Pretty cool, no?

Via C&S.

This guy, a real pisser, serves as an excellent example of how not to behave inside a police station.

Dave sent me the link. Thanks.

Via Sippican Cottage

It was (and still is) hot as hell in the Garden State. It started yesterday and, of course, that’s when Mr. Central Air Conditioner decided to stop working. Because I cannot stand this kind of heat (I get panicky – no kidding), I called the company first thing this morning. I had to punch in the “emergency” number. The guy on the road promptly returned my call and asked if we had purchased the unit from his company. Fortunately, we did, so he was at the House by the Parkway (North) within an hour (bless his heart). Had it been otherwise, I think we would have been relegated to “tomorrowland.”

He apologetically told me, up front, that there would be a two-hour minimum charge (emergency, holiday, etc.), which was fine with me. After about fifteen minutes he had the thing up and running. Turns out that grass and other lawn debris had clogged the vents on the unit, thereby tripping the safety switch (a bigass switch mounted to the house behind the unit), so he popped open the fan portion of the unit, hosed out the gunk, then flipped the safety switch. Done!

Cool air. Eureka!

Yes, it was a big bill, but, under the circumstances, I would have gladly paid more. I was reminded of the joke about the plumber who shows up in response to a homeowner’s call about a clogged sink. The plumber comes into the house and whacks the pipe, and the clog goes away. The plumber hands the homeowner a bill for $300.00. The homeowner, astonished at the amount of the bill when all the plumber did was whack the pipe, demanded that the plumber itemize the bill. The plumber obliged and handed a bill to the homeowner that said, “$5.00 for hitting the pipe; $295.00 for knowing where to hit.”

I will do my best to sear this day into my memory and dredge it up in January when the air is so cold that it freezes the inside of your nose.

It seems fitting today to revisit Patrick Henry’s famous speech, delivered without notes (or a teleprompter).

No man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as well as abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the House. But different men often see the same subject in different lights; and, therefore, I hope that it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen, if, entertaining as I do opinions of a character very opposite to theirs, I shall speak forth my sentiments freely and without reserve.

This is no time for ceremony. The question before the House is one of awful moment to this country. For my own part I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery; and in proportion to the magnitude of the subject ought to be the freedom of the debate. It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive at truth, and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to God and our country. Should I keep back my opinions at such a time, through fear of giving offense, I should consider myself as guilty of treason towards my country, and of an act of disloyalty towards the majesty of heaven, which I revere above all earthly kings.

Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren, till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation?

For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth — to know the worst and to provide for it. I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided; and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years, to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House?

Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with these warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation — the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motives for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies?

No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us; they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer on the subject? Nothing.

We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer.

Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament.

Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne. In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope.

If we wish to be free — if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending — if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of Hosts is all that is left us!

They tell us, sir, that we are weak — unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance, by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot?

Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of the means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us.

The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable — and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come!

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, “Peace! Peace!” — but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death!

Patrick Henry – March 23, 1775

Don’t you just love the way he “answers” honest questions from his constituents?

This performance earned him Denny’s AOTW Award. Well deserved.

Hey Alfie! Haven’t seen you in a long time. How are you doing?

Huh? My name isn’t Alfie.

Oh, sorry, but, you really are a dead ringer for my cousin Alfie. Don’t take offense; Alfie is the best looking one in the family.

I’ll have you know that I’m a United States Congressman, and you’re a smartass. I have a good mind to subpoena you to appear before my committee.

Subpoena me? Dude, I’m a bat.

A republican bat, no doubt.

Well, you may look like my cousin Alfie, but you’re nowhere near as bright.

Listen to this.

He died too young.

In the tony town of Montclair, New Jersey, the neighbors knew them as Richard and Cynthia Murphy, a working suburban couple with two young children. He claimed to be from Philadelphia, and she claimed to be a native New Yorker. Apparently, each of their identities is a carefully constructed persona to permit them to be part of a deep cover Russian spy operation.

The FBI arrested the couple on Sunday night, along with four other couples living in various cities in the United States. According to the U.S. Attorney’s office, they communicated with Russia by encrypting messages into websites and sending coded bursts of data via short wave radio transmitter. When Mrs. “Murphy” wasn’t sending encrypted messages to Russia, she was knocking down $135,000 per year as a financial analyst. Pretty good country, what?

If there is any good news, it’s that, they probably had to pony up somewhere around $15,000 per year in real estate tax for the privilege of living in Montclair, a bastion of liberalism, which no doubt helped them fit in.

Details are here and here.

I had read about Pyrat Rum a while back at my buddy Yabu’s site, and I’ve been on the lookout for it ever since. Last week, I was pleasantly surprised to find a bottle of Pyrat XO Reserve in a smallish liquor store not far from the House by the Parkway (South). It went immediately into the shopping cart.

Rather than crack it open as soon as I returned from the store, I decided to wait for the proper time to sample what promised to be a rare treat. Turns out that last night was the perfect night. Comcast cratered for many folks in the neighborhood, which, for me at the House by the Parkway (South), meant that I had no television, no internet access and no telephones.

Rather than get all worked up over the outage, I pulled the cork from the bottle and poured a generous helping into a snifter (I can’t imagine drinking it any other way) and took it outside. I plugged in Mr. iPod and fired up a CAO Criollo Pato cigar. The outside temperature had dropped along with the humidity. The breeze was just right. Then there was the Pyrat – Wow. It’s a taste sensation – a veritable cornucopia of flavors one doesn’t expect with rum. Accompanying it with a good cigar and good music was just plain gottdamned civilized.

I’m loving this retirement thing.