perfidy

Or, perhaps more properly, the regular assertions that the debate, she is over!

From James Taranto's column of Feb 9, 2007, discussing a noxiously ill-thought-out op-ed by Ellen Goodman in that same day's Boston Globe. He has much to say about what's offensive in her rhetorical approach, and for that, I recommend reading the entire piece. More generally, however, he explains his take on global warming, and illuminates what's truly wrong about the attempts to stifle all discussion on the matter (Taranto uses "we" and "our" in the self-referential, "royal" sense):

This columnist is skeptical of global warming. We don't have enough scientific knowledge to have anything like an authoritative opinion--but neither does Ellen Goodman, who bases her entire argument on an appeal to authority, namely the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. We lack the time, the inclination and possibly the intellect to delve deeply into the science. No doubt the same is true of Goodman.

Our skepticism rests largely on intuition. The global-warmists speak with a certainty that is more reminiscent of religious zeal than scientific inquiry. Their demands to cast out all doubt seem antithetical to science, which is founded on doubt. The theory of global warming fits too conveniently with their pre-existing political ideologies. (Granted, we too are vulnerable to that last criticism.)

Above all, we can't stand to be bullied. And what is it but an act of bullying to deny that there is any room for honest disagreement, to insist that those of us who are unpersuaded are the equivalent of Holocaust deniers, that we are not merely mistaken but evil?

I remain skeptical (or, if I were British, not that I am, "sceptical"). I have seen nothing that convinces me global warming is a man-made problem, that it has a man-made solution, or, frankly, that it's even a net problem at all. And I, like Taranto, despise bullies, particularly those who bring highly debatable arguments to the table, and then demand my acquiescence.

Unlike my earlier post, which was an apparently futile attempt to forestall further posts from The BirdMan, this one's for real.

A bit of background is in order. Katy, Texas is one of the western suburbs of Houston, fast becoming the demographic center of the metropolitan area due to its inexorable growth. Pretty much all by itself, it's caused a massive construction project to widen Interstate 10 to something like 14 lanes from downtown to the west side.

Along with that growth has come a bit of highly-localized strife, the most recent installment of which can be found in this article from yesterday's Katy Times:

Baker Rd. pig races go “Daily”

By Nick Georgandis, Managing Editor

Thursday, February 8, 2007 1:56 PM CST

“The Daily Show” correspondent Rob Riggle, a alumni of “Saturday Night Live” and an improv comedian, holds a sausage-on-a-stick and can of beer while conducting an interview with a patron at the American Pig Race Friday night on Baker Road.

(Times photo/Nick Georgandis)

Those in attendance at Friday night's installment of Craig Baker's “American Pig Race” on Baker Road paid little heed to the camera crew at first - after all, members of the media have been no stranger to this part of town over the last couple of months. But when “The Daily Show with John Stewart” correspondent Rob Riggle decided to conduct an interview with one patron while simultaneously gnawing on an enormous sausage-on-a-stick and taking sips from a can of Busch Beer, there were plenty of double takes, pointed fingers and whispers from the 100-plus member crowd.

Craig Baker, a local businessman, owner of Craig Baker Marble Company, Inc., after whose family the road is named, is in the middle of a tiff with the Katy Islamic Association (K.I.A.).

Baker has stated that in late September, Yousuf Shaikh and Kamel Fotough came to his business to introduce themselves, then advised him that his business would not go well alongside their proposed mosque and Islamic Community Center, and that he would be wise to vacate the area.

Further detail, from an earlier story in November, 2006:

Craig Baker owns pigs. He's the guy behind the second big yellow sign on Baker Road. That's the one announcing Friday night pig races. "What does it matter, I can do whatever I want with my land right," asked landowner Craig Baker.

Sure can. But aren't pigs on the property line racing on a Friday night a little offensive to a Muslim neighbor?

"The meat of a pig is prohibited in the religion of Islam," said Katy Islamic Association member Youssof Allam. "It's looked upon as a dirty creature."

Yeah, there's that and also that Friday night is a Muslim holy day.

"That is definitely a slap in the face," said Allam..

Now before you go thinking Craig Baker is unfair, or full of hate, or somehow racist, hear him out.

