Myself, I about wore out my arm two years ago, beating the dead horse that is the junior senator from Massachusetts, but our very own Detailed Recuiter, and his good buddy Station Commando continue the mockery here.
(Golf clap of appreciation) Well done, lads, well done!
So, our local public television station finally got around to airing the first episode of this Masterpiece Theater drama, and Blondie and I taped it, and saved to watch on a night when there is nothing, but nothing intelligent on.
Just as they were about to reveal the nature of the parsons’ unsavory adventure in the fo’c’sle, I burst out laughing and said to Blondie “Oh my gawd, it’s “Buggery on the Bounty”!
Fortunately, she does know who Cheech and Chong are… anyone else remember that skit?
And as long as I am into low humor, I have to re-post these re-makes of romance novel covers. You’re welcome, I live to serve.
Chuckle…giggle…snort…BWWAAAHHHAHHHHA!
I thought it was funny, but then I think Osbert Lancaster is funny, too.
Link courtesy of Daniel Drezner.
My initial reaction upon reading Timmer’s post in re. switching to Apple was to discount the post and what I assumed would be numerous polarized comments. The axiom was established in my mind years ago that I am a Wintel guy (starting with an IBM 5150 PC in 1984 – two floppies and no hard drive). It was even more firmly established when my sister got an Apple several years ago and I made a derisive comment regarding the one button mouse, which resulted in what I believed to be a completely asymmetric response on her part – my first exposure to the passion of Apple users (she was equally defensive during her period as a Mormon – interestingly, she is no longer a Mormon and now owns an HP laptop).
But it did get me to thinking. The business world will always, at least in my lifetime, be Wintel – too many legacy programs and files along with an inherent mistrust of Mac Guy and his ilk on the part of management. At home though, the whole raison d’être of owning a computer is changing – and no matter how much Microsoft tries, they are not making it any easier. I now download lots of music both from download sites and from streaming on-line content, and I expect to do the same with video going forward. Is it going to really get that much easier with Vista? Maybe, but Apple seems to have a considerable head start in the intuitive ease-of-use department (although I still don’t get the single button mouse thing).
And then there are my home IT manager responsibilities. Real Wife has a pretty good handle on how not to make my life miserable (don’t change ANY settings, don’t install ANY software without my approval, etc.). Then there’s Red Haired Girl, whose ministrations would kill – not crash, but kill – PC Guy within seconds. Despite the best efforts of Norton Internet Security and my constant chiding about don’t do this and don’t do that, her computer has become a completely unstable virus ridden wreck. Moreover, she is fascinated with constantly changing display and other settings, resulting in entire range of other problems.
For the past six months her computer is unable to maintain a wireless connection for more than two or three minutes at a time. It isn’t the adapter because I’ve swapped it with real Wife’s and the problem stays. It isn’t location because a) the location and surrounding environment hasn’t changed in the two years I’ve had a wireless network, and b) it is actually much closer to the router than Real Wife’s, which works great. Compounding the problem is that she and her friends have discovered Instant Messaging, so now she is a squatter on Real Wife’s computer – bringing all of her Typhoid Mary tendencies with her. Last night she asked if she could install some other messaging software on her mom’s computer. I said no, she said too late. I checked said computer and lo and behold there was a warning screen for the Norton software informing me that a program was attempting to change the home page.
While uninstalling everything that looked suspicious (and listening to wife and daughter complaining – from different points of view), my mind wandered back to Timmer’s post.
Next stop – the Apple web site. I was kind of blown away by the newest Apple Mac Mini. It looks like it could do everything that RHG would want to do, and the size is awesome (6.5″x6.5″x2″). My sense is that I could turn her loose on one of those and not lose so much sleep over trying to figure out if the latest debilitating problem is a) a virus/Trojan horse/worm, b) something she did to Windows, or c) a genuine malfunction caused by i) a Windows bug, or ii) hardware. Yes, life would be good.
At $599 it seems reasonably priced (for an Apple) and it has a real high “cool” coefficient (important at her age – she is still dinging at me because the mp3 player she got last Christmas is clunky compared to an iPod), but I am concerned about all of her existing software. Does anyone out there know anything about Windows emulation software? In particular, she has an extensive collection of Sims software (a whole other thing I don’t get, although from what she tells me it is a great way to vicariously f*** with people). Also, is the included iworks at all useful for word processing and can the files be read and edited in a Windows environment? And what about freeware/shareware? Any other comments would be helpful. I don’t have to make an immediate decision – the plan all along was a new computer for her for Christmas.
