Chinese Death Virus again.

I think the thing I hate most about this terrible virus from Wuhan, besides what it does to people who contract it, is how it makes us all look at our friends and families as harbingers of doom, monsters crawling with death. It makes the simplest in-person human transaction into a threat.

Of course here in the southern stretch of the Empire State, where a combination of a large and close population and corrupt morons for leaders has led to the worst outbreak in the nation, we have more reason than other Americans to feel this way. I mentioned we had dinner guests on Saturday; they showed up wearing masks, not presuming to go maskless until we assured them we didn't mind. It hadn't occurred to me to make the same offer to them, but that's where we are. On Sunday I was at a church group meeting in person for the first time since late winter, and we sat around, spaced apart, masks on and hand sanitizer near the door. I can't get used to this and I hope I never do. 

I told my wife I'd just as soon get the damned disease and get immune to it, but she pointed out that that was A) stupid and B) possibly no help since there was a reinfection case in the news and C) definitely no help because things were not going back to normal just because I got sick and recovered. 

I'm trying not to look at this in any political way, but of course it's hard not to, because since the Baby Boomers preached that the personal is political in the sixties, every goddamn thing has to be political. People lash out with political messages about this and hide behind science, unaware that the science about this disease is far from settled and changing frequently (a blind spot I see even in the medical press). The most common memes I've seen of this variety are stoopid Trump supporters who refuse to mask up. Well, you can't attack political opponents and then pretend it's not political. 

On the other hand, many people think the whole mask up / quarantine / damn the economy / close everything movement will end the day after Joe Biden's election to the presidency. I suspect not, but who knows. Public health professionals certainly did not inspire trust by claiming that bigotry was more dangerous than the virus; not only did they veer out of their lane by making a public health statement outside their area of expertise, they ran right into the guardrail. Why the hell should anyone trust them now? The personal is political, because people like that made it so.

"Trust me. I wear glasses."

I guess what bothers me the most is that everything, every single stupid thing, that comes down the pike has to be a means for Americans to attack one another. This is not confined to the Left. But I have noted before that the only historical Americans that the Left likes are Americans who fight other Americans, not the enemies of America. It's one reason we don't get many war pictures anymore, but there always seems to be another freaking Joe McCarthy movie in the works. 

All the holidays.

We had guests over for dinner for the first time since the outbreak of the Chinese Death Virus (a.k.a. Wu Han Flooey, #1 Super Die). We decided to throw caution to the wind and dine together without masks in our home. I hope Governor Sonny doesn't hear about this.

A good time was had, although prior to the good time my wife and I expended a tremendous effort getting the dog hair wrangled and out of here. As another friend said a few months into the quarantine, "We haven't panic-cleaned for a while, and it shows."

Prior to the panic-cleaning, I ran out to the supermarket for some last-minute needs. And there I encountered the topic of today's post.

If I asked you to eat a third of a pizza, you'd probably think it would make a solid meal. And yet the last third of the year has to be shoved forward in the interest of commerce. It's August, but Halloween is everywhere:

One of several spoooky displays

Oh, but that's not enough. A little farther down that same aisle, Thanksgiving was already in play.

Turkey + Pilgrim hat = Thanksgiving joy

But then, in the cleaning aisle:

The politically correct pests at Procter & Gamble have already released their Febreze "Holiday Collection." At first you might think this is just Halloweenish, because of the presence of Harvest Pumpkin in the Peter Brady position, and possibly the Apple in the Carol Brady and Alice spots. I say nay nay! The Cranberry in the Jan and Cindy positions (and as a car freshener in Greg and Marcia) declare it's Thanksgiving, and the Vanilla in Mike Brady's spot and the Pine in the Bobby corner shout Christmas. They've bunched all the holidays together so they can use the same display for the next four months.

Worst of all, it's working. In the Mike slot we see a Linen-flavored Febreze; some shopper clearly saw the display and made an impromptu switch to a Vanilla.

It's still summer for more than three weeks. I know we'd all like 2020 to be over, as if it would somehow put all the Chinese illnesses and rioting and looting and squabbling and idiocy behind us and usher in the Age of Aquarius or something, but let's enjoy the moments we have. We'll be freezing our collective tushie off up here soon enough.

Constantinople Mostly Peaceful.

AP (Monday, May 29, 1453): CONSTANTINOPLE -- After 55 days of unrest outside the capital of the Byzantine Empire, 80,000 mostly peaceful protesters breached the walls of Constantinople to demonstrate their displeasure with the corrupt officials in charge. Protesters reportedly were accompanied by aquatic dissenters in more than 130 boats of various types. 

The wrangling between Catholic and Orthodox church authorities was considered the responsible cause of the disruption in the city. The protesters, largely of the Ottoman minority, stated their concerns in no small way, feeling compelled ultimately to enter the area in unusual fashion and demand a voice in control of the municipal government.

"This has been a long time in coming," said Mehmed II, speaking to reporters on behalf of his constituents. "We have been patient long enough."

mostly peaceful

Reports that many valuable objects connected with denominational use went missing during the disruption, but it was not clear who if anyone was responsible.

During the mostly peaceful rally, some four thousand cloistered persons with cervices found themselves engaging in involuntary sexual actions, following which their heads were removed, but no group took responsibility for any involvement at press time.

By the end of the day, the city was said to be in control of the protesters, who declared that peace had been restored.

"This has been a great day for the freedom of oppressed people," said Mr. Mehmed II, joined by a young man named Jacob Notaras at the former Hagia Sophia. "They shall sing for many years to come that every gal in Constantinople lives in Istanbul, not Constantinople."

Blow up.

I'm sorry, my friends, but I have nothing to offer today. I spent an awful lot of time yesterday dealing with technical difficulties related to a computer system I use for one of my clients. When the IT department -- the second IT department, because the local guys were perplexed -- was able to resolve it, the file I was working on had to be reverted to an earlier draft, which meant re-reading and re-inputting the work I had done on Wednesday. Well, as the lawyers say, it's all billable hours.

And then Roomba tried to strange me!

So I hope to be back tomorrow with one of my jolly japes or therious think pieces. In the meantime, I thank you, and wish you a better day than I had yesterday.

In old New York.

