Tag Archives: lifestyle

Why Napoleon’s troops shooting the nose off the Sphinx with artillery in 1799 was a good thing

Hi readers.

A lot of you probably think the world would have been just as good a place if Napoleon’s troops hadn’t shot the nose off the Sphinx practicing with artillery in 1799.  You might even think if they’d just stayed home in France and shot the noses off every Frenchman they could catch the world would be better off?

In the interest of science, Napoleon's troops couldn't know what would happen up there without shooting some artillery at it to find out.  Same as Hiroshima and Nagasaki later on.  Theories are worthless unless they're tested.

In the interest of science, Napoleon’s troops couldn’t know what would happen up there without shooting some artillery at it to find out. Same as Hiroshima and Nagasaki later on. Theories are worthless unless they’re tested.

Well, you’d be wrong.  Napoleon’s troops did just the right thing blowing off the nose of Sphinx.

Keep in mind, these were Frenchmen.  All they knew how to do at that point was try to take the heads off whatever got in the way.  But they saved the Sphinx.  If they'd left it alone until the British took over in 1802 the Sphinx would be in London.  Housed in a wonder-of-the-world-sized British Museum.  Same as everything else the British could haul off from every country they ever conquered.

Keep in mind, these were Frenchmen. All they knew how to do at that point was try to take the heads off whatever got in the way. But they saved the Sphinx. If they’d left it alone until the British took over in 1802 the Sphinx would be in London. Housed in a wonder-of-the-world-sized British Museum. Same as everything else the British could haul off from every country they ever conquered.

Once Napoleon’s troops finished nobody every had to do it again.  Anyone with half-an-eye could see what would happen if you shot the Sphinx in the nose with a piece of 1799 field artillery. 

And most importantly, Sphinx was flawed.  By 1802 when the British took Egypt they’d become selective, only stealing the most perfect artifacts.  Sphinx got to stay home in Egypt because of French artillery practice.

Which didn’t happen to the Rosetta Stone, which French troops found and got taken away from them by the British.

From the time Cleopatra offed herself with that adder, shortly thereafter, nobody knew how to read Egyptian hieroglyphs.  But thanks to those French troops, someone decided to steal the Rosetta Stone.

The Rosetta Stone is in the British Museum in London today.  It's been there since shortly after British officials stole it in 1802.  Most likely it will continue to reside in the British Museum until US troops have finished whatever they're doing in Europe.  When we finally bring the troops home from WWII the final act will be to drop the 8th Army into London, take over Heathrow Airport, and bring the Rosetta Stone and everything else in the British Museum to the United States where it rightfully belongs.

The Rosetta Stone is in the British Museum in London today. It’s been there since shortly after British officials stole it in 1802. Most likely it will continue to reside in the British Museum until US troops have finished whatever they’re doing in Europe. When we finally bring the troops home from WWII the final act will be to drop the 8th Army into London, take over Heathrow Airport, and bring the Rosetta Stone and everything else in the British Museum to the United States where it rightfully belongs.

Created 196 BC
Discovered 1799
Present location British Museum

The Rosetta Stone is an ancient Egyptian granodiorite stele inscribed with a decree issued at Memphis in 196 BC on behalf of King Ptolemy V. The decree appears in three scripts: the upper text is Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, the middle portion Demotic script, and the lowest Ancient Greek. Because it presents essentially the same text in all three scripts (with some minor differences among them), it provided the key to the modern understanding of Egyptian hieroglyphs.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosetta_Stone

When the contents of the British Museum finally are transported to the Smithsonian in Washington DC the British Empire will finally be a footnote of history, along with Napoleon, the Egyptians, and other backward peoples everywhere.

Old Jules

Decided to kick

At least if I can.

This morning my blood pressure was 107/76, pulse 71 when I was about to take the pill some sawbones prescribed for me back in 1993.  After I quit going to doctors getting those pills has been a considerable challenge.  I was about to renew my passport so’s I could step across into Mexico to buy them instead of ordering them from wossname, India.

But I’ve been taking Serrapeptase, that silkworm spit enzyme about a month now, and Nattosomethingorotherase about a week now.  Yesterday I noticed when I took my blood pressure for the first time in a longish while it was disgracefully low.  High 80s over mid 60s, pulse high 50s.

