It's early March, and under the hoophouse there are a hardy bunch of turnips that have survived the long, rough winter. I say survived, but actually many of them haven't really survived—they are shriveled and spent, exhausted, some are simply whitish bags of brown mush topped by defeated crowns of ragged leaves. They have enough wherewithal left to send up a flower stalk in a few weeks, bloom, set seed, pass along their genes and die.
But under the warm spring sun, I can gather a few pounds of good, solid sound turnips. About half are the pure white Tokyo Cross variety, and the other half are Purple Tops. So:
Turnips (3-½ pounds cleaned and peeled)
1-½ Tbsp. sea salt
6 Tbsp whey
I shredded the turnips, and mixed them with the salt, squeezing and wringing them until the fine grains of salt dissolved and the weeping juice was thoroughly distributed through the shreds. I added the whey (on a whim, based on our experience with some mind-boggling gingered carrots). This is a lactic acid fermentation, which is a big difference from a yeast-based fermentation. I know lots about the affairs of yeast—pretty much nothing about lactic acid fermentation except what I vaguely remember from my mother making kraut decades ago.
Now the mixture sits in a stoneware crock, protected from the air with a small china plate and weighted down by a quart mason jar full of water. By tomorrow I suspect it will be obviously alive, and in a couple of days I imagine we will smell it before we ever see it. Within a week or two we should have bona fide turnip kraut (actually, I suppose it should be called sauerturnip, but whatever...) and it will increase in tartness and pungency for up to six weeks, at which point we could can what might be left.
Stay tuned.
Thursday, March 04, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Nixtamal ! (UPDATED)
This weekend I undertook something new out of sheer curiosity. What I did is at the intersection of cooking, science, culture and, I don't know...anthropology?
I had read about the ancient process of nixtamalization, where dried corn is cooked and soaked in an alkali solution. In various cultures, this results in Posole, Masa Harina, or Hominy and Hominy grits. The process yields a number of results: the tough outer shell of the corn is removed, as is the germ; the grain swells, becomes soft and starchy, and a number of nutrients are made available that would otherwise be sequestered. Cultures that adopted corn as a staple grain without nixtamalization, such as many groups in the American south, quickly developed deficiency diseases such as pellagra and kwashiorkor. And while this is all new and exciting and exotic to me, it's been common knowledge among countless cultures for thousands of years.
In any case. I took two cups of the whole kernel corn we use for chicken feed. I boiled it for about an hour, until the grains had begun to swell slightly. Then the recipe I had read called for adding ½ cup of wood ashes to the pot to provide the alkali.
Well, our woodstove provides a steady supply of hardwood ash, but I didn't like the idea of having little bits of stuff mixed in with the corn (for example, we dispose of dinner bones in the fire) so first I gathered about a cup of ash, sieved it, added a quart of water, shook it vigorously for a few minutes, then strained the ash solution through filter paper. The sieving and filtering process left altogether about ¼ cup of solids behind.
The effect of adding the opaque gray solution to the simmering corn was spectacular. The color of the liquid turned a clear golden orange, and for the first time, it released the distinctive "tortilla" aroma of hominy, like it had been hiding somewhere.
The nixtamalization process continued for three hours from that point. Somewhere around the two hour mark, the aroma became unmistakably that of fresh sweet corn cooking—a wonderful summertime smell to have in the kitchen in late February. At the three hour mark from adding the ash liquor, the corn grains were plump and swollen, floating in a thick golden gelatinized liquid.