Hat tip to Jon, fellow Bleatnik on the Great Lileks's site, for this amazing time suck for all of us who grew up in New York City, or the nearby area, or just like New York:

Street View of 1940s New York

Between 1939 and 1941, the Works Progress Administration collaborated with the New York City Tax Department to collect photographs of every building in the five boroughs of New York City. In 2018, the NYC Municipal Archives completed the digitization and tagging of these photos. This website places them on a map.

As Jon pointed out, what this essentially does is turn a map of New York City c. 1940 into a Google Street View. I found it to be a delightful time suck on a busy week. (There's also a 1980s version available, but I didn't find it to be as complete.)

Here are some photos of New York locations found through this "Street View," to give you a taste. The watermarks are unavoidable; the signs in front were some location or tax code used by the photographers and not a clear indicator to the streets.

Columbus Circle. The Majestic Theatre had become the Park in 1911.

Near the Lincoln Tunnel (less than five years old at the time)

West side downtown, near what would be the World Trade Center . Streets downtown were paved
with ballast stones from ships, some of which are still visible at the South Street Seaport.  

South Ferry area, where a man in a hat is immortalized unawares 80 years later, along with a few palookas

The Porto Rico line sailed between Manhattan and Puerto Rico for 75 years; more at this link if you're curious

These are not pictures of all the great, well known structures, the Penn Stations and Ebbets Fields. These are the places where people lived and worked, from a time when New York had just started replacing so many old walk-ups with the glass towers that line its streets today.

And yet so many things look familiar to me, even though they were gone long before I came on the scene. It may have been shorter, but it was still the New York I once loved.

Fred's Book Club: Vroom.

Welcome to yet another episode of the Humpback Writers, the awesome book club with the weird name. Of course, we don't think any of the writers actually have humps, even though we post on Hump Day, but the subject of today's book could have wound up with all sorts of bumps, lumps, and humps had he been less skillful and less fortunate.

Rick Mears: Thanks: The Story of Rick Mears and the Mears Gang is a coffee table paperback by Gordon Kirby about the amazing career if Indy driver Rick Mears, one of a handful of men who have achieved the highest number of Indianapolis 500 victories to date with four. Mears won in 1979, 1984, 1988, and 1991. (The other two four-time winners are A.J. Foyt and Mears rival Al Unser.)

I'm not kidding when I say this is a coffee table book. It's 11" by 11" and weighs about ten pounds. As far as I can tell it's a really good biography of International Motorsports Hall of Famer Mears, but that's where I have to make a confession: I have only skimmed this book, not read it. It belongs to another member of the family, someone much more interested in Indy car racing than I. Anyway, however good the text is, we all know these books are all about the pictures. And it has a lot of great pictures.

I do think Kirby does do a nice job throwing you into the action. Here's how the prologue starts:

With his left foot pushing down on top of his broken right foot most of the time, Rick Mears fought for the lead of the Indianapolis 500 for almost three hours that late May afternoon in 1991. Rick had broken his foot when he crashed his Penke Indy car because of a suspension failure near the end of the first week of practice at Indianapolis that year. Rick and team owner Roger Penske kept his broken foot a secret from race officials and the press and despite intense pain he was back in action again later that same day in his back-up car.  

I also got a bit of a feel for what made Mears such a great driver. His great love in life is driving, and he'd drive anything. He started with his brother Roger, shooting around in sprint buggies, then achieved success in the Pikes Peak International Hill Climb. "I loved that road up the mountain," Rick is quoted as saying in the book. "It was a real challenge to drive. I was glad we'd won it because I didn't necessarily need to do it again. Every year you got braver and braver because you knew the course better and better, and you were just getting closer and closer to the edge."

Dreaming about hoisting the trophy is nice, but a guy whose #1 desire is to get out there on anything and tearing it up in a powerful machine -- that's a champion.

Of course, Mears's career was not without its crashes and injuries. The book has plenty of personal photographs, some connected to that. Here he is on the right, driving a far less powerful machine:

That was following a crash in Quebec in 1984 that knocked him out and left his feet poking out the car's front end. "I remember the first time I looked down and saw both feet were still on my legs, that was before they were talking about taking them off," he said. "But when I looked down and saw them both still there, it was almost immediate, I knew I was going to drive again." This was just a couple of months after his second Indy victory.

The Indy ran late this year, just last Sunday instead of Memorial Day weekend, all because of the Chinese Death Virus. There was not a single fan present in person -- which is 300,000 fewer than normal. If that was not strange enough, the race was barreling toward a thrilling conclusion when a racer in the back crashed, and the race had to finish under a yellow flag, so no one could change position for the remaining five laps. Still, we at Fred's Book Club congratulate Japanese racer  Takuma Sato for his second victory. Get two more and maybe we'll have your book on the Humpback Writers one day.

Well enough alone?

You put the Lyme in the coconut...

Forget the Chinese Death Virus for a while. I'm now convinced that I and everyone else has Lyme disease.

Why? Well, I've been working this past week on some medical materials related to the disease, especially concerning its underdiagnosis, undertreatment, and sneaky, horrible symptoms. This kind of reading can make anyone think he has whatever disease it is. I've had assignments on women's health that damn near made me think I had endometriosis. It's a phenomenon I've mentioned before, one my wife and I call Real Housemaid's Knee, after its description by the great Jerome K. Jerome.

And how could anyone, especially someone who has been around the sun a few times, not think he has Lyme disease? Here's a list of symptoms from Lyme expert Dr. Joseph Burrascano:

fever
sweats
chills
weight change (loss or gain)
fatigue
tiredness
hair loss
swollen glands
sore throat
difficulty swallowing
swelling around the eyes
burning in feet
swelling in feet
chest pain or rib soreness
shortness of breath
heart palpitations
pulse skips
heart block
heart murmur
bull’s-eye rash
Erythema Migrans (EM) rash
nausea
vomiting
GERD
change in bowel function (constipation, diarrhea)
gastritis
abdominal cramping
cystitis
irritable bladder
bladder dysfunction
newly diagnosed irritable bowel syndrome (IBS)
joint/muscle pain in feet
ankle pain
shin splints
joint pain or swelling
stiffness of the joints, neck, or back
muscle pain or cramps that migrate
temporomandibular joint dysfunction (TMJ/TMJD jaw pain)
neck creaks and cracks
neck stiffness
muscle twitching
headache
tingling
numbness
burning or stabbing sensations
facial paralysis (Bell’s palsy)
dizziness
poor balance
increased motion sickness
light-headedness
wooziness
difficulty walking
tremor
confusion
difficulty thinking, concentrating, or reading
forgetfulness
poor short-term memory
disorientation (getting lost, going to wrong place)
difficulty with speech
double or blurry vision
eye pain
blindness
increased floaters
increased sensitivity to light or sound
buzzing or ringing in ears
ear pain
decreased hearing
seizure activity
white matter lesions
low blood pressure
mood swings
violent outbursts
irritability
depression
disturbed sleep (too much, too little, early awakening)
personality changes
obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD)
paranoia
panic/anxiety attacks
hallucinations
testicular pain/pelvic pain
menstrual irregularity
milk production (lactation)
sexual dysfunction or loss of libido

WHAT THE HELL? Eighty-five different symptoms?!? Are there any symptoms a human being can have that are not on this list?