My bp hasn’t been that low since I was 40 and able to run several miles trying to rid myself of pent up frustrations over being a white male in a society where everything is run by females and minority ethnics and a regular white male doesn’t have a chance to make nothing of himself.

Anyway, I’m going to be checking my blood pressure regularly, and unless it goes up enough to convince me I need those pills India and Mexico pharmaceutical industries can starve if they’re depending on my business to keep them going.  I’m fairly patriotic that way.

Most doctors and other medicos are the fools of books and that guy who prescribed the stuff for me back in Nineteen-hundred-and-ninety-three probably never read the book saying silkworm spit is better.

Old Jules

Note:  10:10 am – 110/71 pulse 63.  Still no Prinivil blood pressure pill taken – Normally I’d have taken it at 05:00 am.  JP

Note @1600 – 4:00pm – BP 111/71, pulse 70.

It’s an ill wind that blows no good

sriracha hot chili sauce

Hi readers. 

I’ve always loved Sriracha Chili Sauce, hate knowing they’ve come on hard times.  I’d guess the people in that California town would live to be 110 each if they’d gut it out, breathing that stuff three months out of the year.

City: Odor from Sriracha chili plant a nuisance

As many as 40 trucks a day pull up to unload red hot chili peppers by the millions. Each plump, vine-ripened jalapeno pepper from central California then goes inside on a conveyor belt where it is washed, mixed with garlic and a few other ingredients and roasted. The pungent smell of peppers and garlic fumes is sent through a carbon-based filtration system that dissipates them before they leave the building, but not nearly enough say residents.

“Whenever the wind blows that chili and garlic and whatever else is in it, it’s very, very, very strong,” Sanchez said. “It makes you cough.”

I’d love to be downwind of it when it’s in operation if it weren’t for the fact it’s in California, and if I went to California next thing I knew I’d be having to get along with Californians.  For me it’s a bit late in the day to take on that job of work.

Anyway, you’re probably wondering what the good is I referred to in the title to the post.  Here it is:

His recipe for Sriracha is so simple that the Vietnamese immigrant has never bothered to conceal it: chili pepper, garlic, salt, sugar and vinegar.

“You could make it yourself at home,” he told a visitor during a tour of the plant on Tuesday. But, he added with a twinkle in his eye, not nearly as well as he can.

The secret, he said, is in getting the freshest peppers possible and processing them immediately.

The result is a sauce so fiercely hot it makes Tabasco and Picante seem mild, though to those with fireproof palates and iron stomachs it is strangely addicting. Thirty-three years after Tran turned out his first bucketful, Sriracha’s little plastic squeeze bottles with their distinctive green caps are ubiquitous in restaurants and home pantries around the world.

Now if those Californios shut him down at least a person has the basics to cook the stuff himself.  Fill the RV up with the odor as many months of the year as he wants to. 

The government hasn’t learned the potential joys of this yet, so they haven’t made it illegal.  I can close all the windows on the RV,  zonk up on it, me and the cats.  Lie back against the cushions and try to learn to play the harmonica.  Or listen to any of about a million songs my bud Rich provided for me to play on an hmmm MP3?  A tiny thing that plays songs – holds a few hundred at a time.  One of the few inventions since lawsuit to really add to the joy of life for the average human being.

Old Jules

Shooting 50,000 unsolicited words at the Universe

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.

Jeanne tells me November’s going to have several thousand people grinding out first drafts of immortal prose again.  Poor old Universe will be ducking and dodging new characters, events, plots, subplots, trying to keep track of what’s really happening, and what someone dredged up from the imagination and stuffed into 50,000 words packed into the month of November.

I’ve wondered about this phenomenon for a longish time, several years, and honestly can’t quite figure it.  Probably tens of thousands of November novels written in past years nobody but the authors ever laid an eye to all the way through.  Pages, electrons on the screen, characters floating around in the ether wondering what the hell happened, why their pent-up events just ground to a halt.

All I can figure is those people doing that are trying to shoot down the Universe and know it’s going to take a lot of ammunition.