I drained the liquid, rinsed the grains with cold water, drained them again, and covered them with cold water one last time. At this point, I had completed the nixtamal process, and had a big pot of posole/hominy to do something with. (The chickens would devour the leftover liquid for breakfast the next morning). I pondered the issue overnight, consulting a few posole recipes here and there. Come morning, this is what I decided:
Posole Stew:
1 medium onion, coarsely chopped
1 fist-sized chunk of Virginia ham—rind, fat and all (any good seasoning meat would do—a ham hock would probably be awesome)
3 whole dried chile peppers
1 tsp black pepper
2 tsp garlic powder
2 cans black beans, with liquid
1 tsp dried oregano
1 batch Posole/Hominy (From 2 C dried corn)
1 bottle ale*
Combine all ingredients in a crockpot and simmer on low, stirring occasionally. After several hours, remove ham and cut into small bits; return to pot and continue simmering. Season to taste—I deliberately omitted salt as the Virginia ham seems to provide enough salt on its own. The posole and black beans together make a complete protein, so the meat could be omitted for a vegetarian dish. However, in that case I would be sure to add some good olive oil to make up for the lost fat.
Conclusion? The posole stew was well-received by the panel of judges (...considering it was made from chicken feed and all...). Personally, I find the whole process absolutely fascinating, and after just one batch don't feel like I really understand what I did exactly. The transformational nature of nixtamalization reminds me most of the magic of mashing beer, where suddenly, with just a little nudging from the cook, something appears that wasn't there just a minute before. In mashing, it's the activity of enzymes...here, it's chemistry and probably some enzymes as well. It's all very cool, regardless.
I suppose I'll try it again sometime...in the meantime, there's leftovers to be put away.
* Please note this was the aforementioned "Sorghum Ale," and as a result, the stew developed an awful flavor upon standing. Please substitute any good stock, broth, bouillion or even plain water. It also solidified, so I would either halve the quantity of posole or double the quantity of liquid. I would stay away from beer--hops does not work well in this recipe**.
** I'm actually surprised how frequently when beer is used as an ingredient, the hop bitterness dominates the contributed flavor--beer bread is a great example. It's rarely the malt, unless the beer is a stout with a strong roast and a low hopping profile. I'm starting to rethink beer as an all-purpose ingredient.
I had read about the ancient process of nixtamalization, where dried corn is cooked and soaked in an alkali solution. In various cultures, this results in Posole, Masa Harina, or Hominy and Hominy grits. The process yields a number of results: the tough outer shell of the corn is removed, as is the germ; the grain swells, becomes soft and starchy, and a number of nutrients are made available that would otherwise be sequestered. Cultures that adopted corn as a staple grain without nixtamalization, such as many groups in the American south, quickly developed deficiency diseases such as pellagra and kwashiorkor. And while this is all new and exciting and exotic to me, it's been common knowledge among countless cultures for thousands of years.
In any case. I took two cups of the whole kernel corn we use for chicken feed. I boiled it for about an hour, until the grains had begun to swell slightly. Then the recipe I had read called for adding ½ cup of wood ashes to the pot to provide the alkali.
Well, our woodstove provides a steady supply of hardwood ash, but I didn't like the idea of having little bits of stuff mixed in with the corn (for example, we dispose of dinner bones in the fire) so first I gathered about a cup of ash, sieved it, added a quart of water, shook it vigorously for a few minutes, then strained the ash solution through filter paper. The sieving and filtering process left altogether about ¼ cup of solids behind.
The effect of adding the opaque gray solution to the simmering corn was spectacular. The color of the liquid turned a clear golden orange, and for the first time, it released the distinctive "tortilla" aroma of hominy, like it had been hiding somewhere.
The nixtamalization process continued for three hours from that point. Somewhere around the two hour mark, the aroma became unmistakably that of fresh sweet corn cooking—a wonderful summertime smell to have in the kitchen in late February. At the three hour mark from adding the ash liquor, the corn grains were plump and swollen, floating in a thick golden gelatinized liquid.