Baker has long roots here. His family named the road and when the new neighbors moved in, he tells us, they asked him to move out. "Basically that I should package up my family and my business and find a place elsewhere," said Baker. "That's ridiculous, they just bought the place one week prior and he's telling me I should think about leaving."

This being Texas, and even though Houston lacks all the cowboy hats, boots, and big belt buckles of Dallas and other prototypical Texas towns, KIA isn't getting much sympathy so far. Instead, their alleged attempt to control use of someone else's land has gone over like the proverbial "turd in the punchbowl" ("like a fart in church"?). I wonder what the Koran has to say about either of those?

In any event, Comedy Central will reportedly be airing the episode at 10:00 Central Time, next Tuesday, Feb 13, 2007. I expect hilarity to ensue.

[wik] Other opinions on the matter exist, of course. I didn't say "any" I said "much".

[alsø wik] I'm thinking there's a chance that this isn't really a site affiliated with the K.I.A. Someone get the WIPO on the phone, pronto!

[alsø alsø wik] Let's not bullshit each other, however. This isn't a social or land demarcation issue - Baker gives every impression of disliking Islam, period. Which, he's totally free to do, in AmeriKKKa, no?

[wi nøt trei a høliday in Sweden this yër?] Am I the only one who thinks Mr. Georgandis was snarkily opportunistic in his choice of photo? I wonder what she'd just said to him?

"I heard the heartbeat."

Yep, my forthcoming son and/or daughter is now, inelecutably, fo' rizzle fo' shizzle. Hell yeah!

Next up, a fellow bested only by the roadrunner in bearing no resemblance to his cartoon version:

Picoides villosus just by the plumage, but the hairies I understand are both larger and don't range quite as far north as I and my suet. Also concerning plumage, this photo understates how striking the black and white ladder pattern down the back is.

You guys wanna play dickedy-dick? Not a problem.

Let's start with your friend and mine, Baeolophus bicolor:

He's omnipresent throughout the day at the seed areas. Once in awhile one might take a stab at the suet, but they're definitely seed-eaters.

They come pretty much at dawn and stay around until late afternoon. Bigger birds might cause them to leave the feeders, but they don't go far and as soon as they're open they come right back. I have seen 4 or 5 at a time around our feeding area, but I have no idea if that's typical.

My bird book says that, in identifying the titmouse, that it looks sort of like a mouse. Huh, thanks. And I...guess that's true, although a flying mouse more readily describes a bat, and the two look nothing alike.

Friggin weak-ass dollar bird book.

Not the birds!

Alright, that's about enough. If it's up to the Lethal to provide content for this joint, we're all gonna be deep in it.

If someone doesn't post something by 1300 only-timezone-that-matters time, I'm going to bird blogging.

See if I don't.

I can tell you all about my new feathered flying friends, who come to dine and tease my cat. Since we put out the seed and a coupla bricks of suet, we get tufted titmice, black-capped chickadees, some sort of yellow woodpecker, a male and female pair of downy woodpeckers, mourning doves (always in an odd-numbered group, interestingly enough), and most recently some chubby starlings (or perhaps grackles). And a few dozen little sparrows that hang around with their robin friends in the bushes. Maybe I'll tell you about the nice big bluejay who would stop by briefly on occasion. He never ate much, and now he surely won't because he died. Found him stiff as a board in the driveway with no visible wounds.

Try me, motherf*ckers.

1300, or it's the backyard aviary blog.

My morning commute is now a solid hour, not including time spent at the daycare where I leave the Li'lest Lethal. Sometimes I hang out there for up to 30 minutes if he's especially needy that morning or I want to work some more on the kickass pyramid of Legos I started there the other day. Well what the eff, I'm there for a half hour!

But we're talking about 60 minutes in the car. It must be said that the actual distance is only about 25 miles. Problem is that...well, I'm not sure really. I just know that the 15-odd mile stretch of interstate highway I utilize is comprised of 3 to 5 lanes, depending, and traffic on all them goes about, oh, 32mph when it moves at all. In such circumstances it is vital that my spawn remain at least nominally occupied, both for his own general wellbeing and to prevent me from opening the driver's side door and hurling myself out of it so I don't have to hear the relentless horrible crying anymore. Although, come to think of it, given that highway traffic is usually crawling, I probably wouldn't get too hurt. But I would look totally stupid. Maybe I could make sure I hit head first or something. THen I wouldn't hear the crying and I wouldn't have to care how stupid I (surely) looked.