Note that in any individual case you may or may not have a symptom, meaning that the absence of a symptom may itself seem like evidence of the presence of the disease. Who would not think he was sick? I thought I was just lazy and depressed, but it turns out that I've had Lyme for years! I thought I had arthritis of the knee because I'm elderly and fat, but it turns out my knee is loaded with Lyme! I thought I was crazy, but it's just the Lyme talking! This is no exaggeration.

Furthermore, look at this CDC picture of the little blacklegged bastard responsible for this menace, sitting on a blade of grass:

How are we suppose to keep that sucker at bay? In real life he's so small he's barely visible, but he can make you sick to the point of wanting to die. And you can stay sick for years. Very often people have no idea that they have been bitten by the little creep at all, which is another thing that makes diagnosis difficult. Even if you catch the little jerk, they may not be able to determine if he had Lyme, or -- and here's a fun thought -- co-infections, like Babesiosis, Bartonella, Rickettsia, or Ehrlichiosis, That's right! Not only can you have all those fun symptoms from Lyme, but also have other diseases as well, all from the same stupid tick.

It seems like a doomsday scenario, but of course Lyme is not generally fatal. It just makes you feel like death, or want to die, or like you're going crazy. Is there any exaggeration to this? I don't know; my main concern is that I had every single symptom for the disease because I was reading about it, even though I've had three negative tests for Lyme within the last year.

So I did what I often do when confronted with some awful problem about which I can do nothing: I wrote a poem.

"It's All Lyme Disease"

Ear pain, joint pain even if it don't rain
Eyes hurt, can't see, lousy short-term memory
Feel cold, feel hot, have some multicolored snot
Can't poop, face droop, coughing like you got croup
No matter how you're feeling bad
Lyme disease is what you had

Got a rash, red or brown, falling over like a clown
Feeling twice your real age, falling into red rage
Can't sleep, can't wake, get up and you start to shake
Now you're even balding, head looks like a Spalding
No matter if you're cold or hot
Lyme disease is what you got

Heart stop, heart block, ticking like a stop clock
Concentration wrecks, even over sex
Getting fat, getting thin, any shape that you are in
Any symptom that you please, it all means Lyme disease
No matter how you feel like crud
Lyme disease is in your blood

On the passing scene.

I said to myself, "Self!" I said, "That's an old Emeril Lagasse gag." "It predates him," Self replied. "In any event," I said, "I hate to do a Random Thoughts type column, but I have all these little bits that don't cohere into a solid blog post." "Hey, Thomas Sowell did them frequently for years before his retirement," Self said. "If it's good enough for him, it's good enough for you." I agreed.

Item 1: Via Instapundit -- have we reached peak 2020?

One can hope, but we still have a presidential election to decide, and the mobs are still running the streets in some cities (except by the mayor of Chicago's house, because shut up, peons).

Obviously we need Batman now more than ever.

Item 2: I wish we could box up some water and send it to California, because this has been an unusually wet summer here. Foggy mornings and rain. Usually by mid-August the grass stops growing for a while because it gets scorched, but that never happened this year.

This morning's dampness featured the visit of a stink bug on the kitchen window. The brown marmorated stink bug is yet another damn invader from Asia, like the Chinese Death Virus, first spotted in the United States in Allentown, Pennsylvania in 1996. Hmm... Isn't that around where our friend Stiiv lives? I'm sure it's a coincidence.

I wrote our little stink bug friend a haiku.

Stink bug under glass
Kindly leave my country now
Take the 'rona too

Item 3: While we have no wildfires here, we did get one wild, fiery sunrise this week.

That looks like Wrath-of-God stuff.

Item 4: The Indianapolis 500 runs today, weather permitting, before a 25% capacity crowd. Certain persons in the house here are very excited. I'm not a big racing fan, but I'll watch; I watched it a couple of years ago and enjoyed it. I hope they don't do any politically correct bows to the current crisis in the run-up to the race. A sport where people burn fossil fuels while speeding around in circles is never going to get the approval of the PC crowd, no matter whose rings they kiss.

Item 5: Autumn is knocking at the doors, and I'm not just saying that because of the Halloween candy in the supermarket. Saw a big Canadian goose V in the sky this morning. It was not heading south, though; actually, it was heading east. Maybe these were Canadian geese with poor sense of direction.

Also, the chestnuts are on the way:

But the dahlias haven't given up yet.

Item 6: My favorite online gags of recent note:

And with that, I hope you have a lovely Sunday, and keep your sense of humor whatever happens next. Good luck, Karen Doe; I hope Higgins comes home soon.

Return of Nature's Candy.

The title of this post refers to the campaign for raisins, that at one time starred a young Molly Ringwald. You can read more about this and other raisin-related issues in a post for two years ago here.

But today I am looking into another issue about the dried grape situation. (If prunes can be sold as Dried Plums, why aren't raisins Dried Grapes?) This issue was related to an interesting take in the news last year about raisins: Millennials have stopped buying them. This, from Fast Company:

In 2017, [raisin] farmers’ crop prices sunk to their lowest level in several decades, down 31% from the year prior. In fact, for the very first time, California forfeited the title of world’s leading producer of raisins–to Turkey. Raisin farmers now look to grow more profitable crops, such as almonds....
     The number-one raisin brand in America is not content to wither away like . . . you know. It has a plan to woo newer generations, many of whose last interaction with the brand centered around packed school lunches. Sun-Maid has released a new ad campaign–its first in a decade–and bold new products to target a growth goal of $100 million within five years.