I drained the liquid, rinsed the grains with cold water, drained them again, and covered them with cold water one last time. At this point, I had completed the nixtamal process, and had a big pot of posole/hominy to do something with. (The chickens would devour the leftover liquid for breakfast the next morning). I pondered the issue overnight, consulting a few posole recipes here and there. Come morning, this is what I decided:
Posole Stew:
1 medium onion, coarsely chopped
1 fist-sized chunk of Virginia ham—rind, fat and all (any good seasoning meat would do—a ham hock would probably be awesome)
3 whole dried chile peppers
1 tsp black pepper
2 tsp garlic powder
2 cans black beans, with liquid
1 tsp dried oregano
1 batch Posole/Hominy (From 2 C dried corn)
1 bottle ale*
Combine all ingredients in a crockpot and simmer on low, stirring occasionally. After several hours, remove ham and cut into small bits; return to pot and continue simmering. Season to taste—I deliberately omitted salt as the Virginia ham seems to provide enough salt on its own. The posole and black beans together make a complete protein, so the meat could be omitted for a vegetarian dish. However, in that case I would be sure to add some good olive oil to make up for the lost fat.
Conclusion? The posole stew was well-received by the panel of judges (...considering it was made from chicken feed and all...). Personally, I find the whole process absolutely fascinating, and after just one batch don't feel like I really understand what I did exactly. The transformational nature of nixtamalization reminds me most of the magic of mashing beer, where suddenly, with just a little nudging from the cook, something appears that wasn't there just a minute before. In mashing, it's the activity of enzymes...here, it's chemistry and probably some enzymes as well. It's all very cool, regardless.
I suppose I'll try it again sometime...in the meantime, there's leftovers to be put away.
* Please note this was the aforementioned "Sorghum Ale," and as a result, the stew developed an awful flavor upon standing. Please substitute any good stock, broth, bouillion or even plain water. It also solidified, so I would either halve the quantity of posole or double the quantity of liquid. I would stay away from beer--hops does not work well in this recipe**.
** I'm actually surprised how frequently when beer is used as an ingredient, the hop bitterness dominates the contributed flavor--beer bread is a great example. It's rarely the malt, unless the beer is a stout with a strong roast and a low hopping profile. I'm starting to rethink beer as an all-purpose ingredient.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Noted with Sadness
One of the primary missions of this blog is the treatment of motorcycling as an act worthy of serious consideration. I would be utterly remiss in that mission if I did not note with sadness the recent death of Professor Harry Hurt of USC at the age of 81.
Professor Hurt was the author of Motorcycle Accident Cause Factors and Identification of Countermeasures, which came to be known, with no little irony, as "The Hurt Report." This groundbreaking investigation and study of over nine-hundred motorcycle accident scenes, thirty-six-hundred police reports of motorcycle accident, and interviews with over five-hundred motorcyclists laid the foundation for modern motorcycle safety training and practices, and is still considered the bible of motorcycle safety research. Professor Hurt was still regularly holding interviews with motojournalists until shortly before his death, offering his wisdom on the current state of motorcycling—recently noting with concern the rising motorcycle fatality rate brought on by an influx of older novice riders riding bigger bikes—and drinking.
Among the Hurt Report's most significant findings—(blindingly obvious, in hindsight, and Billy Joel be damned)—was that the vast majority of motorcycle accidents occur in good weather, with good conditions and good visibility. Most were caused by the other vehicle failing to yield the right-of-way to a motorcycle because the driver "...just didn't see them," and most motorcyclists involved in accidents were self-taught or learned to ride from other self-taught riders. (This was the era when accident avoidance began and ended with 'laying it down' and hoping for the best).
To say the Hurt Report transformed motorcycling doesn't begin to describe its impact. Later in his career, Professor Hurt ran USC's Head Protection Research Laboratory, continuing his work improving the design and manufacturing of helmets for all types of activities. Recently, there had been discussion of revisiting the original report and performing another round of data collection to evaluate the progress made since 1981, and to identify new areas of concern.
All of us who ride are in the debt of Professor Hurt, who shaped our endeavor in ways we can hardly imagine. Thank you, sir.
