The title to this article is Blackstone’s Ratio, quoted from his seminal work: “Commentaries on the Laws of England”.

John Adams, Founding Father and second President of the United States, expounded further on Blackstone’s Ratio:

”We find, in the rules laid down by the greatest English Judges, who have been the brightest of mankind; We are to look upon it as more beneficial, that many guilty persons should escape unpunished, than one innocent person should suffer. The reason is, because it’s of more importance to community, that innocence should be protected, than it is, that guilt should be punished; for guilt and crimes are so frequent in the world, that all of them cannot be punished; and many times they happen in such a manner, that it is not of much consequence to the public, whether they are punished or not. But when innocence itself, is brought to the bar and condemned, especially to die, the subject will exclaim, it is immaterial to me, whether I behave well or ill; for virtue itself, is no security. And if such a sentiment as this, should take place in the mind of the subject, there would be an end to all security what so ever.”

Flock cameras are much upon the public mind lately, and with good reason.

For those who have been living under a rock, “Flock cameras” are the Automatic License Plate Readers marketed and owned by the private corporation Flock Safety. They are powered by a solar cell and a rechargeable battery; and use Artificial Intelligence to capture vehicle data, license plates, and unique vehicle details like make, model, color, and bumper stickers — together with location and time — and store all of these details for (allegedly) 30 days.

Since Flock Safety is a privately-owned corporation, they claim there is no violation of the Constitution by this practice.

The issue comes that any law enforcement officer working for an agency that contracts with Flock Safety has unfettered access to any of the data collected by the cameras anywhere.

A deputy sheriff in Bugscuffle County, Texas is able to look for a license plate registered to Los Angeles, California; or New York City, New York; or Toadstomp, Montana — with no Constitutional protections for the owners of that plate whatsoever.

There are — as one might imagine — multiple issues here, not the least of which is that there are no active audits being run. Since a search warrant is not required, LEOs are getting caught running searches for license plates using “Test”, “Training”, and the always popular generic “Investigation” — if they even input a reason. Several officers didn’t either bother entering a reason for the search.

As anyone who has more than a twenty minute experience with humanity might expect, LEOs have turned the Flock Safety ALPRs system into their private “Stalkers R Us” — a minimum of 30 such incidents since 2021 — and the most troubling part of these incidents is that the majority of them were only discovered after a victim complaint initiated an investigation. Flock’s vaunted “audit process” … isn’t.

Since the data gathered by these cameras is deleted1 removed from agency access after 30 days, the evidence of stalking, harassment, turning Flock into an officer’s personal Tinder, and other examples of Official Misconduct/ Abuse of Office/ Unlawful Searches disappears after 30 days.

This is … not good. Especially given that public trust in government is at an all-time low after the Covid debacle.

Of course, the refrain from the Oppress Me Harder Daddy Authoritarian side of the house is the ever-popular “If you’ve got nothing to hide …”2

And that argument is, quite frankly, bushwa. It is not — and never has been — incumbent upon the average citizen to prove his innocence. Rather it is the duty of the State — under the restrictions of such archaic, antiquated, yet mandatory requirements as: “due process”, “probable cause”, “civil rights” and others — to prove guilt.

And — above all — to follow Blackstone’s Ratio.

The Surveillance State engendered by Flock Safety and the like is not Constitutional, nor is it psychologically healthy for the public; it should go away.

At a minimum — because we all know the Government will never give up any sort of power — misuse of the Panopticon must — MUST — be punishable not only as a felony for the LEO directly misusing it, but by removal of the head of the agency. A deputy sheriff uses the Flock system as a dating app, the deputy goes to prison, and the Sheriff is permanently removed from office. A Chief of Police uses the Flock system to find his Baby Mama, he goes to prison, and the Mayor is permanently removed from office. Every time; at a minimum.

Far, far better is for the public to rise up and demand removal of these mass surveillance devices, along with removing every public official who thought they were a good idea from their cushy offices.

Period.

If you’d like to see if your license plate has been searched on the Flock platform, go to HaveIBeenFlocked.com. Please be advised that those only cover license plate searches that have been released through agency audit logs. If you want to be sure, you’ll have to file a Freedom Of Information Act request with your local agencies.

If you’d like a map of Flock cameras in your area, go to DeFlock.org.

Ian

Ok, now we come to the crunchy bit: travelling on an airline with a weapon.

First, my standard disclaimer: I am not a lawyer. This is not, and should not be construed as, legal advice. GO TALK TO A LAWYER.

As usual, there are three steps to ensuring a (relatively) hassle-free trip with your firearm: 1) Research; 2) Preparation; and 3) Execution.

Research.

Buckle up for some reading prior to flying with your firearm. Find out if you are legally permitted to carry it at your destination.1 Also find out if there are idiot restrictions — such as magazine capacity2. If you’re flying into some Northeastern States, odds are that you won’t be legally permitted without jumping through a metric butt-ton of legal hoops. If there are stops along the way, find out if the firearm is legal at those stops. Find out if the destination recognizes your State’s carry permit; and, finally, take a quick gander at the esoteric laws around carrying a firearm unique to the destination State.

Preparation.

Have a sturdy, lockable case3 for your firearm. The case that it was sold in may or may not sufficient for air travel — buy a good quality travel case. Be advised that every locking point on that case must be secured, which means that if there are two padlock holes, both of them must have a padlock installed.

Be sure — double check — that your firearm is unloaded, that the magazines are unloaded, and secure them in the travel case. Double check that there are no loose rounds anywhere.