Sun-Maid is not just advertising for raisin' awareness (har!), but is also introducing new snacks that they think will appeal to different age groups. The latest are the Sun-Maid Bites, specifically the Birthday Cake flavor I sampled recently.

As regular readers may know (they have a high tolerance for boredom), I have sampled many things labeled "birthday cake" or "birthday" flavored, meaning yellow cake with white icing. Like a lot of them, these bite-size pieces, about the size of a half dollar if half dollars were square, and if anyone remembered half dollars, don't taste all that birthdayish. They're fine, though, and good enough to be kid-tastic, but I think most kids prefer a fruit type snack that's more like a gummy or a cookie. This is actually not that sweet, and is pretty chewy. I think a better snack for an adult than a kid, then. It's more like a chewy energy bar, and could easily have been sold that way.

Maybe it should have been. as one is tempted to eat the whole bag. Thus one is going to consume more calories and more of those sweet. sweet raisins than one would if it were sold by the bar.

The Sun-Maid Bites also come in S'mores, PB&J, and Banana Split flavors. I'm willing to try them all, but of course Banana Split is a sentimental favorite.

Good luck to you, Sun-Maid. I've always enjoyed raisins, although the market these days seems to be comprised of only little kids and little ol' folks. I'm somewhere in the middle -- at least for now.

Whatever it is, I'm against it.

I don't know what they have to say
It doesn't matter anyway
Whatever it is, I'm against it
No matter what it is or who commenced it
I'm against it

Your proposition may be good
But let's have one thing understood
Whatever it is, I'm against it
And even when you've changed it or condensed it
I'm against it

I'm opposed to it on general principles
I'm opposed to it...

The great Professor Quincy Adams Wagstaff of Huxley College set the tone for my acceptance of anything in the media. Speaking as one who has long labored in the mines of book and magazine publishing, I have seen many silly ideas turn into fads and turn into "musts," for the simple reason that some ding dong had some encounter with a freak out there in the world who had some life-improving idea; with the enthusiasm that only the young and over-moneyed can enjoy, that ding dong sold her friends on it, and through the media it was broadcast to the world. This is how we get useless things like cucumber slices on the eyes and dangerous things like Goop. A few years down the line, when all America is enthralled with the dopey idea, the original true believers say "What was that all about?" as if they'd never been involved, because they're on to the next fabulous idea. The consumer can never catch up; you're always going to be at least one dumb idea behind.

This kind of stuff is big in newspaper features and women's magazines. You may find dumb ideas in Popular Mechanics or Family Handyman, but they aren't touted breathlessly as the best thing EVAH. Well, not usually.

So here are some things I'm against, possibly on general principles, but also because I think it's dumb and I don't feel like it. I'm not saying these things have no merits, but as modern Big Ideas they leave me cold. I've spent my whole life resisting peer pressure and I'm not giving in now.

YOGA
It is probably is healthy, and maybe it helps you relax, but it's not for me. I would look like an olive trying to balance on its toothpick. Everyone on the health-care commercials is yogaing away, but of course only a small percentage of the population is really interested. Most of us would just like to be less fat. We are perfectly happy to find inner peace in church and/or lying on the sofa. If you want a reason to avoid yoga, call it cultural appropriation. I don't care. Just leave me out of it.

VEGANISM
A doctor may force me into it one day, but it will be to save my life, not the cow's life. It's unlikely to happen anyhow. There're few health conditions that absolutely require abstaining from all animal products. Despite that, the news media and our betters in the international health community and the global warming gang want me to give them up. Well, I can be sentimental about animals enough to try to give up meat one day, although fish and chickens are dumb and probably need to be eaten. In any event, you'll get my ice cream when you pry it from my literally cold and possibly dead hands.

ELECTRIC CARS
I have nothing against the idea, but the technology isn't there. This little fact was buried for years after the so-called documentary Who Killed the Electric Car? came out in 2006. You want to know what killed the electric car? Reality. People have the idea that you can charge a huge battery by zapping it with the Heart of Atlantis, but that's horse hockey. A pal of mine got a call on the way to work recently from his boss, who was stuck on an exit ramp when he forgot to charge his Tesla. He was driving through New Jersey and the thing turned into a two-ton paperweight. My pal had to come babysit the car, and the Labrador in the backseat, while Boss took the company truck and went to work. Because you can't send someone to Sunoco for a gallon of electricity. I've thought a network of battery changers would be useful, but at this point you can't just pop out the old batteries and pop in the new ones. Maybe one day -- and maybe one day our electricity will come from nice, clean nukes or maybe unicorn farts instead of fossil fuels -- but that day isn't today. So the Tesla runs on fossil fuels and nukes anyway. So shut up and let me drive my car.

BEST-SELLERS BY CHARLATANS AND AGONISTS
Nothing is going to stop the liars, cheaters, carpetbaggers, chiselers, swindlers, faddists, and snake-oilers from publishing books full of lies, like some recent best-sellers I know of; it has been thus and ever shall be. But don't tell me to -- nay, insist that I must -- read them. Furthermore, I have no interest in the agonists, meaning writers who pack their novels with horrible tales of woe meant to show how the badass female lead (always female) overcomes all the terrible strawmen (always men) who stand in her way. I guess there's an audience for this stuff, which is paint-by-numbers no matter what the setting, but I'm not part of it. The people who are ought to realize that they're being fed an illusion as much as any Hallmark Christmas movie watcher. The difference is, the Hallmark fan knows it's fiction.

These are the bridges that are too far for me. And if you don't like my general principles... Well, to quote Prof. Wagstaff's twin brother, or someone who sounded like him, these are my principles, and if you don't like them, I have others.

Kirk's little buddy.

Captain Kirk couldn't quite understand why -- surely not the red shirt -- but there was something about taking Ensign Gilligan along on this three-hour surface mission that made him feel apprehensive. 

Fred's Book Club: Hell on Earth.

Hello, book fans, and welcome to today's amazing entry in our Wednesday Humpback Writers feature, the feature named for Hump Day, not for the writers, some of whom may have humps of one sort or another, but I've never asked. You have to draw the line somewhere.

Today we have a classic of journalism by a writer who was not afraid to get down in the mud (sometimes literally) to dig for information, who has probably had more guns pointed his way than the average mid-level drug dealer, and yet has retained his sense of humor through it all.