Professor Hurt was the author of Motorcycle Accident Cause Factors and Identification of Countermeasures, which came to be known, with no little irony, as "The Hurt Report." This groundbreaking investigation and study of over nine-hundred motorcycle accident scenes, thirty-six-hundred police reports of motorcycle accident, and interviews with over five-hundred motorcyclists laid the foundation for modern motorcycle safety training and practices, and is still considered the bible of motorcycle safety research. Professor Hurt was still regularly holding interviews with motojournalists until shortly before his death, offering his wisdom on the current state of motorcycling—recently noting with concern the rising motorcycle fatality rate brought on by an influx of older novice riders riding bigger bikes—and drinking.
Among the Hurt Report's most significant findings—(blindingly obvious, in hindsight, and Billy Joel be damned)—was that the vast majority of motorcycle accidents occur in good weather, with good conditions and good visibility. Most were caused by the other vehicle failing to yield the right-of-way to a motorcycle because the driver "...just didn't see them," and most motorcyclists involved in accidents were self-taught or learned to ride from other self-taught riders. (This was the era when accident avoidance began and ended with 'laying it down' and hoping for the best).
To say the Hurt Report transformed motorcycling doesn't begin to describe its impact. Later in his career, Professor Hurt ran USC's Head Protection Research Laboratory, continuing his work improving the design and manufacturing of helmets for all types of activities. Recently, there had been discussion of revisiting the original report and performing another round of data collection to evaluate the progress made since 1981, and to identify new areas of concern.
All of us who ride are in the debt of Professor Hurt, who shaped our endeavor in ways we can hardly imagine. Thank you, sir.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
A Bit of Puzzlement
I am truly puzzled.
Two or three years ago, a huge oak tree fell in the bottomland during a fierce windstorm. The bulk of it has been suspended off the ground for that entire time, resting at one end on its shattered and splintered trunk, and halfway down its length on the nub of a large branch that impaled the earth.
Some time ago I stripped much of the bark off it, and cut up the limbs for firewood. Last summer I sliced off a half a dozen or so lengths for seating around the firepit; this fall I split and stacked those for firewood. More recently, I cut more 16" slices, and split and stacked them to dry briefly in place. I have worked my way down the massive trunk to the point where my chainsaw will not quite sever the trunk when cutting from both sides, so it must be more than 32" in diameter.
What puzzles me is that much of this wood is still completely green (i.e., wet, unseasoned) after so much time; for all intents and purposes, it has not dried at since it fell. How can this be?
I recall hearing that for cut and split wood, you allow one month per inch of diameter; how can so little drying have taken place in a tree without roots, branches or leaves, that is completely surrounded by airflow?
Two or three years ago, a huge oak tree fell in the bottomland during a fierce windstorm. The bulk of it has been suspended off the ground for that entire time, resting at one end on its shattered and splintered trunk, and halfway down its length on the nub of a large branch that impaled the earth.
Some time ago I stripped much of the bark off it, and cut up the limbs for firewood. Last summer I sliced off a half a dozen or so lengths for seating around the firepit; this fall I split and stacked those for firewood. More recently, I cut more 16" slices, and split and stacked them to dry briefly in place. I have worked my way down the massive trunk to the point where my chainsaw will not quite sever the trunk when cutting from both sides, so it must be more than 32" in diameter.
What puzzles me is that much of this wood is still completely green (i.e., wet, unseasoned) after so much time; for all intents and purposes, it has not dried at since it fell. How can this be?
I recall hearing that for cut and split wood, you allow one month per inch of diameter; how can so little drying have taken place in a tree without roots, branches or leaves, that is completely surrounded by airflow?
Thursday, February 04, 2010
Wasmund's Single Malt Whiskey
Wasmund's Single Malt Whiskey is now the official distilled spirit of RLYMI. Deal with it.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Jury Duty
Do it, if you get the opportunity. Yes, it's the punishment you get for registering to vote, but it's the other great obligation of citizenship, and it can be an awesome and awful (in the truest sense of the word) experience.
So Freaking Ready for Spring...