Once the unloaded firearm and the empty magazines are secured in the travel case, put the ammunition into a hard-sided container that has individual slots for each round. If you’re travelling with a carry pistol on non-gun-related business, I find that a 50-round box for each pistol is more than sufficient. You may want to include a small cutting multi-tool in a small exterior pocket on the check-in luggage.

The TSA happily informs the public that you can use a master-keyed/master-coded “TSA lock” to secure your firearm case. Given that the TSA has an abysmal record of accountability when it comes to the access tools, I don’t recommend it. Up to you.

Go the the TSA page on Transporting Firearms and Ammunition, read it, and then print off a copy. Go to the airline page regarding travelling with a firearm, read it, and print off the page.

Southwest Airlines.
American Airlines.4
Delta Airlines.
United Airlines.

Finally, I do something that seems to be little controversial in the gun community: I call the airline ticket counter at the airport I’m flying out of the day before, during business hours. When the agent answers, I write down their name, and then say, “Hello. My name is [Insert Name Here], and I’m flying out on [Insert Airline Here] flight [Flight Number Here] at [Departure Time Here]. I’ll be checking a firearm. Is there anything you need me to do?”

About half the time they’ll send me to their supervisor. Be sure to write that worthies name down, too.

Why do I do this? One, it’s just courteous. Second, it lets the airline ticket personnel read up on their policies, or have someone present who knows their own policies, and lastly, they’ll often have a TSA agent present and don’t have to call one over for the fiddly bits.

Execution.

The day of your flight, plan to be at the airport AT LEAST an hour earlier than normal. The reason is that there’s a pretty good chance that the TSA is going to call you back after your bag is checked and have you unlock your case so they can inspect your firearm. You do not want to get this call while you’re standing in the boarding line.

Before you leave the house/hotel room, ensure: The firearm and magazines are unloaded;
There are no loose firearms or ammunition in the luggage:
The firearm and ammunition are secured in their respective cases;
That the Bluetooth tracker is charged, or has a good battery; and
Ensure that you have the keys to the locks.

When you get to the airport, go directly to the ticket counter — you can’t use the kiosk — and tell the nice drone at the counter that you have a firearm to check in.

They’ll check your ID, and have you fill out a Firearm Declaration Form. Please note that the orange STEAL ME FIREARM tag should go on the inside of the luggage.

You will run across ticket agents — especially in smaller airports — who insist that the STEAL ME FIREARM tag goes on the outside of the luggage. This is incorrect, and you should talk to a supervisor.5 If the supervisor is equally incorrect, talk to the TSA agent.

This is important: Once you have checked your firearm in, do not go through the TSA checkpoint for about 20 minutes or so. If someone from the airline throws a conniption about how your firearm is “packed”, you don’t want to have to exit the Secure perimeter, go to the counter, and have to go back and wait in line to re-access the Secure perimeter.

After the case gets into the TSA’s hands, they may call you back so they can inspect your firearm. They may ask you for the key — my advice is to accompany the agent to the secure room, open it in front of the agents, allow them to inspect it, and resecure the case in front of them. Maintain custody of your keys.

If your flight gets diverted to an unfriendly State, do not claim the luggage with your firearm in it. Instead, ask the airline to forward it to your destination.

If — as a “for instance” — you wind up getting diverted to some Godforsaken State like New York, and you claim your luggage with a firearm in it, without jumping through all of New York’s legal hoops, assume that the airport police will arrest you just as soon as you step out of the Federal property on the way to the hotel. Yes, seriously.

When you get to your destination airport, your checked luggage will not be on the carousel. There will be an office in the baggage claim area, where your luggage will be behind a counter. You’ll need to produce ID to claim it, and don’t be surprised if you find that your bag has suddenly sprouted an absolutely ridiculous amount of industrial zip-ties. Sigh, access the cutting multi-tool6 in the small exterior pocket, and go to work. Be polite, and dispose of the zip-ties in a trash-bin.

I shouldn’t have to say this, but I will: Please don’t stand in the middle of the baggage claim and retrieve your firearm from the bag. I suggest getting all the way off of airport property before you get into that bag — it prevents a lot of fuss and bother.

Anyhoo. Now, go talk to your lawyer about this subject if you decide that you want to fly with a firearm.

Ian

Last weekend Rita and I went to Writer’s Cantina in Salt Lake City for a author’s conference — if you’re an author we very much recommend it — and because I am A Gentleman Of A Certain Vintage we flew there.

As an aside — comments about refusing to fly will be cordially ignored. Yes, TSA is just Security Theatre; and yes, it’s intrusive, inconvenient, and all that jazz, but Rita and I have day jobs to supplement being publishers. We don’t have the vacation time to make an 18-hour one-way drive to Salt Lake for a two-day conference, and even if we could my busted-up carcass handles 2.5 hours in a plane way better than 18 hours in a car.

Gentle Readers, I tend to stress having dedicated travel luggage that never, ever goes to the range. Not only does this eliminate the awkwardness of having an overlooked round, or forgotten pistol, turning up on the x-ray screen, but your range bag will pick up various nitrites and nitrates from the range, said nitrites and nitrates causing Bowser the Wonder Mutt to plonk his happy butt down and stare meaningfully at your carry-on.

As one might imagine, having the bomb detection dog alert on your luggage tends to engender a certain amount of sudden zeal amongst the blue-shirted sect; and does not bode well for a stress-free journey.

Don’t get black luggage. At both Dallas-Love Field and Salt Lake International about half of the luggage I saw was black in colour. When you’re standing at the baggage carousel, being jostled about, trying to pick your tactical black suitcase out of a line of cloned tactical black suitcases can be frustrating.