Holidays in Hell, originally published in 1988, is a collection of pieces by P.J. O'Rourke, the one-time National Lampoon writer whose career has been headlines by two constants:

1) Go to places in the world that completely suck, or don't suck, and find out why they are the way they are; and

2) Make fun of them.

This book, which is a pretty good snapshot of the state of the world in the eighties, features essays of his visits to horrible places like Lebanon, El Salvador, South Africa, the Gaza Strip, and Epcot. He would go to these places so we wouldn't have to, and God bless him for it.

O'Rourke is a keen observer with a great eye for detail and a sharp wit, some of which would ensure no large modern New York publisher would go near him these days. Here's P.J. on ...

LEBANON 

Miss Phillips was gone for two hours. She emerged from the donnybrook perfectly composed and holding three bus tickets. I asked her what all the shooting was about. "Oh," she said, "that's just Lebanese for 'please queue up.'" An ancient horrible Mexican-looking bus pulled into the crowd smacking people and punting them aside. Amal was carrying a co-ed's full complement of baggage in two immense suitcases. I handed my kit bag to Miss Phillips, grabbed these and made for the bus. Or tried to. Three steps put me at the bottom of a clawing, screeching pile-up, a pyramid of human frenzy. I heard Miss Phillips's voice behind me. "Don't be shy," she said, "it's not rude to give a wee shove to the Lebanese." I took a breath, tightened my grip on the suitcases and began lashing with Samsonite bludgeons at the crowd of women, old men, and children. If you ask me, it was pretty rude, but it was either that or winter in South Lebanon. 

POLAND 

"Let's start with nightclubs," I said as soon as the cop had given up on us. Zofia raised an eyebrow.     "There's one called Kamienolomy, 'The Quarry,'" said Tom. The decor was budget Mafia. Because of the name, I guess, the walls were covered with Permastone house siding. There were little strips of disco lights around the dance floor, but they just flashed off and on; they didn't move around the room or change colors or anything.        A bored combo -- one singer, one guitar player and a guy on the electric organ doing the rhythm, bass and drum -- played a Ramada Inn lounge arrangement of "I Got You, Babe," lyrics in memorized English:            Ugh gut you to told me height            Bucket jute tuchus god night

THIRD-WORLD DRIVING 

Traffic Signs and Signals: Most developing nations use international traffic symbols. Americans may find themselves perplexed by road signs that look like Boy Scout merit badges and by such things as an iguana silhouette with a red diagonal bar across it. Don't worry, the natives don't know what they mean, either. 

EPCOT 

At Epcot Center, the Disney corporation has focused its attention on two things greatly in need of Disneyfication: the tedious future and the annoying whole wide world. 

The book is also educational. I would never have heard this theory of colonialism otherwise:

The historian C. H. Haring points out that there are two kinds of colonies. Farm colonies are refuges where Pilgrims, Quakers and other fruitcakes can go chop down trees and stay out of everybody's hair. But exploitation colonies are places for wastrel younger sons and sleazed-out noblemen to get rich on gold and slave-labor plantations. Farm colonists are interested in forming their own permanent institutions. Exploitation colonists are interested in getting home and spending their money. For this reason New England, Canada, Costa Rica and parts of Argentina are reasonably nice places, while Mississippi, Jamaica, Mexico and most other sections of the hemisphere are shit holes.    

Holidays in Hell was not the first book of O'Rourke's I read. Parliament of Whores, his 1991 deep dive into American politics, was an eye-opener for a lot of people and an introduction to economics too -- and funny as hell. It stated the reasons why America has been so successful -- rule of law, respect for institutions and vice-versa, freedom of enterprise, etc. -- and how fragile these things can be, as we are seeing now.

But O'Rourke lost Libertarian street cred in 2016 with his semi-endorsement of Hillary Clinton for president -- the woman of whom he once said "Every man looks at her and sees his first wife," part of the couple he called "blathering highbinders." I'm not sure if he considers himself a Never Trumper, but he's at the very least a Trump Despiser. With the backs of the conservatives against the wall as never before, this kind of attitude is hard to swallow to his longtime fans.

Be that as it is, although he's getting up there now (72 now and probably not going to any real hellholes these days), O'Rourke is one of the sharpest writers of his generation, merciless on the foibles and failings of his generation, and a real talent. If you hate his politics (or you support Mississippi), you'll still love The Bachelor Home Companion: A Practical Guide to Keeping House Like a Pig, which I also recommend without reservation.

Next to godliness.

Back in the eighties, Safeguard soap was advertised as being "the smallest soap in the house." Everyone will prefer Safeguard to whatever else you have! Buy more Safeguard! Everyone uses it! Safeguard is the smallest soap in the house!

Not anymore.

This 25-ounce bottle is the largest dispensing bottle of hand soap I've ever seen for the home consumer. The local supermarket had a bunch of them. Of course I got one. We haven't run out of hand soap during the current Chinese Death Virus crisis, but the store's liquid-soap shelves have often been bare, and we were prepared to use body wash or -- gasp! -- bars of soap if need be.

Unfortunately I did not realize that Safeguard is owned by Procter & Gamble, also known as Political & Correctness, the company that insults average American men and made me stop buying Gillette. They make a billion products; it's hard to avoid them all. And I will give them points for sending out soap to the soap-hungry millions. But at six bucks for this bottle, it was hardly out of the goodness of their blackened little hearts.

But: Is this a sign that things might be getting back to normal on the supply side? Not sure. Weird things going on. Have not had a good potato in months. Paper products are back, though. And I got a bottle of Lysol Laundry Sanitizer in the warehouse store. (Lysol Laundry Sanitizer does not claim to destroy or deactivate viruses, which are pretty much done in by the laundry process anyway; it does, however, kill bacteria, and when you have two large dogs that constantly need toweling off in wet weather, and a large occasionally sweaty male in the house [me], you know that some loads need germ-killing.)

Here is the big news, though: While I was in the warehouse store, an announcement came over the PA that Clorox Disinfecting Wipes were limited to one to a customer (one being a pack of five). It took a moment for that to sink in. Disinfecting wipes have been missing for months! Karen Townsend of Hot Air explained why:

It turns out that the supply chain is stressed because the cleaning wipes are made with polyester spunlace, a material currently in short supply. It is also used to make personal protective equipment like masks, medical gowns, and medical wipes. “That entire supply chain is stressed. … We feel like it’s probably going to take until 2021 before we’re able to meet all the demand that we have,” [Clorox CEO Benno Dorer] said. Though in May Dorer predicted that store shelves would be restocked by the summer, that has not materialized.