If I go that route and it works out, I might even consider phasing in Apple replacements as the other computers are retired. I’ll likely keep a Wintel machine on the home net for running software that I cannot/will not replace and for work related stuff.
I can’t believe I am even considering this. On the other hand, I bought Apple shares two years ago at $22 and lost my nerve and sold at $25 (despite the chart, could I really trust a computer company that only built on-button mice). Had I taken a chill pill and hung on, I would be sitting on a gain of about 360% and a little closer to retirement. So, I’m gonna go home, don some jeans and a T-shirt (not tucked in) and just mellow out. I’ll probably pass on the O’Reilly factor tonight as well.
Bears Fan: Good game eh?
Vikings Fan: …
Bears Fan: No really, up until that last pass, it could have gone either way.
Vikings Fan: Yah.
Bears Fan: Da Bears.
So, Pope Benedict’s apology for having the temerity to point out that Islam is kinda, sorta, just a tad bit on the violent and coercive side, and that such coercion is something that Christians do not find logically defensible is not acceptable?
Well, since it was one of those “I’m sorry you were offended by what I said” sort of apologies, yeah, I can see that you have the right to seeth and whine, and burn churches and shoot elderly nuns in the back. So, how about a real apology… (Fasten your seatbelts, it’s going to be a bumpy ride!)
I am so sorry that you lunkheads wouldn’t know a logical theological disputation if it up and bit you on the butt.
I am sorry that large numbers of you are so illiterate that you believe any old load of old shoes that the imam tells you in the Friday sermon.
I am sorry that most of you have an overdeveloped sense of entitlement, and an underdeveloped sense of logic, technological skills, and smell.
I am sorry that a fair number of you want to turn Western Europe right back into the disease ridden, violence plagued, and autocratically ruled hellholes that you crawled out of.
I am sorry that your much-vaunted Caliphate was built, and maintained by a reliance on treachery, war, plunder, and the brutal oppression and economic skinning of various conquered peoples, and that when what had been conquered was squeezed dry, and the march of Islamic armies towards new sources of plunder was halted, it still took a couple of hundred years for it to rot from the inside.
I am sorry that your standing armies can’t fight their way out of a wet paper bag, and that a nation and people you despise hand your own asses to you on a silver platter, every damn time. That must be so depressing for you… try valium.
I am sorry that all you have is a lot of oil, and limitless reserves of resentment. Wait until the oil runs out, my little desert chickadees, and there is no more money to buy western technology, medical treatments, and all those pretty baubles that you can’t build yourself because the education of your best minds (such as they are) is focused on memorizing the Koran!
I am sorry that I have to open the internet pages and read about Australians being blown up in Bali, teachers in Thailand being beheaded, the rape of Scandinavian school girls, the burning of cars in Paris suburbs, Afghan and Iraqi children blown up by car bombs, Spanish and English commuters exploded by bombs in backpacks left on trains, ad nauseum.
I am sorry you can’t just stay in the 7th century and leave the rest of us the hell alone.
OK, is that better, as apologies go? You’re welcome. I live to serve.
(Ok, so I am betting on Timmer or Paul recognizing the inspiration for this rant within 3 seconds reading it….)
Also posted at Blogger News Network
(Re-posted and re-titled… something about the title wouldn’t allow comments)
Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
At first glance Prey is just another first person shooter where some aliens abduct humans for food. Our hero is trying to find his way through the alien spacecraft to save his girlfriend. Start bashing monsters with your handy wrench and then pick up bigger weapons as you go along, yadda yadda yadda. Jump around from one area to another via “portals.” Been there done that…wtf?..just what the hell is that ugly monster doing walking on the ceiling?
And to me that’s just one of the things that makes Prey a bit different than the rest of the games you’ve already played. Gravity can be altered. First you have to figure out how to alter it, and then you have to figure out when to alter it.
Yes, there are puzzles in this game, and I freaking hate two things in my first person shooter, puzzles and jumping challenges. However, I’ve been playing for about three hours and I haven’t found anything that me and my trusty sidekick, the ghost of my childhood pet falcon, Talon, haven’t been able to figure out. The puzzles aren’t too annoying and it actually makes sense that you’d have to figure out how alien technology works. What’s the ghost of my childhood pet falcon doing on the alien’s spacecraft with me? That would be giving away some of the storyline, and there’s just not much there so I’ll let you find that out for yourself.