If a person were looking for a worthy project that would be less likely to damage the Universe he might consider taking the JRR Tolkein Lord of Rings trilogy and working it up into a second draft, which wossname, Tolkein failed to do.  At least not the part about say, cutting about 2/3 of the extraneous immortal prose, working it around so it’s tight, a pleasure on the tongue of the Universe, rather than just something out of some fast food joint.

Maybe someone everyone does what he says will think of this sometime and tell them they ought to do that instead of picking out targets of opportunity trying to shoot down the Universe.

Old Jules

No heaven on earth. No utopias. Just more people

Finding stereotypes capable of holding up under close scrutiny is necessary for humans, but generally goes unrefined.

Finding stereotypes capable of holding up under close scrutiny is necessary for humans, but generally goes unrefined.

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.

I spent a while bouncing around RV full timers forum-type discussion board-type places lately.  Curious about whether any stereotype applies.  What I found was not a single good, solid stereotype a person could hammer down to perfection, but rather a number of herds of them.

Not much of this sort of thing out there among the modern nomad population.  Whether they're van dwellers or motor homesters, clean lines, shiny paintjobs and glitter are major attractions.  If it ain't eye candy it belongs in a different universe.

Not much of this sort of thing out there among the modern nomad population. Whether they’re van dwellers or motor homesters, clean lines, shiny paintjobs and glitter are major attractions. If it ain’t eye candy it belongs in a different universe.

Fields of peas pretty much running with other peas, cornfields sticking with their corny neighbors, and everyone seemingly well fed.  A few farmers within each stereotype weeding and watering.

I was especially interested in Slab City and what the people who stay there winters have to say to one another.  I thought because it’s as near anarchy as a person gets in the US, it might tell some worthy things about us as a place viewing itself as a free people, thinkers, individualists.

There’s some of that on the surface.  Everyone saying to one another, you have to take whatever comes in Slab City.  Everyone celebrating and patting themselves on the backs for their rugged individualism.

But in fact there’s an undercurrent a lot less worthy of self-praise among them.  An undercurrent of bullying and intimidation hidden in the “gotta take it as it comes” platitudes.

Turns out “take it as it comes” means, “take me as I come” and don’t even think about me taking you as you come.  If you try I’ll probably slit your tires.  Or shoot your cats.

It manifests itself subtly in the matter of cats.  Seems over the past few years women visiting the slabs have had their cats killed by dogs, or shot by dog lovers.  Always women.  How about them apples?

For folks who don’t have much interest nor love for cats and don’t have any desire at all in going on crusades, sacrificing the soothing rewards of rugged individualist wildass self-image community, it just flows down like Jack Daniels Black Label.  Everything bad hiding inside “taking it as it comes” harmony.

I’m figuring it would be a place I’d have to go to war if I landed there.  Can’t see myself sitting still for having my tires cut, knowing someone else who got his tires cut, me having a firm idea who did it.  And most especially knowing who some cat-shooting human was, or cat-killing dog-running-loose owner.

Sometimes wars can happen without anyone having to go looking for, drive so damned far out of the way.  I hope I don’t have anymore wars left ahead of me this lifetime, but if I do I ain’t going to drive 1000 miles to find them.

Old Jules

They still want to do the Dirty Bop – And they all want to play Hamlet

I’m trying to remember my partner in disgrace.  Might have been Patsy Bohannan, maybe.  Around that time I recall we sat on opposite ends of a seesaw in the park surrounded by other kids, her singing, “Why do fools fall in love”, had me squirming something awful.  But she was a preacher’s daughter.  Not a good candidate for the Dirty Bop.

So it might have been Linda Kiker or a girl with a really bad reputation named Nancy Koch.  Seems I ought to remember, but at the time the disgrace was so overwhelming and the likely consequences so widespread, identity got swept into the grader-ditch of history.

Anyway, it was one of those Junior High School events at the Portales Memorial Building.  I’d never heard of the Dirty Bop, presumably the female side of the equation also had never heard of it.  The only time either of us had ever danced the bop was probably sneaking around practicing behind locked doors at home.

But great minds think alike, I expect, and there’s always becoming absorbed in the event, showing off, whatever.  We danced the Dirty Bop.  A Portales First, most likely.