I did not get my one-to-a-customer wipes, though; I was already checking out. I had been down the aisle where they usually are kept, but they must have had them in some special spot. We still  have some at home anyway.

Soap, antibacterial detergent, antiseptic wipes -- in some ways, it seems like a little normalcy may be creeping back in our lives.

Or maybe not. The flagrant stupidity in our culture is still be enacted with violence and looting in our streets, with governors who won't govern, prosecutors who won't prosecute, and mayors who may or may not be brain dead. God knows how all that is going to end.

It's for the kids.

My wife was watching something on TV the other night that I'm glad I missed. But that's okay, because she told me all about it, ensuring I got to enjoy the nightmare fuel. Now it's your turn.

It was a documentary show that profiled the friendly little jellyfish known as the Irukandj. This cheery little transparent chap, only about one square centimeter in size, carries enough venom to kill a grown man, who might never even know that he got stung. It's so hard to see in the water that you might offend its sensibilities unawares, at which time the little bastard will kill you.

Do I even need to mention he hangs out in the waters of Australia? That'll put a crimp on your hols. No wonder they pronounce "holiday" and "holi-die" the same way.

This inspired me to create a new series of educational books for the wee ones out there. Children, probably boys the most, like picture books with deadly animals, gross creatures, and things like that. They are fascinated. They like to freak one another out. So my idea is not terribly new; what puts it over the top is the celebrity endorsement.

We can do a lot of these, because wherever you are -- forests, deserts, rivers, lakes, mountains, glaciers, cities, your own backyard -- there's always some s**t trying to f**k you up.

So Mr. Jackson, if you're available, have your people call my people. We'll write the books; we'd just ask you to add your irrepressible flair to the introductions. Also the info boxes ("LISTEN UP, M***ERF**KER") that share particularly juicy factoids about murderous wildlife. Wouldn't you like a Robert F. Sibert Informational Book Medal to go with your many other awards? Of course you would!

Cereal drama.

Longtime readers, all Rhodes Scholar material of course, will know that I enjoy breakfast cereal and have sampled many and weird and sugary examples for this site, and also that our house is addicted to Dunkin' "Leave-Off-the-Donuts-for-Savings" coffee.

Well, I was in the Walmart and ran into this Trumpian wall of cereal.

Good grief.

Dunkin' Caramel Macchiato and Dunkin' Mocha Latte are the surprising coffesque flavors available via Post. Surprising because Dunkin' is known less for pretentious coffee varieties than a certain other green-themed coffee chain we know. Although Dunkin' has benn trying to horn in on the highfalutin European coffee varieties, most people who go to Dunkin' still just get plain old coffee, with various degrees of milk and sweetener. It's one reason the line moves faster there. And yet, Post has turned to its fancy coffee to make cereal.

The Post company says: "Love coffee? Our new Post Dunkin'™ Caramel Macchiato and Mocha Latte cereals are made with Dunkin'® coffee. It’s a whole new way to enjoy the flavor of your favorite Dunkin'® drinks!"

I resisted temptation. I really am trying to be better about the sugar this year. Failing, but trying. But I am glad I did. A serving of the Mocha Latte cereal, for example, has about the same calories as a serving of Frosted Flakes, and almost as much sugar. Dunkin' cereal is marketed to older kids and adults (what child is interested in coffee?) but has the nutrition of a kiddie cereal.

Here's something interesting: I checked with the invaluable Mr. Breakfast site to see if his Cereal Project had reviewed these cereals yet. It has not as of this writing. However, it did have a report on a Dunkin' Donuts Cereal made by Ralston in the dim yesteryear of 1988!

This cereal was all in on the Donut, being made like little glazed doughnuts in Cheerio form. A chocolate variety was also available. An image of late character actor Michael Vale, who played Fred the Baker (no relation) on the Dunkin' Donuts commercials, adorned the box.

Dunkin' Donuts cereal was universally loved in retrospect by the reviewers on Mr. Breakfast's site, but not apparently by shoppers in 1988. It was not successful, and in fact six years later Ralston would spin off its cereals into a separate outfit, and soon after sell its entire branded cereal line  -- including Chex and Cookie Crisp -- to General Mills. After 95 years, the Ralston name was no longer attached to cereals.

Interesting information about Ralston from Mr. Breakfast himself:

The name Ralston stems from a minor social movement in the late 19th century called Ralstonism -- created by Webster Edgerly. Followers of the movement (about 800,000) followed the motto "Regime, Activity, Light, Strength, Temperation, Oxygen and Nature" -- the first letters of which spelled out "Ralston". Ralstonism required its adherents to follow very strict guidelines regarding diet and personal hygiene.

Doesn't Fred the Baker just inspire "Regime, Activity, Light, Strength, Temperation, Oxygen, and Nature"?

Nah. I know Fred the Me doesn't. Anyway, since the movement was jammed with eugenics and other insanity, I think I'd rather have a doughnut instead.

Cluck 'em.

I was thinking about our lovely New York legislature and the fine chap who runs our executive branch, and the mayors and governors of those municipalities that have been encouraging rioters to the detriment of the non-riotous community, and I got to wondering: Has anyone ever really been tarred and feathered? Just a hypothetical.

Well, Dr. Wikipedia is our first stop on this tour of knowledge. 

Tarring and feathering is a form of public humiliation and punishment used to enforce unofficial justice or revenge. It was used in feudal Europe and its colonies in the early modern period, as well as the early American frontier, mostly as a type of mob vengeance.
      The victim would be stripped naked, or stripped to the waist. Wood tar (sometimes hot) was then either poured or painted onto the person while they were immobilized. Then the victim either had feathers thrown on them or was rolled around on a pile of feathers so that they stuck to the tar.

Examples are given of specific times this has been known to have happened, such as the tarring and feathering of British Customs Commissioner John Malcolm in 1774. This was Malcolm's second experience with colonial displeasure. It seems to have gotten a reputation as a real American way to handle the wicked, even that early. 