Right now I am watching it snow out my office window, piling up to about the four inch mark at twilight after beginning around dawn—light, fluffy, powdery snow that blow away with a breath and periodically cascades down from the trees.
This is our second big snow of the winter, and the first snow of the new year. The previous snow—some fifteen inches accumulated over a Friday night-Saturday-Sunday morning storm before the holidays in December—had not completely melted away from the mounds where the plows had piled it or the hollows where it had hidden away, and now it's got reinforcements.
That magnificent snow was the biggest snowfall we have experienced since moving here from the suburbs, and it was quite an experience. We walked our woodland trail through the new-fallen snow, plowing through snow up to our knees and making the very first sets of tracks. It more or less stranded us for a time (though in an emergency we could have gotten out with the help of Henry) and we had the coziness of the woodstove to keep the chill at bay.
But by cracky, I AM SO READY FOR SPRING...and it's barely the end of January.
I am ready to burn every light in the house to fend off the wintry gloom and bolster the ever-so-slooooooooowly lengthening days. I am ready to burn every stick of firewood and kindling and every gallon of propane to keep the place warm, and today, I even tried to heat the house by filling the crawlspace with hot water.
Hey, the fifteen inches of snow was great; it fulfilled a life-time dream of mine to be here—in a place like this—under those circumstances. But frankly, I consider that itch to be officially scratched; I have crossed it off my bucket list. Enough is enough. Is it too much to ask for a crocus or two, maybe a snowdrop?
Our minds and spirits are already in spring mode, with seed orders done and the vanguard already arriving. Chicks of various flavors have been ordered to arrive in late March, and the groundwork for St. Patrick's Day dinner has been laid. All we need to do is get the @#$%^& snow to stop falling, and we'll be that much closer.
Sigh. A person can wish, right?
This is our second big snow of the winter, and the first snow of the new year. The previous snow—some fifteen inches accumulated over a Friday night-Saturday-Sunday morning storm before the holidays in December—had not completely melted away from the mounds where the plows had piled it or the hollows where it had hidden away, and now it's got reinforcements.
That magnificent snow was the biggest snowfall we have experienced since moving here from the suburbs, and it was quite an experience. We walked our woodland trail through the new-fallen snow, plowing through snow up to our knees and making the very first sets of tracks. It more or less stranded us for a time (though in an emergency we could have gotten out with the help of Henry) and we had the coziness of the woodstove to keep the chill at bay.
But by cracky, I AM SO READY FOR SPRING...and it's barely the end of January.
I am ready to burn every light in the house to fend off the wintry gloom and bolster the ever-so-slooooooooowly lengthening days. I am ready to burn every stick of firewood and kindling and every gallon of propane to keep the place warm, and today, I even tried to heat the house by filling the crawlspace with hot water.
Hey, the fifteen inches of snow was great; it fulfilled a life-time dream of mine to be here—in a place like this—under those circumstances. But frankly, I consider that itch to be officially scratched; I have crossed it off my bucket list. Enough is enough. Is it too much to ask for a crocus or two, maybe a snowdrop?
Our minds and spirits are already in spring mode, with seed orders done and the vanguard already arriving. Chicks of various flavors have been ordered to arrive in late March, and the groundwork for St. Patrick's Day dinner has been laid. All we need to do is get the @#$%^& snow to stop falling, and we'll be that much closer.
Sigh. A person can wish, right?
Friday, January 29, 2010
Hubris
9th Interrogatory—In what manner have you estimated for that portion of the work, which will be tunnelled? In what time can said Tunnel be constructed? Must not your estimates for said Tunnel be conjectural? And may not a difference in the formation through which said Tunnel passes, vary the expense many thousands of dollars—that is to say, should the formation be entirely granite rock, will not the expense be much greater than if it should prove to be of clay, limestone, slate or coal?
Answer—With the same care that we have used in forming other parts of our estimates...A difference of the formation would of course, affect the expense: it might increase, or it might diminish the cost, several thousand dollars. I can say that it is not only improbable, but that it is impossible that we shall meet with granite in the constructions of the tunnel, the geological character of the country forbids it.