The hero, Tommy, is Cherokee. This makes a difference in the gameplay because Tommy is forced to accept the “spiritual mumbo jumbo bullshit” that his grandfather has been trying to teach him all his life in order to survive. Tommy’s spiritual side, can walk away from his body and manipulate some things. This comes in handy and is absolutely necessary to progress in the game. When you die in this game, you go to the spirit world and battle demons with your bow and arrow. If you kill enough of them, you return to your body and you return where you left it, not back at the beginning of the level. That is just sweet because the auto-saves seem few and far between in the game. Hit F5 often in case you really suck with a bow and arrow.
As in other FPCs many of the monsters die better and faster if you can nail a headshot. This game’s version of a BFG is rechargeable at various stations and the stations determine what the discharge will be. So far I’ve run into “Hot, Cold, and Lightning.” Depending on what monsters you’re facing the discharge does make a difference. And, as with all FPCs, learning how to shoot accurately while you move equals survival.
I didn’t think we were buying a game that was going to be this different, I was just tired of the FPCs that we already have. Both the ability to manipulate gravity and the spiritual plane make Prey different enough that I’ll be looking for expansion packs once I’ve beaten it.
Sorry, weird day, knew it was Friday, forgot what that meant. Ever do that?
Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Bears.
Andrew V.: “Undeterred by the Al Capone fiasco Geraldo Rivera and his film crew are about to open yet another hidden vault on live TV.”
Da Winnahs!
1.) Rodney Dill simply for knowing who Tom Paxton is:
“It went “zip” when it moved and “bop” when it stopped
And “whirr” when it stood still
I never knew just what it was and I guess I never will.”
2.) Cowboy Blob: “The Machine That Goes “PING,” ruggedized Air Force version.
1.) Sgt Schultz: In preparation for the next release of Power Point the new uniform requirements for the HQ personnel is unveiled.
2.) Andrew V.: While showing the rest of the gang the new X-Ray goggles he ordered from the back of a comic book Major West made a startling discovery: “Holy Cow! The Generals wife isn’t wearing underwear!”
3.) ipw533: “OMIGAWD!!! She’s gonna do WHAT with that thing?! Quick–gimme another roll of quarters…!!”
Honorable Mention goes to DemoMan for a Geeky, Second City/SNL Team quote: “Oh my God, it’s a focused, non-terminal repeating phantasm–a class-five, full-roaming vapor!”
Da Winnahs:
1.) Charles Austin: “If I had a JDAM, I’d use it in the mornin’, I’d use it in the mornin’, all over Iran.”
2.) Cowboy Blob: “Okay, fellahs, the Chief says we’ve got to have more on our playlist than “Put the Lime in the Coconut.””
3.) Stacy: “If I had hammer
I probably paid $800 for it”
Honroable Mention:
Andrew V.: “Despite their best efforts the Mariachi version of Off We Go into the Wild Blue Yonder never quite caught on.”
So, last week I was back at the Enormous Corporate Behemoth, for about the fourth time in a year. I was guessing that the temp service staff was living in the hope that if they only threw me often enough at the E-C-B that eventually I would stick. Their hopes are alas, a triumph over my experience. To them it is a mystery why I wriggle out of the E-C-B’s smothering but very well-paid embrace: “But you were military, you should love it!” they cry… well, yes I was and I still don’t. I flee, screaming (softly) at the end of every assignment, putting off my contractor ID badge and tearing up the parking permit, and swearing that this time, it will be absolutely the last time… really!
The E-C-B is one of San Antonio’s munificent and magnificent employers. I have met many people who seem to be quite happy, and enormously fullfilled, they smile in the corridors, and laugh in the lunchrooms, and decorate their cubicles with stuffed animals and family pictures, and little banners and awards for this and that… and most of them show no sign of having had lobotamies… but there are so many of them. I have never seen anyone from a previous assignment, again, the place is that big. The ranks of cubicles go on, and on, and on, as far as the eye can see.