When you buy luggage, odds are that there will be a neat little tag hanging off of the handle with spaces for your name, address, and phone number. Take this off and bin it. Not only do tags hanging off of your luggage have a chance to hang in machinery and gum up the works, but having your name, address, and phone number in the open where anyone can read it is a felon’s dream.

Instead, clearly print your name and email address on a couple of cards, laminate the cards, and attach one to the inside of an exterior pocket where it will be immediately and clearly seen to anyone who opens up the pocket. The other card should be attached to the interior back wall of the main compartment where the suitcase will have to be emptied out before the card will be seen.

The first one is there to enable airport personnel to get in touch with you should your luggage find it’s way to Sheboygan when you’re in Las Vegas. The second one is there if you should find yourself arguing over ownership of the bag with a Biden appointee thief.

Switched-on folks that I know have recommended buying a name tape and either stitching or gluing it to the outside of the luggage where it can’t be removed, or catch on machinery. I am reassured by these folks that only having your name, and not any other ID — such as address — visible is not a very high security risk. I admit to having a professional-level of antipathy to displaying PII1 on the exterior of anything, but I’ll also admit to being six years retired, and probably being able to relax. Up to you.

If you take away nothing else from this little essay, take this section to heart: If you travel with weapons2 in your checked luggage, invest in a Bluetooth tracker such as AirTag, SmartTag, Tile, MotoTag or the like; charge it/put in a fresh battery, and hide it in the luggage that has the weapons. Those little trackers aren’t that expensive, and they provide a great deal of peace of mind.

As far as dressing for the flight — good Lord. I don’t get wrapped around the axle regarding dressing formally for travel, but the number of young ladies I saw wearing booty shorts and cami tops for the flight was … eye-opening.

Motorcyclists say “Dress for the slide, not the ride”, and they’re not wrong. Clothing that is one step away from lingerie may be comfortable to doze in, but if the airplane has to divert for mechanical or security reasons, and you wind up sitting on the tarmac outside of West Toadstomp, North Dakota in your smalls — well, the experience may not be as enriching as one might wish.

Plus, a trip down the emergency slide with that much exposed skin might be less of a “slide” and more of a “pinwheel”. YMMV.

Since it was summer, I wore sneakers with ankle support, 5.11 Taclite jeans, and a fishing shirt with a zipper chest pocket. This detail becomes important if — like me — you have daily maintenance medications. 24 hours of your meds can be put in a packet and stored in the zipper pocket with very little chance of getting lost, no matter how rodeo things go. If I have to unarse the plane in an emergency, any carry-on I have will probably not follow. 24 hours of meds gives me breathing room to arrange more.

When you board the aircraft count the seat backs between your row and the over-wing emergency exits. While you can’t miss the front and rear emergency exits — just go along the aisle until you hit a dead-end and you’re at the front or rear emergency exit — it is very easy to miss the middle, over-the-wing exits. If the fuselage is full of smoke, dust, or dark, feel your way up the aisle, counting seat backs as you touch them. When you get to the number you counted when you first boarded, turn towards that seat and you should be at the exit.

On that note — even if you’re not sitting in the emergency row, go ahead and read the emergency procedures card. Yes, I know the people sitting in the emergency exit row pinky-swear that they know how to operate the emergency door — I’m not saying that they’re lying sacks of o-rings … let me instead say that panic can make people forget little things like emergency door opening procedures. You may have to do it for them.

Hmm. That should be good for now. I’ll write further on the subject in a bit.

Ian

On 15 DEC 1973 President Richard Nixon signed the Emergency Daylight Saving Time Energy Conservation Act into law.

This law was intended as a trial period to see how the American Public liked year-round Daylight Savings Time — and also to conserve energy during the on-going oil crisis.

It was, by any metric, a dismal failure. Originally intended to run from 06 JAN 1974 to 07 APR 1975, it enjoyed a 79% approval rate from the American public when it was announced in 1973. By February of 1974 — about a month after it went into effect — the approval rating had collapsed to a whopping 42%.

On 27 OCT 1974 — six months prior to the official end of the trial run — under heavy voter pressure Congress voted to revoke the law.

I bring this up, because Congress is in the middle of voting on The Sunshine Protect Act of 2025 which would make Daylight Savings Time the permanent(ish) choice of time for the US.

I am a fervent proponent of no longer switching the damn clocks back-and-forth twice a year. Trust me, I hate switching clocks back-and-forth … but of the two choices of time (Standard Time versus Daylight Savings Time) we’ve tried one of them before and it was a complete fiasco. Maybe we ought to … I don’t know … try the other one this time?

Plus — Am I the only one who reads (or has any apparent concept of) history? No? Just me?

Well, then.

Ian

We started Raconteur Press in 2021. In 2024 we published an anthology every two weeks, and repeated that feat in 2025.

We also started publishing novels and Boy’s Adventure stories in 2025, among which were “A Kiss For Damocles”1 by J. Kenton Pierce, and “Storm-Dragon”2 by Dave Freer.

To say that we were ecstatic when the Libertarian Futurist Society informed us that both of those novels had been nominated for a Prometheus Award would be underselling things somewhat, but when we were notified that both novels had made it to the short list of finalists, we truly thought we had hit the pinnacle.

For a small, independent press to get not one, but two finalists during their first year of publishing novels … that’s pretty special right there.

Then — we were told that “A Kiss For Damocles” had won the Prometheus Award for Best Novel.

Holy cow.