10th Interrogatory.—Upon what description of formation or strata have you based your estimates for the tunnel, and what certain reasons have you to suppose, that particular formation or strata exists, upon which you have based your estimates?
Answer—Our estimate is based upon a formation of clay, slate and sandstone, in layers, alternating; and occasionally earth, clay, slate, predominating. The Direction of the tunnel and that of the strata form an angle of about 29 degrees. We cannot, I think, be mistaken in the strata that we expect to meet with. The Potomac, for a few miles above, and for several miles below, has its channel back and forth repeatedly across the strata in the direction of the tunnel, these strata we find invariably in the same relative position, parallel to each other, and in the same continuous lines. (Emphasis added)
LOC
The Library of Congress is so far beyond awesome that you can't even see it with the Hubble Telescope from awesome, because it is moving beyond awesome faster than the speed of awesome rays.
Comic Gold
When burning brush on a cold, grey, blustery winter day, and you suddenly smell singeing hair, this may or may not be an appropriate and/or effective thought process:
- ...Where is the dog?
- ...What fabric is my shirt made from? Is it wool, perhaps? Hmmm; No, it is not.
- ...
- OW! DAMMIT! (Begin slapping head furiously)
The only thing that could make this better would be 5) Larry spraying me in the face with a seltzer bottle or
6) Curly beating me upside the head with a shovel.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Eggnog
6 eggs separated (for best results, they should be separated by at least 2-3 feet)
3/4 C. Confectioner's Sugar
2 C. Cream
2 C. Milk
2 C. Liquor (1½ C. whiskey / ½ C. dark rum--adjust to personal preferences and availability)
3/4 tsp. Vanilla
Nutmeg for garnish
---------------
Beat egg yolks until creamy. Add sugar and beat until smooth, scraping bowl occasionally. Gradually (in a thin stream) add cream, then milk, then liquor, then vanilla, beating constantly. Refrigerate for 2-3 hours.
---------------
Beat egg whites until stiff but not dry. Gently fold beaten whites into eggnog mixture. Top with grated nutmeg if desired. Made this with fresh eggs, raw milk, raw cream, dark rum and Wasmund's single malt whiskey. Pretty damn fine beverage, it was.
3/4 C. Confectioner's Sugar
2 C. Cream
2 C. Milk
2 C. Liquor (1½ C. whiskey / ½ C. dark rum--adjust to personal preferences and availability)
3/4 tsp. Vanilla
Nutmeg for garnish
---------------
Beat egg yolks until creamy. Add sugar and beat until smooth, scraping bowl occasionally. Gradually (in a thin stream) add cream, then milk, then liquor, then vanilla, beating constantly. Refrigerate for 2-3 hours.
---------------
Beat egg whites until stiff but not dry. Gently fold beaten whites into eggnog mixture. Top with grated nutmeg if desired. Made this with fresh eggs, raw milk, raw cream, dark rum and Wasmund's single malt whiskey. Pretty damn fine beverage, it was.
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
A Verdict...
The Sorghum Ale?
Awful.
Thick, acrid, sour, sludgy. Possibly the worst thing I've brewed in memory. It reminds me of that monster from the end of "Dogma." But with less personality.
Awful.
Thick, acrid, sour, sludgy. Possibly the worst thing I've brewed in memory. It reminds me of that monster from the end of "Dogma." But with less personality.
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Devilstower nails it
"...Here's the thing about the naughts: there was nothing magic about the numbers. It wasn't because of a double-zero in the middle of the dates that we launched an invasion that's cost the lives of thousands of Americans, the lives of hundreds of thousands of Iraqis, and a trillion dollars plus out of the pocketbooks of taxpayers. We launched into that still unresolved idiocy because of bad policy based on the conservative philosophy of smash things first, think never. We went there because of a extreme version of American exceptionalism, one that views America as above the rules of law and exempt from questions of morality. A view that says not only if the president does it, it's not a crime, but that if America does it, it can't be wrong."