The best form of sonic sedation is your basic kids' music, 100 of the songs you thought were played out and lame by the time you were about 4. These renditions are modernized and produced in a real studio by real engineers and real singers, which doesn't really help much, truth be told. And let me tell you, "Bingo was his name, oh" starts feeling like an icepick in my eardrums after awhile, and by the time the CD has restarted with "a tisket (?) a tasket (?) a green and yellow basket", my thoughts wander again to whether the situation might be improved by just jumping out the door.

But what happens is that while the music dominates the interior space and soothes the savage child's breast, I am looking at the exterior world with greater than usual attentiveness in an effort to find something to distract me from the unending preschool jams inside. Today, instead of having to really bear down and pay attention, something came to me: a dude on a motorcycle.

The only reason that is remarkable is that the ambient temperature was about 20. That's 20F, for you non-Amurricans or domestic bedwetters. And that's respectably chilly in these parts. You know, wear-a-hat weather. But this cat was not only on his bike, he was in the fast lane (which, quite abnormally, was actually going fast), where I sat on his back wheel at 75 for about 5-10 minutes, but when there were some openings in the other lanes he weaved and was gone, 90+. I don't have the science fu to calculate windchills and whatnot, but I would think that any micron of exposed skin would be black and necrotic in about 3 seconds. I like to think his car was just in the shop or wouldn't start, because a guy who's that into riding is kinda unsettling to me.

So that gave me enough to think about this morning to keep me from making the leap.

And btw, I learned (not the hard way, thank the Dark Ones) that the Connecticut State Police have at least one unmarked SUV. Couldn't get alot of detail; I was 9 lanes and a concrete divider away, going the opposite direction at about 70, and at a time in the early morning when colors tend to wash out. At a glance, looked like a white or gray Blazer, with heavy tint on the windows.

Recently, Buckethead and clan relocated from their suburban abode in the heart of Alexandria, Virginia, to a mountain fastness some sixty miles distant. That ordeal has been amply documented on this site.

The call went out across the land to bloggers and regular people near and far to gather to celebrate the dual events of the birth of Martin Luther King, Jr. and the ensconcement of Clan Buckethead in their new home at Festung Buckethead. Goodwyfe Johno and I flew into the area to attend this bash, and in the process catch the talented Dead Men's Hollow in concert.

The gathering was a great success. Aside from myself and Buckethead, both Ministers GeekLethal (with the lovely Mrs. Lethal and the lil' Lethal in tow) and Ross made the scene. Also in attendence were Princess Kat, the Maximum Leader, and the formerly AWOL Phil Dennison, reformed blogger who no longer has a webpage and who therefore is only eligilble for old-school meatspace esteem. Much business was transacted. Much perfidy was committed. Much music was played, some of it through an iPod fed into a fire-spewing Ruben's Tube. Much very fine Scotch was consumed, and some fairly nice cigars as well. Good times, good times.

We of the Ministry thank all attendees in body or spirit, and hope that the remainder of their 2007 is as auspicious and friendly as ithe precedent set at Festung Buckethead.

Brew # 14, Desert Fox Dunkelweizen

6.6 lbs liquid wheat malt extract (50% each barley and wheat)
4 oz caramunich malt? or maybe it was crystal malt 90L?
2 oz crystal malt 60L?
4 oz chocolate malt
2 oz black patent malt
1 oz Styrian goldings hops, pellet
1/4 oz Tettnanger Tettnang hops, pellet
1 lb very ripe bananas, frozen, thawed, and mashed
.2 oz locally grown coriander, ground
1/2 tsp black pepper, ground
1/2 tsp North African dried lemon, grated
White Labs WLP 300, Hefeweizen Yeast

Steeped grains in 1 gal bottled spring water at 160 degrees for 45 minutes. Meanwhile brought 2.5 gallons bottled spring water to boil in kettle. Sparged grain bag in kettle water and added the gallon of steeping water. At boil added extract and Styrian goldings and started the hour clock.