Their main complex is a huge edifice, sprawling across the length of a ridge in the middle of a wooded and beautifully landscaped park. From a distance, the place looked like one of those sprawling and crenellated fortresses. A number of ponds and a resident herd of very tame and slightly undersized deer heighten the likeness to one of those rambling castles or palaces in the middle of a European city, or maybe a stately home in it’s own parkland. Employee appointments and convieniences are lavish: There is a Starbucks at either end of the mail building, and another Starbucks in an adjacent facility, an on-site gym, a daycare, cafeterias, snack bars and little lounges wedged in wherever there is a nook big enough to fit two cushy chairs and a table, and a bit of original art… and the place creeps me out, completely. It is just too big.
I have worked for big firms since I retired, and small ones, too. The small ones had a disconcerting tendency to either treat you like family— and in a dysfunctional and abusive family way, either that or fold underneath you. Bad sign, when the employer starts letting contracted services go, and stalling on cutting checks for work already done. Almost as bad as having employee paychecks bounce. That last hasn’t happened to me yet, but I did have an acquaintence who came to work one normal morning, and found it padlocked and empty of furniture and all the employees owed a paycheck. No, the smaller places have their perils, and even the medium-sized firm most recently on my resume had a creeply way of suddenly shedding long-time employees without warning…. to them or anyone else. Usually our first clue was the next morning,w hen the combination to the employee door wouldn’t work: we’d all be whispering to each other, “Hey, the combo is changed… OK, who got the sack this time?” This made all the slightly forced jollity of company picnics and events ring just a tad bit hollow.
Frankly, I’d rather spend my days at home writing, with Spike the Weevil I Know Nothing Of sitting under my chair, and just temp for a week or two here and there: there may be a fair amount of crap going on where I work, and I have pretty definitly lost my capacity for enduring it… but a week here, and a couple of days there pays the bills and I pack up my stuff and go well before it gets to me or I piss someone off. Or look around and realize that Ihave spent several decades in the cubicle farm.
Da Winnahs:
1.) JohnS : “Ny toof is stuck on dis wi-uh!”
2.) The Old Man: “.. and then we’re going to take back Washington…”
“YEEEAAARRRGGHHHH!!!”
3.) John Jenkins: “Braaaaaains!!!!”
See ya Friday.
Winners:
1.) Mostly Cajun: “I didn’t order it. I thought YOU ordered it.”
2.) Cowboy Blob: “Get a load of that Wild Blue, yonder.”
3.) Our Own Sgt/Cpl Blondie: “When I said I don’t care if you paint it
$%#@ing Sky Blue….I DID”NT MEAN PAINT THE DAMN THING SKY &^$@ing BLUE.”
My own caption, though not in the running: “We’re cutting 40,000 people for THAT?!”
You might need A.A., N.A., and or alcohol/drug rehab if:
You and the lead guitarist in your rock ‘n’ roll band are refered to by Gerry Garcia as “The Toxic Twins.”
You’re the drummer for Guns ‘n’ Roses and Axel Rose tells you you’re too damn drunk.
More »
One of the best behind the scenes looks at Hollywood, ever. It’s long, but it’s worth it.
Via Bill INDC.
Da Winnahs:
1.) Adjustah: “Boy, I sure hope noone has a camera! I’d hate to end up in The Daily Brief’s caption contest!”
2.) Debby: “you know, they warned me something like this might happen when I took that course on nuclear reactors!”
3.) Sgt Mom: “The unfortunate result of answering one of those “enlargement” spam e-mail offers.”
Okay, the secret for maximum participation is something phallic. Interesting.
This is what I have been doing on weekends for the past couple of months, in the name of a more beautiful and dog-proof backyard, with really rather striking results, once the finished product is set on a layer of sand, and surrounded with pea-gravel.
Go to a craft supply store like Michaels’ or Hobby Lobby, or even the aisle at Walmart where they have the flower-arranging supplies. Buy a couple of bags of those flattened glass marbles, or the sea-shell shapes, ornamental polished pebbles, or the pieces of tumbled sea glass, or little square tiles, or whatever, in whatever colors work for you as a truly creative human being.
Go to Lowes’ or Home Depot, or whatever they call the home DIY outlet in your neck of civilization and buy:
A bunch of those heavy, clear plastic plant saucers… the 14” to 21” ones work best, but last weekend Blondie and my neighbor Judy from down the road seriously came down on me for wanting to buy a 30”+ one! I wanted to seriously create! Help, help, I’m being repressed! The best ones are about two inches deep, or have regular ridges along the sides, which allow you to easily set a level.