We may be an outlaw press, but we’re still a baby press. This was simply mind-blowing, and once we got done Communing With Dolphins we figured we’d rest on our laurels and try to figure out how to top that.

Well, the Gods of the Copybook Headings heard our plan, snickered, and next thing you know the LFS contacts us saying that “Storm-Dragon” had won the very first Special Prometheus Award For Young Adult Fiction.

Blink.

For an upstart press in its first year of publishing novels — not one, but two nominations? Oh, wow!

For an upstart press in its first year of publishing novels — both make it to the short list of finalists? Holy carp!

For an upstart press in its first year of publishing novels — one of them actually wins? HOLY [REDACTED]!

For an upstart press in its first year of publishing novels — the other one wins, too? [High-pitched dolphin noises, flapping hands, running in circles, mild hyperventilating].

To say that we are gobsmacked is to underplay the actual reality.

We’d like to thank J. Kenton Pierce and Dave Freer for entrusting us with their novels. Thank you, gentlemen.

We’d like to thank all of the staff at our little press. Ian and I just stand out front — you guys do the actual work.

We’d like to thank the folks at the Libertarian Futurist Society for considering and nominating these novels — thank you.

Last, but certainly not least, we’d like to thank our readers and fans. God bless and keep each and every one of you.

We’d like to say: “You ain’t seen nothing yet”, but we’re not sure how to top this.

Wow.

We’re going to go back to hiding under the bed now. See some of y’all at Writer’s Cantina this weekend.

Ian and Rita

My parents were American citizens, both born in States in the American South.

I was born on the island of Malta, under jus sanguinis I am an American citizen by birth.

I didn’t set foot on American soil until I was three, and for the next 13 years I only saw America one month out of every twelve, when the company my father worked for made him take his annual four weeks vacation.

My siblings and I grew up in Africa, and the Middle East. We have seen poverty — the poverty where mothers make cold-blooded decisions about which child to sell so that she can feed the rest of her children.

America’s poor enjoy a level of comfort that is the envy of the well-off in Africa.

My brother and sister an I have seen repression — we have seen the crushing of the Ibo people (and we saw how the Ibo people treated their own ohu1 and osu2); the ‘Years Of Lead’ in Morocco aren’t a mystery to us; we weren’t there when the Gukurahundi3 swept through Matabeleland, but we knew some who disappeared; we saw the comfortable contempt of the Emiratis for the Filipino and Baluchi; and we have close personal experience with the casual repressive brutality of those cultures and many others.

America’s people enjoy a freedom from brutality and repression that is unimaginable for most of the rest of the planet.

Is America perfect? Of course not, but it is the closest thing to it that we will find this side of the grave.

We have a media designed to amplify the worst things that happen in our society — today we should ignore them.

We have a social media that brings out the worst aspects of us — today we should ignore it.

We have professional agitators who stir up strife for political gain, or social status — today we should ignore them.

Today is the day to remember that we are the heirs of a glorious experiment; today is the day to hold our heads high, and to offer a burger, soda and a handshake to our neighbors whom we may not see eye-to-eye with, but who are still Americans.

Today is the day to set all else aside and just ... be American.

Happy Independence Day.

Ian and Rita

We just got back from two conventions in Chattanooga, TN.

The first was our usual yearly attendance at Libertycon, the second was The Chattanooga Homeschool Expo being held at the same time and same convention center.

As an aside, there was a third event being held the same weekend which was the Warhammer 40K National Finals (?!) tournament — there was a sprog looking all big-eyed at a table where the (slightly enthusiastic) players were bellowing stuff like: “Skulls For The Skull Throne!” and “Suffer Not The Mutants To Live!” with his … very … Mennonite mother sailing in with her skirts flying all over the place to snatch him out of that Den Of Iniquity.

His feet touched ground about every ten feet or so on the way out. :-D

Libertycon — as usual — ran a tight ship, and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. Next year, we think, we’ll propose a Friday block entitled “Foxes In An Elevator” where we have one room just after lunch where all of the Raconteur Press staff will be, so that:

1) Folks will be able to recognize Rac Press folks if they have questions; and
2) There will be a free hour so that if someone needs to talk to someone (Ian) they won’t have to try to snag someone’s (Ian’s) attention as he’s rocketing through the halls doing … Ian things.

Our “What’s New At Raconteur Press” panel was — we think — a success, and was well-attended. If you missed it, at least two folks video’d the whole thing, and we’ll have links up sooner or later.

Bill Willingham was a gentleman, and a hit at Libertycon; the reveal of the cover for the first book of The Outrider Trilogy met with thunderous applause.

On the Homeschool side of things, Chris DiNote and Janet Spaulding were a high-speed/low drag hit. Polished, prepared, and professional — they kicked so much arse in their panels that the homeschoolers had to import extra arse just to keep up with the demand.

Our authors Jacob Sharp and Fred Phillips generously donated time to read from their boy’s adventure novels (A Boy Against the Boxers and The Gold and Fire series) which generated quite a bit of interest from the home-schoolers.

Under the steady hands of Chris and Janet we suspect that the Boy’s Adventure side of the house is going to be a force to be reckoned with even sooner than we had hoped.

Speaking of, if you ever wanted to watch a retired USMC Sergeant Major with a theater degree absolutely ham it up with a children’s book he wrote, you missed out:

We saw old friends, and new ones, talked to dozens of authors, networked, and generally had a fantastic time.

There are probably a lot of things we missed, but we’re knackered, and we’re going back to bed.

Next con — assuming we can get plane tickets — will be Writer’s Cantina. Come see us there!