"It wasn't the decade that caused the economy to come down in tatters. It was a conservative approach to the marketplace that views government as the enemy, greed as the only acceptable motivation, and the only solution for disasters brought on by a lack of regulation as still less regulation."
"It wasn't the calendar that brought down the banks, or American manufacturing, or American's influence around the world. It wasn't the date that added torture to the list of growth industries while erasing our budget surplus."
"Don't forget the naughts, because this decade, no matter what anyone on the right might say, was conservatism on trial. You want less taxes? You got less taxes. You want less regulation? You got less regulation. Open markets? Wide open. An illusion of security in place of rights? Hey, presto. Think we should privatize war by handing unlimited power given to military contractors so they can kick butt and take names? Kiddo, we passed out boots and pencils by the thousands. Everything,everything, that ever showed up on a drooled-over right wing wish list got implemented -- with a side order of Freedom Fries."
"They will try to disown it, and God knows if I was responsible for this mess I'd be disowning it, too. But the truth is that the conservatives got everything they wanted in the decade just past, everything that they've claimed for forty years would make America "great again". They didn't fart around with any "red dog Republicans." They rolled over their moderates and implemented a conservative dream."
"What did we get for it? We got an economy in ruins, a government in massive debt, unending war, and the repudiation of the world. There's no doubt that Republicans want you to forget the last decade, because if you remember... if you remember when you went down to the water hole and were jumped by every lunacy that ever emerged from the wet dreams of Grover Norquist and Dick Cheney, well, it's not likely that you'd give them a chance to do it again."
"And they will. Given half a chance -- less than half -- they'll do it again, only worse. Because that's the way conservatism works. Remember when the only answer to every economic problem was "cut taxes?" We have a surplus. Good, let's cut taxes. We have a deficit. Hey, cut taxes even more! That little motto was unchanging even when was clear that the tax cuts were increasing the burden on everyone but a wealthy few. That's just a subset of the great conservative battle whine which is now and forever "we didn't go far enough." If deregulation led to a crash, it's because we didn't deregulate enough. If the wars aren't won, it's because we haven't started enough wars. If there are people still clinging to their rights, it's because we haven't done enough to make them afraid."
"Forget the naughts, and you'll forget that conservatives had another chance to prove all their ideas, and that their ideas utterly and completely failed. Again."
"The point of remembering bad events is to stop them from repeating. So remember, and remind others if they start to forget. Because really, this is one trip to the water hole we can't afford to repeat."
"It wasn't the decade that caused the economy to come down in tatters. It was a conservative approach to the marketplace that views government as the enemy, greed as the only acceptable motivation, and the only solution for disasters brought on by a lack of regulation as still less regulation."
"It wasn't the calendar that brought down the banks, or American manufacturing, or American's influence around the world. It wasn't the date that added torture to the list of growth industries while erasing our budget surplus."
"Don't forget the naughts, because this decade, no matter what anyone on the right might say, was conservatism on trial. You want less taxes? You got less taxes. You want less regulation? You got less regulation. Open markets? Wide open. An illusion of security in place of rights? Hey, presto. Think we should privatize war by handing unlimited power given to military contractors so they can kick butt and take names? Kiddo, we passed out boots and pencils by the thousands. Everything,everything, that ever showed up on a drooled-over right wing wish list got implemented -- with a side order of Freedom Fries."
"They will try to disown it, and God knows if I was responsible for this mess I'd be disowning it, too. But the truth is that the conservatives got everything they wanted in the decade just past, everything that they've claimed for forty years would make America "great again". They didn't fart around with any "red dog Republicans." They rolled over their moderates and implemented a conservative dream."
