Pluto was never not a planet
Whenever a college fraternity or sorority makes the news, it’s usually not for any great feat of intellect. This one is no different:
Sorority vandalizes wrong car in response to hazing complaint.
The Greek D is “Delta”. Too bad the Greek alphabet doesn’t have a U or H.
Araucanas are sometimes called “Easter eggers” because they lay pastel blue-green eggs. (Notice the size differences in this batch. They’re still adjusting their dispensing units.)
The eggs from our hens taste better than the store-bought ones. The yolks are darker and more flavorful. It’s been a fair amount of work and effort, but it’s nice to have locally-sourced eggs. And by “locally”, I mean “from the chicken coop across our driveway.”
So the Chicago Public Day Care System’s wardens—who, on average, earn $76,000 a year—are striking because the 16% pay increase over four years offered by the city just won’t cut it. Meanwhile, the Chicago school system has a dropout rate that’s close to 50%. But if you question the right of public sector union workers to have a guaranteed job for life and cushy pensions, you’re “playing political games on the backs of our children,” or something like that.
I’m not anti-union, strictly speaking, but between the strike in Chicago and the public sector unions in California driving the state into bankruptcy, it’s not all that hard to see where this is going. With our tax bills, we’re feeding an ever-expanding public sector whose unions have no qualms at all about blackmailing everyone else for 16% pay increases. (Remember—that money isn’t out of some mystical Chicago city money bin, it comes out of the paychecks of everyone else.) Don’t want to pony up For The Children™? Here are 400,000 kids on the streets—good luck finding daycare.
Meanwhile, Joe and Jane Taxpayer get shafted twice. They get to contribute an ever-increasing portion of their paycheck to enlarge the public sector, and that public sector’s busywork usually involves nickel-and-diming Joe and Jane and gagging them with red tape.
This is Crystal Lake, just a hop and a skip down the road from Castle Frostbite. “Crystal Lake” seems to be a popular name for lakes around here.
Here’s a video of an attempted armed robbery at an Internet cafe in Florida. Three guys rush in, guns in their hands…and the security guard, seated behind a desk, gets up, draws his gun, and starts firing not three seconds after the bad guys open that front door.
http://www.cnn.com/video/?hpt=hp_c3#/video/bestoftv/2012/08/31/pkg-security-guard-shoots-thieves-internet-cafe.weshpkg-security-guard-shoots-thieves-internet-cafe.wesh
This was in the wee hours of the morning, when human reaction times are at their worst, and the guy has a job that’s probably pretty boring most of the time, but he went from checking his computer screen to Battle Stations in absolutely no time. He didn’t hesitate or freeze under stress, he just committed himself to action and then followed through, protecting himself and the customers of that Internet cafe against armed and numerically superior aggressors. That’s how it’s done, folks.
What is it with armed robberies of Internet cafes in Florida? What’s the potential take at an Internet cafe, other than the customer wallets and maybe a few laptops?
We spent much of the day helping some friends move into a new house. The kids helped too, mostly by staying out of the way and doing stuff like this:
Behold! The first egg from our little flock of laying hens.
When I factor in the cost for the flock, the feed, the labor, and that deluxe chicken house and run, that egg is worth about three grand.
The new patio, pieced together from leftover granite and marble countertop pieces.
A little while ago I was out on the new patio area, putting together some planters and trinkets the wife had ordered for the new outdoor space. As I was screwing together the driftwood planter, I heard the characteristic “red alert” bawk-bawk-bawking of panicked chickens. I dropped my tools and sprinted through the covered porch and into the front yard, thinking that a weasel or fox had gotten into Cluckheim Keep despite our iron-clad security setup.
As I ran into the front yard with the shotgun, I saw the cause for the chicken distress swoop out of the sky and hit the chicken run a second time: a buzzard, almost as big as one of our Barred Rock hens (and they are large birds.) He flew off and settled on a tree branch at the edge of the yard.
I brought up the Remington and put the front sight bead on him. It would have been an easy shot, maybe twenty-five yards, a no-brainer with a full choke on a sitting bird.
He just looked at me and the chicken coop as if to say Screw you and your boomstick, hairless ape.
I turned the gun over to the hillside for a safe backstop and let off a shell to scare him off. He looked, spread his wings, and flew off in no particular hurry, as if he knew that he’s a protected species. (Not that I would have shot him even if he wasn’t—they eat rodents and other pests and are way too beautiful to kill, and the chickens are safe from him in the run in any case.)
In summary: birds of prey are beautiful, everything out here in the woods eats chickens, and a solid run enclosed in half-inch hardware cloth is a chicken’s best friend in these parts.
My friend Mark went to visit USS Iowa (BB-61). Being a 3D animator type, he took a metric crapton of detail pictures. If you’ve never been on an Iowa-class battleship, or you’re just a sucker for those big-ass ships and their big-ass guns, his Picasa page of the trip is worth a look.
Oh, this gave me a much-needed laugh today:
Amateur botches Spanish fresco restoration
The once-dignified portrait now resembles a crayon sketch of a very hairy monkey in an ill-fitting tunic, [the BBC correspondent] says.