Ian and Rita

If you follow the Beeb1 you have — no doubt — heard of the three-year-old boy who was mauled by crocodiles at a British zoo after “ending up” in their enclosure.

It is mentioned — off-hand — that a 30-year-old man has been arrested upon suspicion of attempted murder.

While technically accurate — much like saying a hurricane is “a great deal of wind and rain” — the actual truth of the matter is that the man picked up the toddler and threw him into the croc pit.

Lies of Omission, Great Britain, are still lies.

As you follow the story, it turns out that the suspect was taken into police custody, declared to be “unfit for interview”, and was released.

The police have also refused to name or describe the suspect, hiding behind allegations and hints of mental illness.2

This has led to a certain amount of conclusions being reached by social media — conclusions about the ethnicity and/or religious affiliation of the suspect — which the police have responded to by saying, “The suspect is a white British citizen, trust us. Pinky swear.”

I’m sorry, but the British police force has lost any and all trust the public has ever offered. Anytime a British police supervisor says anything about, “Trust us”, he should be firmly smacked on the nose with a rolled-up copy of the Rape Gang Inquiry Report, before having his face briskly rubbed through the nearest pile of manure.

There is no more expectation of trust with you bastards. You want to dispel “the rumours”? “Trust us” isn’t enough — release his name, and photo.

Yeah, it sucks, but this is entirely a creation of your own making, British police. Own it.

As for the incident itself. Speaking as someone who grew up in crocodile-infested Africa: the rescue of the child would have been considerably easier if there had been a large pile of bait to distract some — or all — of the predators away from the rescue effort.

Yes. As soon as it was determined what had actually happened, bystanders should have busted the suspect in the mouth before throwing him into the enclosure away from the three-year-old child.

Even one crocodile attacking that worthless, murdering sack of offal would have been one less crocodile to deal with during the rescue of the toddler. Worth it.

I said what I said.

Ian

postcript: Holy carp! Substack now has coloured text! Fans of the old blog should feel more at home!

… they would throw themselves on their swords.”1

Rupert Lowe’s (Minister of Parliament) Rape Gang Inquiry Report has been released.

It is … so much worse than I had feared.

“It is a national scandal of industrial-scale child rape and modern-day slavery enabled, protected, and prolonged by the deliberate failures of the British state at every single level.”

…

“Every institution that existed to protect children instead enabled the gangs. Police forces across England and Scotland discouraged reporting, criminalised victims, destroyed evidence, allowed known rapists to walk free on bail, and in some cases actively participated in or shielded the networks.”

…

“The media self-censored the ethnic and religious pattern for fear of being labelled racist.”

…

“The evidence is now overwhelming and irrefutable. The rape gangs did not operate in the shadows, but with the active or passive consent of the British state. The betrayal was total.”

I urge everyone to download a copy of this report before it gets memory-holed. I further encourage everyone to read every brutal, infuriating, sickening page.

If you’ve been reading The Bugscuffle Gazette, we’ve been mentioning the rape gang scandal in Britain for a while:

Blind pig finding an acorn, and all that.
Doing the honourable thing.
A government that blames the children.

Even so, I was not expecting to learn that the grooming gangs have been operating since 1955. Seventy-one years. At least two generations of British children have been savagely sacrificed on the altar of multiculturalism, willingly helped and encouraged by not only the State, but by our “Journalistic Betters”.

I was not expecting to learn that the victims number a quarter of a million. At minimum.

The least job of a society — the very minimal function expected — is the protection of the innocent and the defence of those who cannot protect themselves.

The Government of Great Britain — from the least to the highest — not only failed in this most minor of duties, but actively aided and abetted the destruction of the innocent and the depredation of the defenceless — with the enthusiastic assistance of “professional” “journalists”.

Seventy-one (71) years. Two-hundred and fifty-thousand (250,000) children raped. Trafficked. Tortured.

I don’t ever bloody well want to hear any English person tell me I don’t need guns again. “The police will protect you” you say, with that supercilious smirk. Read that report again — especially the part about the police failing to protect children, CHILDREN for God’s sake — and then get sodding bent.

I am furious. I don’t want apologies — I want officers executed. I want politicians hung in the public square, their possessions seized. I want journalistic edifices chained shut and set on fire.

I want the bloodshed and retribution visited upon those responsible, those who enabled, and those who willingly ignored to be of a level that will snarl softly to British people for ages to come:

“Do. Not. Fail. Again.”

Bastards.

Ian

Mirepoix1 is a mixture of diced veggies cooked slowly2 over low heat in order to soften and sweeten3 them to make the base for the dish.

Just about every culture that has cuisine has some form of mirepoix, but the French version — and where we get the term — is onions, carrots, and celery in a 2:1:1 ratio.

In 1755 a bunch of French folks in the French-Canadian colony of Acadia refused to swear unconditional fealty to the British Crown, and promptly got punted out of their colony in what is known as Le Grand Dérangement.

After a bit of wandering, these folks found themselves the happy4 owners of a whole bunch of Louisiana swamp — and while swamps are rather … fecund … and enthusiastic about growing stuff5 — carrots aren’t real high on the list of swamp veggies. The proto-Cajuns looked around, saw bell peppers, shrugged, and improvised.

Voila! The Cajun/Creole version of mirepoix.

As an aside I never heard of this referred to as “The Holy Trinity” until about five years ago when I saw an Isaac Toups video about gumbo. I’m not saying that referring to them as “The Holy Trinity” hasn’t been a thing for a while, but my dad just thought of them as the veggies you cooked with. If he was cooking Cajun food, it was understood that onions, bell pepper, and celery would be the base of the dish.