As many sacks of mortar mix as the back of your car, and your own back can handle. It comes in 40lb bags which tend to leak, somewhat.
A bag of those rubber gloves they sell in the paint aisle. Seriously, working with mortar mix is not something you want to do with your bare hands. If you don’t have a large bucket or some kind of cement-mixing trug at home, buy one of those, too. I have a large bucket which once held about 10 gallons of kitty litter, and a small GI-issue shovel, which works for me.
A couple of stiff plastic and/or wire brushes. They have inexpensive ones in the same general area where they sell paint-stripper.
Set out the plastic plant saucers on a level surface.
Mix the mortar mix with water— generally about one quarter to a third of water, to the amount of mortar mix. It should be just damp and slushy enough to stick together. (Do not use too much water. It will not work well, trust me on this.) Stir well with whatever you have, and only handle the stuff with gloves on.
Slop enough gloppy mortar-mix into each plant saucer, and slap with your hands to pack into place. Don’t worry, if it seems too dry, at first. The water will rise to the surface, and saturate the whole mass of stuff in the mold.
When the mortar mix is packed into mold (one forty pound sack fills one large, two medium and a couple of small saucers, although your mileage may vary) level it off, and set the marbles, glass, pebbles or glass onto the surface. Slap it gently to embed them in the mortar. Be creative, this is when you let your inner artiste have free rein. Don’t worry if some of the mortar slops over the glass a little bit.
Allow to sit for at least 6 hours. If you haven’t added too much water to the mix, it will be solid enough to un-mould. Let them sit for another six hours, or overnight, and brush the dried surface with the wire or plastic brushes, to clean off the glass inserts, and make a nice roughened surface of the mortar.
These will look really cool. You can also lay flat leaves onto the wet mortar, and press them in just enough to make leaf-printed stepping stones.
Note: I have used purple and green marbles, and real grape leaves to make a lot of stones with bunches of grapes set in them. But remember to wear plastic gloves, this stuff is hell on your hands, otherwise.
1.) Paul: “If the pilot’s good, I mean if he’s reeeally sharp, he can barrel that thing in so low, oh it’s a sight to see. You wouldn’t expect it with a big ol’ plane like a ‘52, but varrrooom! The jet exhaust… frying chickens in the barnyard!”
2.) Rodney Dill: “OK, now which one is for ‘loser?’ I never seem to remember?”
3.) Chief: “The regulation 33G7-32-447 for toilet training is this wide and this thick and that is only volume one. The new manual will have 3 volumes for senior enlisted personel and above.”
1. Adjustah: “I will not make stupid bets with the Sergeant Major. I will not make stupid bets with the Sergeant Major. I will not make stupid bets with the Sergeant Major…” And I know that you won’t believe this, but this was before I found out I won his contest.
2. Andrew V.: “Sergeant Miller is practicing so he can try out for the Cirque du Soleil.”
3. Tie. Sgt Schultz: “You put your left foot in…” RhinoKeeper: “…you put your left foot out…”
We’ll do it again come Friday.
About the first thing I ever noticed about Korea— during the bus ride from Osan AB to the Yongsan Garrison bus terminal in Seoul— was that it didn’t look a thing in like M*A*S*H… even allowing for the whole show being unconvincingly filmed in the wilds of California, on a set built out in a valley between very obviously chaparral-covered hills … and hills that were dark sage-green, and gently rounded— not the steep and bright green hills, painstakingly terraced that I could see from the bus. And also nothing like the distant mountains visible all the way round Seoul on clear morning, chipped and jagged, like something cut from jade-green glass, just like the mountains in ancient oriental prints. Seoul, cut through by the wide silvered loops of the Han river did rather resemble Los Angeles, in that it went on seemingly forever, flowing around hills and tracts of parkland, a jumble of high, low and medium-rise buildings and which offered pretty much everything a reasonably cosmopolitan person could want. Myself, I loved the retail and wholesale fabric market, near to Tongdemun Stadium… not much harked back to what Korea had been half a century before, unless it was the porters who carried enormous burdens on their backs up and down the tall staircase of the fabric market building. No, South Korea had moved on, since the days of M*A*S*H.