The Straight Dope is listed as a source for a good deal of information in the article, so let's go see what Cecil has to say: 

Unlike its close cousin lynching, tarring and feathering usually wasn’t fatal. One historian says it was employed chiefly when a mob was feeling “playful.” But the victim usually had a lot less fun than his tormentors. A Tory assaulted by a mob in 1775 was stripped naked and daubed with hot pitch, blistering his skin, then covered with hog dung. In 1912 Ben Reitman, companion of the radical agitator Emma Goldman, was beaten by a mob in San Diego, then tarred and covered with sagebrush. Afterward he spent two hours cleaning off the worst of the gunk with turpentine and tar soap — just the kind of helpful hint we at the Straight Dope pride ourselves in providing. Hope you don’t have occasion to use it.

The question that neither of these articles answers, though, is -- why the feathers? 

Another source cited was from the legendary 1911 edition of the Encylopaedia Britannica:

TARRING AND FEATHERING, a method of punishment at least as old as the Crusades. The head of the culprit was shaved and hot tar poured over it, a bag of feathers being afterwards shaken over him. The earliest mention of the punishment occurs in the orders of Richard Cceur de Lion, issued to his navy on starting for the Holy Land in 1191. "Concerning the lawes and ordinances appointed by King Richard for his navie the forme thereof was this . . . item, a thiefe or felon that hath stolen, being lawfully convicted, shal have his head shorne, and boyling pitch poured upon his head, and feathers or downe strawed upon the same whereby he may be knowen, and so at the first landing-place they shall come to, there to be cast up" (trans, of original statute in Hakluyt's Voyages, ii. 21). A later instance of this penalty being inflicted is given in Notes and Queries (series 4, vol. v.), which quotes one James Howell writing from Madrid, in 1623, of the "boisterous Bishop of Halverstadt," who, "having taken a place where there were two monasteries of nuns and friars, he caused divers feather beds to be ripped, and all the feathers thrown into a great hall, whither the nuns and friars were thrust naked with their bodies oiled and pitched and to tumble among these feathers, which makes them here (Madrid) presage him an ill-death"." In 1696 a London bailiff, who attempted to serve process on a debtor who had taken refuge within the precincts of the Savoy, was tarred and feathered and taken in a wheelbarrow to the Strand, where he was tied to the Maypole which stood by what is now Somerset House. It is probable that the punishment was never regarded as legalized, but was always a type of mob vengeance.

So the feather portion of the program was to make sure everyone knew the thiefe or felon that hath stolen was covered in tar due to his lawlessness. Or so... presage the innocent with an ill-death? You lost me there, E.B. But the point was identification, that the victim be known that this was done on purpose, that he didn't just have a bad day at the tar office. I suppose the feathers also helped keep him from sticking to things that the mob didn't want him to stick to, but that does not seem to have been the main idea. Also, while I guess the treatment could be applied to cowards (rendering them more visibly "chickens"), it doesn't seem to have been done for that reason. 

If I were a leftist and was writing this piece and hinting strongly about a certain Orange Man, I would probably indicate that you could buy a five-gallon drum of roofing tar for $85 and bags of feathers for a five-spot, but neither I nor this blog would ever recommend or condone acts of actual violence on anyone except in defense of self or others. That sort of cute ha-ha-sorry-I-incited-the-mob-I'm-such-a-jokester crap deserves felony indictment but seldom gets it.

It's less violent to run someone out of town on a rail, by the way, but I still don't condone it. However, Lincoln is supposed to have gotten a good gag out of the practice. Lincoln got good stories out of a lot of things.

Washington atilt.

My wife had a crazy dream. Unlike her husband (moi) she does not often have vivid dreams, or remember her dreams. But this time she recalled it and told me about it when she woke up.

Apparently a large portrait of George Washington was supposed to be installed atop one of Manhattan's skyscrapers, presumably in the neighborhood where she used to report for duty in person sometimes before the Chinese Death Virus came to play. When it was put in place, she noticed that the painting was somewhat askew.

It seems that the artist of the painting had created it with that intent, and insisted for the sake of his stupid artistic vision that it be installed just so.

Well, it didn't take the biblical Joseph to interpret this one, I thought. I said that the news about elections and riots and all have made an impression on her, an impression that some people have a very skewed vision for the United States, that they may even co-opt symbols of this great nation but they prefer their own weird idea of the country to that of the founders, and those who love the country as is.

"That painting would have made me crazy," she said.

"There are too many people in the city with OCD in New York," I said. "They'd charge the building with torches and pitchforks."

Although the dream irritated my wife, she is neither obsessive nor compulsive -- except about dental hygiene. "I'll be brushing my teeth five minutes before my funeral," she said recently, and I believe it. Still, as far as things to be crazy about go, brushing after eating is far from problematic.

It was interesting that she was dreaming about this stuff. She's not one to pay a keen eye to the news, and was surprised to hear from me how bad the pillaging of our cities has gotten and how the state and local authorities have allowed it. I suspect many people who think they are well-informed have no idea at all. Perhaps if they find out, they'll dream about an upside-down George Washington. Or maybe one getting lynched. That seems to be in the cards these days.

And that's the is it way.

NOW, THE NEWS

DATELINE: AUGUST 13, 2020

ALL THE PRINT WE NEWS THE FIT

(huh?)

WASHINGTON, DC -- Big Dipper Declared Racist

In a stunning announcement this morning following President Trump's speech outdoors in Virginia yesterday, the asterism known as the Big Dipper has been declared racist by the activist group People Endowed with Superior Tolerance (PEST).

"The president remarked last night how beautiful the Big Dipper was in the sky," said PEST leader Cheryl Snorch. "Aside for the obvious siziesm contained in the preference for the larger of the two Dippers, it is clear that the president intended this to be a dog whistle to his followers, who know how similar the path of the star cluster is to the infamous Nazi swastika."

President Trump, when asked about this at a press conference, said, "I don't care what anyone says, the Big Dipper, or Dipper of Large Proportions if you will, is the finest, the best constellation, really terrific, and everyone should go out and see it. It's just tremendous, believe me."

PEST has alerted its many followers that the Big Dipper should be disbanded and no longer recognized as a unified group.

📰📰📰

ALBANY, NY -- New York Hospitals Expand Definition of COVID-19 Deaths

Howard Zucker, MD, JD, Commissioner of Health for the State of New York, today announced that hospitals in the state would resolve the confusion about the number of deaths due to the novel COVID-19 virus by renaming all patient deaths as due to COVID-19.

"This seems the simplest way to resolve any disputes about the number of deaths due to the European COVID infection," said Dr. Zucker to reporters. "We feel that the infection rate of this unprecedented disease is so high that we might as well just assume everyone has it, and everyone died of it."