So. The proper ratio between veggies varies from cook to cook, but is usually either: 1 cup onion, 1 cup bell pepper, and 1 cup celery; or (the one I use): 2 cups onion, 1 cup bell pepper, and 1 cup celery.

It is not, despite the efforts of earnest commentors on social media, “1 onion, 1 bell pepper, and 1 stick of celery”.

Just … no.

Also — and I’d like a whole bunch of Tik-Tok “Cajun cooks” to read this — yes, you should have celery in there. I’m seeing way too many “Cajun dish” videos with absolutely no celery whatsoever in the veggies. Nope, nope, nope.

Dice each veggie to pieces about the same size, and if you’re just using them for the base, melt some butter or bacon grease, bung them into the oil over low heat, and stir for four - five minutes. Again, we’re not sautéing them, and we’re not caramelizing them — we want them to soften and to bring the sugars to the fore. Once they’re translucent, start popping in the rest of your ingredients.

If you’re using the veggies to stop your roux, dice them to the same size6, and when your roux hits the colour you need, toss in the veggies7. The veggies will drop the temperature enough that your roux will stop darkening … and won’t burn8.

After the veggies are in your roux, stir until translucent, and then proceed with the rest of the recipe.

Cajun mirepoix. A/k/a “The Holy Trinity”.

It gave me something to write about on a Tuesday morning.

Ian

Take:

3 bell peppers
1 small yellow onion
1 pound hamburger
1 24oz jar marinara sauce
1 can Fire Roasted Rotel
4 cups Better Than Bouillon broth1
1 cup Minute Rice
6 cloves jarlic
1 teaspoon all-purpose seasoning
Some olive oil

Chop up your bell peppers and your onion. I think the yellow and orange bell peppers are sweeter than the green ones, so that’s what I prefer. Other folks tell me there’s no difference. Meh. Use the bell peppers you like. Your peppers should be in bigger chunks than the onion.

Dump a couple of teaspoons of olive oil into your favourite pot, lob in the peppers and onion, and cook for about 4 minutes over medium-high heat.

Once the peppers have started to soften, bung in the ground meat and cook until it’s all brown.

Drain off the grease, and put your jarlic in there. Stir around until you start to smell the garlic, and add your teaspoon of all-purpose seasoning. If you have an Italian blend seasoning, that’s perfect, but any all-purpose blend is just fine. I think I used Dan-O’s Italian last time.

Glug in the marinara sauce, drain the Rotel and throw it in there, followed by the four cups of Better Than Bouillon.2 I suggest either the Roast Beef or the Seasoned Veggie, but you really can’t go wrong with most of the flavours. If the Rotel is a little too spiky for your palate, standard diced tomatoes — drained — is perfectly ok.

Bring it to a simmer, cover it, and let it burble for 15-20 minutes, then add in the instant rice. Lid back on, come back to a low simmer for about 5-ish minutes, then chop off the heat, and let the whole thing rest for another five minutes. Give it a good stir, and serve with garlic toast.

Voila! Quick-and-dirty Stuffed Pepper Soup.

Ian

In June of last year I penned an essay titled “Popular Misconceptions” in which I opined that if the “good men and true” of an area get “fed up with lawlessness” they tend to take matters into their own hands.

We are now seeing this play out in real time in Northern Ireland.

For those of you not paying attention to the news, a refugee from the Sudan attempted to saw off the head of an Irish man in Belfast on Monday, 08 JUN 26. He was on a public street when he did so, and several locals rushed to stop his assault. His victim has lost an eye from the attack, and is in critical care at a local hospital.

If you read my previous essay, I postulated that when the vigilance committees show up, a lot of collateral damage come with them — so nobody should be shocked to understand that a whole bunch of immigrant homes and businesses are currently on fire in Northern Ireland.

I will now expound upon that previous essay. I will even go so far as to issue a warning that the people who should heed said warning are going to ignore:

If the “good men and true” get the perception that the government and officialdom are not only facilitating what has them all riled up, but just might be a source of what has them all riled up … well, history has shown that the “good men and true” have very little problem with expanding the “extra-judicial punishments” to include Minions of the Law and Government.

And for those folks who pish-tosh any sort of threat from the British “subjects” — this is Northern-bloody-Ireland. The time and area where the locals refined the “Vehicle-Borne Improved Explosive Device” to the point a popular cocktail was named after the practice.

This is the area where there are more SLRs, Sterlings, and Browning Hi-Powers buried around that little island than any three countries in Africa.

Hell, the Irish made the AR-18 famous.

I speak to the government and officials of Northern Ireland, Ireland, and the United Kingdom: Listen to me — you won’t, but listen to me … You’d better — at the very least — pay some sort of lip service towards a credible perception that you give a tinker’s damn about what has the people all lathered up, and make the people believe that you’re doing something about it.

If you don’t — and you won’t — don’t come whinging to me when your dance card abruptly becomes filled with such exhilarating numbers as: the Hemp Fandango, the Beatdown Boogie, and the Arson Waltz.

You have failed the people. You have failed them utterly, completely, and totally. They’re about to rectify that situation. You might want to get ahead of that power curve before you find yourself watching folks get loaded onto cattle cars alongside you.

No love. At all.

Ian

I’m still recovering from the sudden death of our beloved dog, so this may not be as well researched or articulate as my essays usually are.

I’m trying to avoid the Karmelo Anthony trial, but social media has obviously fallen in love with it.