Got our asses kicked spang out of the Memorial Building for our trouble, got to have a long prayer meeting with Mr. Livingston.  A man in authority who had a lot of familiarity with my backside with the paddle he kept in his office.

Anyway, it all worked out for the good in the end.  I eventually became me.  Likely, whomever the girl was eventually became her.  And I don’t recall ever encountering her later in any waterfront bar or strip joint somewhere.

But I guess the Dirty Bop is still around after all these years.

High school requires signed dance contract that bans twerking

http://news.yahoo.com/video/high-school-requires-signed-dance-210216483.html

Annapolis High School in Maryland is now requiring that students and parents sign a dance contract which aims to cut down on provocative dancing at the school’s next homecoming. As reported by WMAR ABC 10 News, the contract outlines the school’s policies and expected student behavior very specifically. Junior Lexi Pline said, “The first day we get it, it’s usually just kind of funny to read it because of the way, like the way they describe everything. It’s kind of hilarious.” The contract states that “sexually explicit dancing will not be tolerated,” and defines explicit dancing as “grinding,” “making out,” and “buttocks touching a partner or in the air.” The last point apparently intended to stop twerking at school functions.

Just goes to show, as Carl Perkins or someone once said, “You can’t stop Rock and Roll“.   Or maybe it was Bill Haley and the Comets.  I heard a while back he died as a street person in Alabama or somewhere.  Still dancing.  Nobody ever explained the consequences of dancing the Dirty Bop to him.

Old Jules

Afterthought:  Actually I think it was Carl Perkins talking about that British group, the Beetles or whatever, when they first showed up on the radar,  “They aren’t Elvis, but they aren’t all that bad.”

Drill pump disambiguation, home body part remover, et al

Home Depot plumbing section.  NOT in the Home Depot drill and power tool accessories section.

Home Depot plumbing section. NOT in the Home Depot drill and power tool accessories section.

Disambiguation is a word I love.  Sadly neglected except by pointee headed people.  Here’s an attempt to compensate for some of the injustice.

Failure to attach a drill to the item will reduce efficiency and performance.

Failure to attach a drill to the item will reduce efficiency and performance.

I offer the $7 225 gpm Home Depot drill pump for those considering paying $75-$100 to lift water out of a ground level container into the RV.

Not recommended for people who want to have a stroke from consuming MSG.

Not recommended for people who want to have a stroke from consuming MSG.

Dollar Tree.  Broth.  32 oz for a buck.  No better deal in Christiandom.  $1 US, 2013 dollars. 

Remove the guard and throw it away.  Then take off that non-macho small abrasive wheel that came with it.  Put on a big one so's your hand is up close and personal when the torque hits.

Remove the guard and throw it away. Then take off that non-macho small abrasive wheel that came with it. Put on a big one so’s your hand is up close and personal when the torque hits.

Home surgery kit, body part remover.  The phrase, “Make my day!” just before you hit the ON button is appropriate and recommended.

Old Jules

Never trust a Free Mason who doesn’t look older than you.

At least don’t trust them more than you’d trust anyone else.  Josephus Minimus 

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read.

Free Mason who didn’t look a day older than me sidled up to me in the hardware store parking lot yesterday.  “I want to sell you a ticket to a fish fry.  I hope you’ll come join us for a while.”  He gestured with a packet of tickets.  “We’ll have a lot of prizes to give away in drawings.”

Respectable enough looking guy, but too damned young to be a Free Mason, thinks I.  For something to say courteous to him, “What’s the cost?”

He told me and I’d run spang out of conversation pieces.  There’s a fish fry I might attend for the Harper Fire Department in a week or so, but I didn’t figure I’d care to drive to Kerrville for one.  “So when is it?”

Ah.  That’s the catch.  It’s in March.”

March?  I figure I’ll be dead or somewhere else in March.”

He shrugged.  “I wish I could join you.”

Two things seem clear to me. 

  • The guy was older than he looked.  A lot older, assuming he’s a Free Mason.  Probably uses some kind of Free Mason black magic keeping himself looking young like regular people. 
  • Secondly, he was trying to trick me into having to stay around here until March, 2014.  Likely has some sort of Free Mason conspiracy doings.  Wanting to tanglefoot me into them.