When asked whether that would include, for example, someone who perished in an automobile accident who just happened to test positive for the antibodies, Dr. Zucker said, "Of course. How are we to know that the effects of the virus did not in fact cause the accident? Better be safe and call that one a COVID death as well."

Dr. Zucker did, however, note that corpses were not going to be tested to see if they actually did have antibodies or other signs of infection. "Why put the great hospitals of this state to the expense?" he retorted. "It's not like the deceased can be treated at that stage."

In a closing statement, Dr. Zucker added that expanding the definition of COVID deaths to include everyone who actually dies is perfectly reasonable and has nothing to do with the false allegations of financial incentives to overcount coronavirus deaths, nor hospitals trying to get their hands on "those sweet, sweet Benjamins."

📰📰📰

WASHINGTON, DC -- Edible Camouflage Revealed

The Pentagon announced today the latest advance in military science for U.S. troops -- edible camouflage.

"Members of the infantry have to carry a hundred pounds or more in the field," according to the statement. "But now, by having camouflage made of delicious American-manufactured cheese, it will relieve them of much of the weight of comestibles. If they get hungry, they can eat some camo, and the load will be even lighter."

The statement mentioned that trials had been held using Colby and Monterey Jack for desert missions, blue cheese for water missions, and "moon" cheese (cheese that had gone off) for jungle work.

The Pentagon's statement concluded, "We are proud to know that we can take time from our usual missions, like transgender policy and white fragility, to make our soldiers, sailors, airmen, Marines, and whoever else we have out there safer, in whatever it is they're supposed to be doing."

-30-

Fred's Book Club: Dog Days.

Welcome to another entry in our famously dumb book club, the Humpback Writers, famous for its dumb name (because it runs on Wednesday, a.k.a. Hump Day), not because of its dumb books. Although some might be dumb.

Not today's book, though! In fact, this book is smart! It's the readers like me who are Complete Idiots!

The book, sitting in Nipper's crate for his nighttime reading pleasure. 

Yes, The Complete Idiot's Guide to Puppies was a book purchased by my wife and me prior to our getting senior varsity dog Tralfaz more than six years ago. He was going to be the first dog we ever raised from puppyhood, and my first dog ever, so we wanted to flatten the curve -- the learning curve, that is.

I think in this case we got the Complete Idiot book instead of the Dummies version because the former was published first. Both series are dedicated to practical enlightenment on every topic under the sun. The Dummies series by IDG Books was founded in 1991 with DOS for Dummies, and the Complete Idiot series began shortly thereafter. As Jocelyn McClurg put it in the Hartford Courant in 1997, "Who'd have thought you could make a fortune calling your reader an idiot or a dummy?" But indeed, millions of these books have been sold. I've heard that both publishers work in Indianapolis, not usually considered a hotbed of publishing, and presumably scowl at each other on the street.

Anyway: On to the book! As usual with the Complete Idiot's guides, this paperback is jammed with information and helpful tips laid out in a playful, easy to digest format. Everything you need to know about the subject is covered in a well-organized way. What kind of dog is right for your family? What will you need to have when you bring Puppy home? How can you train him to evacuate outside / not chew the dining room set / sit and stay? What should you feed him? What toys are appropriate for baby dogs? You got questions, Complete Idiot? They got answers.

This book was written by M.A. Gorman, a professional dog trainer for law enforcement agencies, so she knows her pups. Let's dip into the text and see how it matches my experience, raising Tralfaz and junior varsity dog Nipper.

Crate Training for Sanity  

Dogs like small, enclosed spaces because of the security it offers them. Crating is not jailing your dog, and the crate should never be used for punishment. Instead, it draws on your dog's preference for small spaces and allows you an extra measure of control. Practice preventive training -- putting your dog in the crate when you aren't around will help you set boundaries.

This was 100 percent right for Nipper. At the age of four he still goes to sleep in a crate at night, and trusts that if he has any problems we will be there for him. Tralfaz, on the other hand, from day one behaved as if the crate was a jail, and since he had no dime to call a lawyer would just howl so the lawyer could hear him. He never took to it, never gave us a night's peace while he was in it. He likes to act like a night watchman, getting up and moving to different spots downstairs in the dark like he's making his rounds. I think he has decided he's the security, and Nipper sleeps well knowing he's on the job. I have no problem with the advice in the book, even if I find some differences in my dogs' behavior and the expectations engendered by the text. New dog owners are always warned that all dogs are different.

Beware of Dog 

I've heard lots of parents tell me that they want to get a puppy to teach their children responsibility. Inevitably, the parents find out that getting a puppy teaches them just how irresponsible their children are. Just as you can't expect a puppy to be something other than a dog, you can't expect a child to behave like a grown-up. A puppy is a lot of responsibility -- even for an adult. 

I endorse this completely. It was not an issue in our house, but I've known families that got pets for just this reason and then Mom or Dad (usually not both) winds up doing all the work. I tell parents that if the kids are begging for a puppy, unless you are prepared for the puppy to destroy everything, starve, get hurt, get lost, or pee and poop all over the house, assume you're going to be the one responsible. Kids mean well but are not angels, and are useless when novelty is gone.

Come 

The most important command for your puppy to know and obey is the Come command. Your puppy must come when called in different situations and environments. Having this command thoroughly entrenched in your pup's obedience repertoire will not only make your life easier, it will make her life safer.
      The puppy that is always made to come when called and is praised well for his effort will always come. The puppy who is allowed to not come when he is called will consistently not come until he is good and ready.

Boy, I wish I had put this on my bathroom mirror before we got Tralfaz, Both dogs were trained on this command at home and in class, but both have decided I am not serious about it, probably because I let them slip a few times, and that was all it took. And instead we have had to have a tether (until the lawn guy ran it over), an electric invisible fence (still not trained on it due to Tralfaz's hotspot), walking on leash in our own yard, and any number of embarrassing scenes when one or both dogs got a little too friendly with pedestrians.

And this ultimately is the problem with this Complete Idiot's Guide, and perhaps all of them, and the Dummies books as well. The books are always well researched and clearly written. But if I fail to heed the advice inside, I will remain a Complete Idiot.

In practice, though, I did heed a lot of the advice, so perhaps I am an Incomplete Idiot. Which actually sounds even worse.