(second block, fourth letter of the prisoners' quadratic tap code...)

...am here to tap through the walls.

Thu Aug, 06 2009

I Thought It Was Pretty Funny Until...

It is not a problem to me that I laugh when I read about a seventy-five year-old woman who beat a baby deer to death with a shovel. Said one advocate, "It's a big rat. He was in her flowerbed. She wasn't in his flowerbed." She put the thing out at the curb with the rubbish. Neighbors promptly went up in flames.

"The fawn was in her flower bed while she was working in her yard. She proceeded to go into her garage and grab a shovel. She proclaimed that she went back out to the fawn (as it just stood there) and started to beat it until it was dead. From what I understood, the fawn was basically screaming. As she was beating it she was asking if it was dead yet."
(Neighbor's statement PDF)

I have no Walt Disney delusions about the nature of things in all this, and I instinctively applaud the lady's spine in going out to combat with the creature and prevailing. If, however, we're going to filter the scene in cartoon colors, then my palette runs to Tex Avery replete with anvil-clang soundtrack and exploding eyeballs. So much for the tan-rat in the yard, and then it's Miller Time for Grandma.

It gets funny not so much when the local goons decide to haul Grandma up on charges. If the thing was someone's pet, then they could step up and claim it for value lost, but I'm sure that you could daily observe that the enthusiasts are not that ardent: they probably don't have pens of hoofenvermin in their yards. No, this is the presumption of law under color of weepy-woo. Someone gets watery over the grossness, and calls out the gendarmes.
"Witnesses also wrote that the fawn made crying sounds as it was beaten."
(Euclid Sun-Journal)

Jeez, that's too bad, but they probably tend to do that. Maybe we could evolve a generation of shovel-proof garden-eaters.

All that's bad enough as it is. Where it all finally goes the way of the pear is when some creep comes sliding up to call the charges racism and the advocate who cracked about whose flowerbed it was is that creep. It's not bad enough, you see, that busybody imbeciles can't leave Grandma alone with her own affairs. No; she's a black woman, and so we need to insinuate by necessary implication that no white grandma would go through the witch-cry from twits up & down the street, too, until the Organs finally had to mount the show trial.

These days, it's not enough to just argue for freedom. Hell; almost nobody even knows how and they don't care.

(linkstart: JQ)


Various guitars I see floating by, mostly Gibson and mostly eBay.

Early Norlin ES-335 -- 1970, in Walnut ("ES-335TDW"). This is a period-piece look and feel, and arguably the sound as well but that's to cut things very finely. A "classic" 335 would be the original of 1958 in the Sunburst or Natural finish, or the Cherry Red of 1959; the Walnut of 1970 (second year of that finish offering) is not really a "classic" 335. In the history of the Gibson aesthetic, this is analogous to, say, vertically-striped polyester bell-bottoms or Bahama Blue shag carpeting. None of this is to say that they're not cool guitars, and this is a nice one. Excellent photographs.

Chrome hardware, featuring the trapeze tailpiece (like my L-47 and I've always liked it) and ABR-1 bridge with period-typical nylon saddles. Bound rosewood fretboard, with small block markers, and then the crown inlay at the machine head. These would be the T-top Humbuckers. Vintage Nazis would moan that the upper bouts are pointy (the body templates were wearing-out in the factory) and the fourteen-degree machine head with the volute signals a sometimes not-fun era of the line, but these things really do rock or moan or whatever you want a 335-type semi-hollow to do. ...which, of course, is because it really is a 335.

In the months since I've let AxeBites languish all to bleedin' hell, Gibson's Robot Guitar technology has sifted out to other models than the original Les Paul application. I don't know how it's going: I still haven't even seen one of these self-tuners. I don't see piles of them burning on the sides of the highway, nor reverent hangings in display cases over bars, so who knows? This 2008 Robot SG is ready to rock in the Metallic Red. Nickel hardware; it's the stoptail wired for data to send to the tuners, with dual Humbuckers. It's a bound rosewood fretboard, but I really like the single-bound machine head with the crown inlay. That's a real cool old-school look, right there, to set off that crazy-ass color. {nod}