"What did we get for it? We got an economy in ruins, a government in massive debt, unending war, and the repudiation of the world. There's no doubt that Republicans want you to forget the last decade, because if you remember... if you remember when you went down to the water hole and were jumped by every lunacy that ever emerged from the wet dreams of Grover Norquist and Dick Cheney, well, it's not likely that you'd give them a chance to do it again."
"And they will. Given half a chance -- less than half -- they'll do it again, only worse. Because that's the way conservatism works. Remember when the only answer to every economic problem was "cut taxes?" We have a surplus. Good, let's cut taxes. We have a deficit. Hey, cut taxes even more! That little motto was unchanging even when was clear that the tax cuts were increasing the burden on everyone but a wealthy few. That's just a subset of the great conservative battle whine which is now and forever "we didn't go far enough." If deregulation led to a crash, it's because we didn't deregulate enough. If the wars aren't won, it's because we haven't started enough wars. If there are people still clinging to their rights, it's because we haven't done enough to make them afraid."
"Forget the naughts, and you'll forget that conservatives had another chance to prove all their ideas, and that their ideas utterly and completely failed. Again."
"The point of remembering bad events is to stop them from repeating. So remember, and remind others if they start to forget. Because really, this is one trip to the water hole we can't afford to repeat."
Devilstower, at DKos
Driftglass nails it:
"And if you're one of those people who has spent your adult life supporting these degenerates while sneering at those soft-headed Liberals and their crazy ideas, maybe after 35 unbroken years of being horribly fucking wrong about everything it's time for you turn off Glenn Beck, stop whining about imaginary hippies, go down to the basement, pick out one of the 78 guns you have stashed there to protect you from the Coming Race War Or Something, and do the honorable thing."
Friday, December 18, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Beyond Parody and Description
While grabbing a cup of coffee at a 7-11 this morning, I noticed, among all the various and sundry flavorings provided for coffee (not the "flavored-non-dairy-petrochemical-based-creamer-analogues," but the "let's-make-a-simple-beverage-fancy-by-changing-it-into-something-else flavorings"—you know, the ones that look like bottles of liquor with italianate names and pump tops on them?) I noticed that 7-11 now offers:
Honey-flavored syrup.
Hey, wasn't there already a 'honey-flavored syrup?' I think it might have been called "Honey?" Or am I misremembering something?
Honey-flavored syrup.
Hey, wasn't there already a 'honey-flavored syrup?' I think it might have been called "Honey?" Or am I misremembering something?
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Hey! That's My Congressman You're Talking About!!
"Eric Cantor as a congressional leader is a classic example of a post turtle -- you know he didn't get up there by himself; he obviously doesn't belong up there; he can't get anything done while he's there; and you just want to help the poor, dumb thing down."
Steve Benen, The Washington Monthly
ROTF, LMAO.
Monday, December 07, 2009
A Long Ago Christmas Party
The rare men clustered near the glow of the fireplace—solid, beefy, upright masses, ruddy-faced prime rib well-marbled in bespoke suits. To a man, their freshly-shaven necks bulged over starched white collars bound tightly with ties, tradition and decorum defying the warm festivity of the carpeted living room. Thick hairy paws exited their french cuffs; one paw each held a squat cylindrical glass, formless icebergs tinkling within miniature amber seas. The other paw casually held a cigarette—the men murmured and laughed, each cocooned within the self-perpetuating cloud of his own making.
Their women clustered musically at the far side of the room. They were freshly-baked confections, delicate crusts browned in just the right places, frosted and iced and dusted and topped with sprinkles, redolent of cinnamon and citrus and vanilla. They held pale pastel drinks in crystal glasses that served as exclamation points at the end of their tiny delicate hands.
Warm side, cool side. The children look on, mystified.
Their women clustered musically at the far side of the room. They were freshly-baked confections, delicate crusts browned in just the right places, frosted and iced and dusted and topped with sprinkles, redolent of cinnamon and citrus and vanilla. They held pale pastel drinks in crystal glasses that served as exclamation points at the end of their tiny delicate hands.
Warm side, cool side. The children look on, mystified.
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