I have long been absolutely tired with the entertainment industry’s version of Texas laws and the Texas legal system, and this case perfectly exemplifies the stupidity of the entertainment industry.

Of the many, many idiot takes on the whole situation — and trust me, the peanut gallery is rife with Teh Dumb — is the claim that Anthony should not be charged with murder “because there was no premeditation”.

Ok. So?

Crimes in Texas — and I suspect elsewhere in the United States — are strictly defined in the Penal Code, using the legal term “Elements of the Offense”. Each criminal offense in Texas has a list of elements, and not only must each element must be present, but at the trial the State must prove each element was present.

To find the “Elements of the Offense” for each crime, one should examine the Texas Penal Code, where each crime is listed. And given that this is the Century of the Fruitbat1, the internet is chock-full of “search engines”, so this shouldn’t be hard at all.

Texas Penal Code, Chapter 19 covers “Criminal Homicide”, of which murder falls into, specifically 19.02.

19.02 (a) covers definitions used in the section, 19.02 (b) are the actual elements of the offense of murder, to wit:

(b) A person commits an offense if the person:

(1) intentionally or knowingly causes the death of an individual;

(2) intends to cause serious bodily injury and commits an act clearly dangerous to human life that causes the death of an individual;

(3) commits or attempts to commit a felony, other than manslaughter, and in the course of and in furtherance of the commission or attempt, or in immediate flight from the commission or attempt, the person commits or attempts to commit an act clearly dangerous to human life that causes the death of an individual; or

(4) knowingly manufactures or delivers a controlled substance included in Penalty Group 1-B under Section 481.1022, Health and Safety Code, in violation of Section 481.1123, Health and Safety Code, and an individual dies as a result of injecting, ingesting, inhaling, or introducing into the individual’s body any amount of the controlled substance manufactured or delivered by the actor, regardless of whether the controlled substance was used by itself or with another substance, including a drug, adulterant, or dilutant.

So. (1) is the “culpable mental state”2. In order for the offense of murder to have occurred the criminal actor must have “intentionally or knowingly” killed someone; and (2) says “intends to cause serious bodily injury and commits an act clearly dangerous to human life that causes the death of an individual”.

That’s it. Anybody see “premeditation” in there? Anywhere?

“Serious bodily injury” is a clearly defined legal term, found in Chapter 1, of the Texas Penal Code, specifically, section 1.07 (46), to wit:

"Serious bodily injury" means bodily injury that creates a substantial risk of death or that causes death, serious permanent disfigurement, or protracted loss or impairment of the function of any bodily member or organ.

Does stabbing someone with a knife create a substantial risk of death OR death OR serious permanent disfigurement OR protracted loss or impairment of the function of any bodily member or organ?

Oh, hell yes.

“But, Ian, it was self-defense!”

Well, hey, guess what? The Texas Penal Code covers that, too. And Google is still your friend!

Texas Penal Code, Chapter 9, specifically Subchapter C, Section 9.32:

(a) A person is justified in using deadly force against another:

(1) if the actor would be justified in using force against the other under Section 9.31; and

(2) when and to the degree the actor reasonably believes the deadly force is immediately necessary:

(A) to protect the actor against the other’s use or attempted use of unlawful deadly force; or

(B) to prevent the other’s imminent commission of aggravated kidnapping, murder, sexual assault, aggravated sexual assault, robbery, or aggravated robbery.

“Deadly Force” being defined in Penal Code 9.01(3) as:

"… force that is intended or known by the actor to cause, or in the manner of its use or intended use is capable of causing, death or serious bodily injury.”

So. In order to justify using a knife to defend himself, Anthony has to prove that he thought the deadly force — yes, a knife is deadly force — was necessary to prevent the other kid from using or attempting deadly force against Anthony, or that the other kid was committing the crimes of aggravated kidnapping, murder, sexual assault, aggravated sexual assault, robbery, or aggravated robbery.

Yes, each of those has the required elements and definitions listed in the Texas Penal Code, and you can use Google to find them.

Personally, given the facts of the case I’ve seen so far, I don’t think he can prove either of those situations.

“But, Ian! Texas is a Stand Your Ground State!”

Yeah. And?

Sigh.

Section ( c ) of 9.32 is the relevant “Stand Your Ground” statute, to wit:

“A person who has a right to be present at the location where the deadly force is used, who has not provoked the person against whom the deadly force is used, and who is not engaged in criminal activity at the time the deadly force is used is not required to retreat before using deadly force as described by this section.”

In order for the Stand Your Ground statute to be relevant, Anthony is going to have to prove that he was lawfully present AND that he did not provoke the interaction OR that he was not engaged in criminal activity at the time of the incident.

If he was told to leave, he was no longer “lawfully present”.

Folks, I don’t care how popular TV shows and movies about Newt Yack City, or the People’s Democratic Republic of California are — the fictionalized laws of the People’s Democratic Republic of California or New Yack City have sod-all to do with the laws of Texas. Stop trying to apply Hollywood’s bastardized versions of the People’s Democratic Republic of California or Newt Yack City laws to the Lone Star State.

Thank you.

Ian

postscript: Dear Internet, guess what? The selection of a criminal jury in Texas is strictly bound by law, and you should probably research the Texas Code of Criminal Procedure, Chapter 35 (Titled “Formation Of The Jury”)3 before you go running off at the mouth, mmkay?

Ian

She was born in a trailer park, half dachshund and half chihuahua — although the chi part was hard to see.

Her first people took her away from her mother way too young, and left her tied to a fence and neglected.

She was still a puppy when her second family took her as a companion to the dog they already had. For the most part they were kind enough, but when night came they went to bed with their first dog, and left her outside by herself in the dark.