So, NPR did an interview this week with the two apparatchiks who came out strongly in favor of blowing up the Nork’s Two-dong (or whatever name it has that is a natural fodder for more sophomoric jokes than mine) long-range missile on the launch-pad as some sort of crushing pre-emptive strike to send a serious message to the Norks about what happens when you threaten America. They were quite airily confident not only of our ability to do this, neatly and effectively (which is actually a rather comforting thought) but seemingly quite careless of the risks to South Korea if we had done so— which is not. And since the gentlemen in question are of the party that currently seems to be getting off 24-7 by condemning George Bush being pre-emptive, unilateral, careless of world opinion, and barging straight on to the main point of actually blowing up stuff, rather than sitting around and talking about it until everyone has gone mad with boredom, and issuing a strongly worded memorandum… well, it had the charm of the unusual. I wondered if somewhere, there is a Rovish political consultant, thinking agent provocateurish thoughts. (And if either of the gentlemen concerned were acquainted with the old saying about sending a message and using Western Union— probably not, since it has to be explained carefully to anyone over the age of 50-ish— none of this awareness showed in the interview.)
Well, never mind— they just struck me as being quite chipper about “doing something!” and quite horribly casual about possible Nork reprisals. No veteran who has ever served a tour in South Korea can be entirely insouciant about that— not with knowing how close Seoul is to the range of Nork artillery fire, how close to the DMZ, and how bat-shit insane the self-isolated regime to the immediate north has demonstrated itself to be, in all sorts of large and small ways. Well-meaning and intelligent people usually do not advise intentionally pissing off a deranged street-person holding a hand-grenade with the pin missing. I have probably just horribly maligned all deranged street-persons with access to personal explosives here… but what can you honestly say about a mini-nation who kidnapped Japanese citizens in order to force them to train spies, and South Korean movie actors to force them to make movies, confiscates the Chinese trains which are shipping them relief supplies, fields a diplomatic corps which deals in drugs and counterfeit money in order to make their budget, honors the family of the founding leader in a manner usually confused in the outside world by worship of a deity— and that would be the outside world of circa 1st century Rome.. except assume that someone with a Pythonesque turn of mind has made this all up.
Alas, North Korea is all too real; a small nation with delusions of adequacy about being a military power despite not having fought a serious, balls-out, all hands on deck war since the 1950ies… and them with the aid of the Chinese, who must seriously be having doubts about now. Yes, North Korea is their dog in this dispute; a small, hyper-active, bug-eyed, noisy and incontinent dog, of the kind that make people itch to kick into the next dimension, and I so wonder if the Chinese are getting pretty testy with their bad-tempered, and vicious little pet. When desperate refugee Nork citizens are taken pity upon by the stereotypically hard-off Chinese peasants along the China-Nork border, you really have to wonder about how things are, in the last rigidly Stalinist armpit of the world. Especially when young refugees from the North are clearly recognizable in the South, because (thanks to the juche and economic independence, all-around socialist superior spirit and the resulting endemic malnourishment) they are very obviously shorter, thinner, and weedier looking. And I do not forget for a moment, that these are still the same human stock— the same jolly, tough and resourceful people who on the south of the DMZ, worked themselves out of a Third World, war-torn, desperately poor UN-dependent basket-case that they were in the mid 1950ies. South Koreans built a shining and modern city out of the wreck that it was when my father passed through there at the end of the Korean War.
What their kin have built out of the North may be a country-sized concentration camp, and every dreadful story that has managed to leak out, against brutal control, will likely prove to both the gospel truth, and the least portion of the horrors. So, there you go. North Korean may have the Bomb, and more distressing still, be able and willing to sell it to anyone with the wherewithal. And the assumption has always been that Seoul is in range of whatever violently explosive munitions they have. So, what really can you do, knowing what is at risk? Do you openly provoke the violently insane, and one with a proven track record of being totally immune to shame, or wait until they melt down entirely? I read a comment last week (Can’t remember who— Angie at “Dark Blogules” maybe… who said that her enjoyment of old episodes of M*A*S*H had been forever ruined by the various characters’ blathering about how useless, pointless and aimless the “war” was… when it had been in retrospect a successful effort protect the South Korea— now a vibrant, successful and interesting place, from becoming the dysfunctional horror of North Korea.
Interesting times, people, interesting times. Discuss.