- haven't said they'll actually do anything, though. Worse than it sounds: we still don't have much in the way of separate storm and sanitary drains, so you might not want to go wading.


Another "relief:" got my marching orders from the NRA. Turns out -- quelle suprise! -- they don't want me to vote for poor ol' Dick Lugar (the Senator who can't afford a domicile in his home state), either. Not to worry -- I wouldn't be voting for him even if he wasn't F-rated; his negatives are many. His GOP challenger, Richard Mourdock, is more of an unknown. Six years, slim; try not to let us down -- and don't get too comfy. It ain't a sinecure.


What do these two things have in common? The U.S. Senate and a backed-up, uncontrollably overflowing sewer? You have to ask?

Felony Stupid

Down Terre Haute way, the big story alleges that a TV station "Master Control" operator -- the guy who orchestrates the final product 24/7/365, and tries to keep the robots out of trouble -- got fired and then came back in the middle of the night (when there would be one or two people in the place, one of them doing his old job) and put several rounds through the front door and cars in the lot.

The suspect is in jail now. "Criminal recklessness with a firearm," a felony charge.

I'm tempted to file this under "stupid pranks," except it reflects a level of heedlessness that goes well past a mere "prank."

Rumor claims the suspect either wanted to carry at work or had simply proceeded to do so -- and even the smaller outposts of the Giant Oldstream Media Complex are not, generally, comfy with that. While a degree of apprehension is understandable (the place looks to be a short drive from the middle of nowhere -- scroll down to "about our stations"), carrying firearms at work is not protected by state law; employers have a right to tell you what you can or cannot be having on or about your person while on their dime.

Gun locked in your car at work? Legal as church on Sunday (with a few Fed-type exceptions) and you have recourse if you get the ax for it. On your belt at work, not so much. Don't like it? Find other work. (Or, I suppose, learn that "concealed is concealed" and it's your rules-scoffing rump if you get caught; I wouldn't roll those dice, but I have house payments.)

All that aside, returning after termination and sending a few rounds into the building doesn't do anyone any good; it's just grist for the anti mill. (For example...) Way to go, stupid; not only have you almost certainly put yourself in a world of hurt (and lifetime disarmament), you've done gunnies dirt, too.

The Meaning Of A Meaning

Or not -- me, daring to comment at Wondermark, with etymology that may not be true:

It has been forgotten that the word "brunch" began during Prohibition as a slang term used to describe hung-over weekend revellers, arriving on Saturday and Sunday too late for breakfast, too early for lunch and "being raunchy" until some sort of hasty portmanteau meal could be slapped together to feed them. The meal (mostly table scraps from real breakfast, plus things of uncertain hue found in the fridge and dusty cupboard-corners) set before this reeking, bleary-eyed and "be-raunched" crowd was soon named for them, and by the time the Great Depression had caused a great vowel shortfall (FDR's various new TLAs were permitted at most one per acronym -- check me if you doubt) and soon after Repeal caused syllabic loss, "be-raunch" had to be telescoped down to "brunch," where it has stayed ever since, still slightly hung-over, goggling dimly at nearby entries in the modern lexicon.

It's a crime; I intend to write a stern letter forthwith. Possibly Zed, or perhaps W. Maybe N.

As an exercise for the reader, can you identify the other stern letters? Extra credit: List the two letters that are normal, one twice as much as the other.

Update: The normal and double-normal letters have been identified, though no one has gone on to identify the one that is on the square, let alone the one that is both square and normal.

The stern letters (other than Z, W and N) remain unknown. I suppose it is no help to point out that one of them is cross nearly all the time, while another is only rarely cross, almost never so in print. Or that you could win this on points.

BlogMeet; Also, Want

A nice BlogMeet today -- Kerry, The Jack, Shermlock Shomes and Mrs. Shomes and Don. It was warm enough to be outside (if you dressed for it) and we enjoyed fine beer (coffee for me, thanks), frites, steak and pork crepes.

Much fun talk ensued, ranging from prepping to the changes in CPR procedures to the rise of innumeracy and illiteracy to fiction to firearms and plenty more, including Kerry's Adventures In Chicken-Keeping. (Very productive thus far -- a half-dozen hens produce a bit more eggs than his family can use. ...And chicken stew later, perhaps.)

It was warm enough for me to ride my scooter. My dear old brown "Firefly-ish" jacket needs much TLC; went to look for another online and it appears Icon stopped making them...except in leather. Ooooo, sign me up for the "red" (brown) one, the very first time I have saved up the price. This may not be soon.

BlogMeet Today

3:00 pm, Brugge in Broad Ripple. Not so sure about "outside," 'cos it's still chilly.

I'll probably be on a motorscooter -- look for the gal with bangs, wearing a brown, 1930s-ish cycle jacket.

Steak! Glorious steak! Pommes frites, too. With a zillion sauces to dip them in.

Sunday, Gunday

A plinker and a mystery!

You can blame the NRA for the first; the most recent issue of American Rifleman featured an Iver Johnson Supershot Sealed 8 .22 revolver.

When I found one -- Model 844 -- at the Tri-State Gun Show yesterday (hey -- they're open today, too!), at a price within negotiating distance of reality, could you blame me for being tempted? It is an Iver Johnson, with all that implies, but this example is in decent shape. Best of all? Like the rest of its kin, it's a top-break! (FWIW: Iver Johnson also made bicycles and briefly sponsored Indianapolis-born champion rider Marshall "Major" Taylor.)

...Another fellow at the show's got a long-barreled .22 Colt Police Positive that I really like; priced a bit high, though, and the sights are tiny, old-fashioned, sharp-of-eye-only: it would mostly be a "safe queen" and I have too many of those.

Next up, an antique-shop mystery: Another top-break, with a very S&W-type latch and somewhat British hammer and trigger; I thought maybe it was an older S&W or an H&R (there's a small H&R in an obsolete caliber right next to it). Nope, the topstrap is marked "The Old Firearms Company" and there's a complex logo on the side. Some island-gunsmith special? It looks too good for that, but I'm darned if I know what it is; even the chambering seems odd, something short and .45ish. Presumably not a "gun" as the Feds define them, but what else it is remains to be discovered. --By someone else.

Someone like Tim D:

"After a slight bit of searching I came up with:
ATC is tradename and abbreviation for Armas de Trico y Caza , South America

And a similar piece in 8mm centerfire Adalet."

Check his link: it's a match!

Want? WANT!

The steampunk/dieselpunk Mille Miglia goggle jacket! Alas, spendy. (Also, this is what cars should look like. Automakers, take note; if you won't make flying cars, couldn't they at least look as if they might?)