Anyway, having deftly sidestepped the Free Mason Conspiracy I had a good trip to town, generally.  Got me a water pump to get water from a container on the ground up into the RV tank.  Impeller with hose bibs on each side, shaft to turn it fits into the chuck of an electric drill.  Moves 250 gallons an hour.  That thing’s going to save me some heavy lifting in the future. $6.95 US.  2013 dollars.

Also picked up a set of fancydancy 21st Century screwdriver heads of all different shapes and sizes to foil the efforts of engineers everywhere.  And a damned cheapass volt meter.

Then down at the Dollar Tree store picked up all manner of things a person needs to get by in this life, each for a dollar.  A person can spend a $20 bill in there and come away with $100 worth of groceries anywhere else.  [32 oz box-like containers of MSG-free beef or chicken broth for $1 US each.  I bought 128 oz, two of each.  Stocking up for The End of Life as We Know It – TEOLAWKI.  MSG free TEOLAWKI won’t bring back telephones, computers and radiation levels people can survive in, but it beats boiling 2-headed mutant horses to add flavor.]

Stopped on the way home to talk to the guy up the hill.  He told me about the Marfa Lights, which I’ve heard of over the years, but never seen.  Came away entertaining the thought I might swing out that way and have a look when I get out of here.

Lessons in life, flashes of insight about things I haven’t done yet, and busted a Free Mason conspiracy.  All in one day.

Life is good.

Old Jules

Recognizing those space aliens who’ve been selectively breeding our species

Allofus 1954 1955

Good morning readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.

A lot of you have probably been wondering how you can identify the space aliens who have been selectively breeding human beings to create more palatable cuisine for so many generations.  And the people who’s minds are controlled by space aliens to assist them in their husbandry efforts.

This morning I’m going to take a few minutes to explain for those who haven’t figured it out yet.

  • First off, you need to keep in mind that space aliens don’t want to be recognized, don’t even want most of humanity to know they exist.  So the obvious and most easily recognized trait of a space alien is denial.  Anyone who smirks, postures, declares space aliens don’t exist is almost certainly a space alien, or mentally the puppet of space aliens.
  • Secondly, in the US, particularly, political office holders are almost universally either space aliens, or persons under the bizarre and sometimes contorted thumbs of space aliens.  In fact, anyone who has a strong opinion about one political party or the other and gets noisy about it insisting this or that candidate or office holder’s better than the other side.  Lead-pipe cinch the space aliens have him in a mindlock.
  • Then of course, there’s the 87 layers of cops now firmly entrenched in US operations furthering the interests of space aliens.  No point even going into that.
  • But the most subtle these days are the online dating services.  Now that the Internet is matured the whole focus is getting people together to propagate who will have tastier children.

I hope this helps. 

[If you missed the earlier posts explaining about selective breeding humans by space aliens you can search the blog using the bar in the lower right side-bar.  ‘Space aliens’ ought to do the trick.]

Old Jules

Saimen – Another trek into Ramen country

Hi readers.  I’ve been planning to share this with you a while but keep forgetting.

Back when David McCreary and I got bounced out of Peace Corps India X training at Hilo, then jumped the plane to seek our destinies in Honolulu  we were dirt poor.  Sharing a room at a rooming house up on East Manoa Road.  Him working as a drink waiter at the Kohala Hilton, me busboying down at the Makahiki of the Hilton Hawaiian Village.

Dirt poor, so we ate a lot of Saimen.  Something I’ve never heard of since, but a person could get a bowl for a quarter at any food joint in Honolulu.

So I began a while back experimenting, trying to recreate Saimen using Ramen.  Bought green onion, chopped it all the way back to the tips of the green, all the way forward to the root.  Threw in minced garlic, ginger, fish, or chicken, or meat if I had some.  Sometimes a dash of curry, habenero, whatever comes to hand.

Boiled down all the other ingredients a considerable while to make a strong flavored broth.  Then at the last minutes of the just-right tastehood, added Ramen noodles, or small diameter pasta sticks.

This stuff’s as good today as it was in 1964 in Honolulu.  It would even be good if 1964 never happened and had to get replaced with some other year.

Just saying.

Old Jules