At :40 added Tettnanger Tettnang
At :50 added bananas
At :55 added coriander
At :59 added pepper and dried lemon

Removed kettle to ice-water bath and brought down to about 95 degrees within half an hour. Added about 1.5 gallons bottled spring water to fermentor. Added contents of kettle to fermentor, and separated out cold/hot break and hops. There were banana chunks in the wort; made sure that as many of them were in the bucket as possible, which may eventually prove to be a grave mistake. Pitched yeast at 74 degrees.

Woken up the ensuing morning by my wife, alarmed by the amount of activity at the fermentor. Sure enough, a VERY vigorous fermentation at a higher than optimum temperature (74-75 degrees rather than 68-72) had combined with a banana chunk to block the airlock, and pressure was building. Cracked lid for a second to relieve pressure and went to rig a blowoff hose instead; when airlock was removed it blew protein scum and banana a couple feet in the air. Yeesh.

There's a lot about this beer that I'm doing "wrong." First of all, I'm really not sure what my specialty grains are; it was a while back when I bought them and I have conflicting reports on my draft recipes. I should have used a little Caramunich or munich, with a small amount of black Carafa malt for color; these are all German malts and characteristic of the style. Instead, I chose to go with American varieties that are rather unlike their German counterparts. Chocolate malt is fairly astringent, and the dark crystal malt I believe I used is bittersweet, rather than frankly sweet. That's probably fine - I'm not really after a sweet beer, but a complex one. But I hope that the yeast strain I'm using doesn't dry things out too too much. Dunkelweizens are supposed to be a little heavier and sweeter than light hefeweizens. I'm heading in that direction but taking a detour.

As for the adulterants; I'm bored with making regular beers, good as they are. I figure what the hell, I'll go nuts. I have bananas; hefeweizen yeast produces banana flavors; in go bananas. I have this weird little dried up black desiccated Egyptian lemon; some lemon tartness is good in hefeweizens; in goes some of that. Hefeweizen yeast produces phenolic compounds reminiscent of cloves and spices; coriander in small amounts adds depth, and black pepper in small amounts adds punch without being noticeable, and they're both characteristic of Red Sea area cuisine; in they go!

It could suck, I suppose. But I kind of think it won't. We'll find out.

Next up is either an Imperial Belgian IPA, combining the citrusy overtones and maltiness of an American IPA with the spicy punch of a Belgian ale, golden in color and around 8% alcohol, or a Fakey-fake Pilsener Ale, which takes the subtle malt and soft hops of a Czech Pilsener and translates them into a higher-alcohol, hoppier American version made with the cleanest, most lagerlike ale yeast I can find. Nummy-num-num.

[wik] Holy crap! The blowoff hose keeps getting clogged with bits of banana, requiring me to physically go to the bucket every half hour to press on the lid enough to blow the banana down the hose. There's all kinds of floaty bits of banana in my bottle of sanitizer now that have come out the end of the hose. This is what they call "adventure in homebrewing."

[alsø wik] So a word to the wise: no matter the worth of the banana as an adjunct to beer, whether slight or great, always make sure those bananas are liquified before they go in the wort.

[alsø alsø wik] Now what terrible spasm of tastelessness could drive me to name a fusion German-Egyptian beer "Desert Fox?"

[wi nøt trei a høliday in Sweden this yër?] No seriously. Twelve hours into the fermentation and I've had to take the risky step of removing the blowoff hose and replacing it temporarily with a standard airlock while I cleaned the crud that had totally blocked the hose out of said hose. Five minutes was enough for the foam of the fermentation to fill the airlock, force its way out of the tiny holes in the top of the fermentor, and begin pooling. Now that I've replaced the blowoff hose, I sincerely hope this is the last I'll have to screw around with this damn beer until bottling day. Is the yeast just Conan-strong? Did I manage to introduce a very hungry bug that's eating everything in sight (very unlikely)? Will I post yet another follow-up to this saga? Stay tuned!