That didn’t last very long at all, and when we got her she immediately glued herself to Rita, and was a mama’s girl from then on.

We already had Praline and Chuy, and the first night she stayed with us, I took everyone out back to do business, then called them all back to go to bed. Mochi stood at the bottom of the back stairs watching Praline and Chuy go inside, then looked around the yard, trying to decide where she would sleep. The surprise when I encouraged her to come on inside was heartbreaking.

She spent that night on the bed, curled into the smallest ball she could get into, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, but when she figured out she wasn’t going to have to spend a night outside by herself again, she never looked back.

She was independent, smart, stubborn, and fearless. She was our little guttersnipe, and loved us with every ounce of her 14-pound body.

We came home last night and found her lifeless in the back bedroom.

Rita is wrecked, and I’m not much better.

First Praline, then Chuy, and now Mochi. This is the first time since Rita and I took up together that there hasn’t been the sound of little paws throughout the house.

This sucks.

Ian

#CommissionEarned

TL/DR version: Choosing one’s perspective is key to overcoming the desolation of life’s disappointments

I want to share something that has been much on my mind of late, but I want to preface this with the caveat that there’s a sea of pretty ideas out there that appeal instantly but that don’t stand up to intensive scrutiny. Ours, alas, is an age of people trying to stanch the nag of spiritual questions with the soft pop psychology that permeates western culture and begs the listener to turn to anything but Jesus, when all along, He is the only answer. The story I’m about to share is absolutely true, and it could be adjacent to some of those pop psychology ideas that the likes of Oprah directs her audience to consider. I suspect her method, beyond feathering her nest, is to channel the attention of the public to things that appear close enough to admitting that we are spiritual beings without asking the tough questions about what is ultimately right or wrong. Hers seems the realm of reinforcing comforting ideas that, ultimately, are philosophically flawed. The story I share with you below is about making a choice to perceive things from a more objective standpoint, rather than seeing every curveball as the ultimate disruptor that could have occurred, and making life a misery.

Today I was in a lovely garden center where I’d gone to find a hummingbird feeder. I grabbed a cart and made my way through one greenhouse with trees, only to emerge into one filled with blooms, annuals and perennials, and hanging baskets dripping with blossoms. It was incredibly lovely. However, the humid heat in this greenhouse was oppressive.

“Those pentas are a gorgeous color, and the hummingbirds love them!”

The fellow shopper seemed startled as I pointed to the pot of crimson blooms she was considering.
“Aren’t they wonderful?”

“Yes! They’re a favorite of mine!” Then, without thinking, I blurted something that may have sounded like a complaint. “It’s like a sauna in here!”

“It really is.”

She didn’t need an explanation, but I decided to give one.
“Since I had radiation treatment a couple years ago, I am weirdly heat-fragile. This is the kind of heat that gets to me. I’ll just make a quick trip through.”

“I am sorry to hear about that. I hope you are healed. Bless you.”
It was kind of her to say. She had turned to me and seemed interested.
“Thank you, I really am blessed. It will sound strange to say, but the cancer itself was a blessing. I didn’t know it at the time, but it made me look at a lot of things differently. The Lord has blessed me beyond measure, and I am thankful for the lesson. And now I’m talking to you in this beautiful place.”

“You know, I’ve had that same experience through some health trials recently. I didn’t have cancer, but I had struggles. It all worked out for the best, thank the Lord. He is working to our good”

“Amen!” I said.

We talked a little bit more, and it was a sweet and joyous conversation. It brightened my day, and I hope it did hers, too.

One never knows how a random conversation can affect someone. I think sometimes we should state the obvious, like remarking on the beauty of the color of a flower, or on the astonishing engineering that wrought a bee with bags of pollen on her legs into existence. It’s important to name what we are experiencing, especially the mundane beauties and grace we take for granted.

I’ve always tried to embrace the joy of living, but I’ve not always understood how to go about it. I think now I understand that this joy is not having the right things or the stylish possessions that the world dictates are the measure of a life well-lived. I think one can have a joyous life in the most humble of circumstances, if one chooses. It is a matter of perspective across which I stumbled in a random conversation with a man about 14 years ago.

I was working as a move manager for a company. I coordinated moving crews, drivers, and dispatchers to make sure the move would be done to the customer’s liking. Best-laid plans being what they were, hiccups and turning on a dime were attendant features in that profession. From one of these hiccups came what would be one of the most startling lessons I’ve learnt in life, even though it took me years to really embed the idea properly.

That year, I called a customer in April to plan his move. I took an inventory of his possessions so the crew would arrive with adequate boxes for the pack, and so there would be enough trailers to haul his goods. The conversation was about half an hour, but I had all I needed to ensure his move would be as smooth as possible in July. He was nice, but moving is incredibly stressful for people, and I always did all I could to insure things would happen without a hitch.

The week before his move, I called the truck terminal and the moving crew to confirm that all the appointments were booked. I called him to let him know I’d reach out to him the day before.

The day before his move, I got a call from the man who owned the local moving company who was packing and loading my client’s house the following day.

“Sorry, Rita. This other job we’re doing today was under-estimated. We are going to be there another day. Can you tell your guy we’ll be there bright and early the day after tomorrow?”

This was the week of July 4, which is the biggest moving week in the industry. There was no way to get another crew in to pinch-hit. I called a few other movers, but quickly exhausted that faulty notion for the folly it was. I dreaded calling the customer, but I subscribe to the eat-the-frog philosophy that if you have to eat a frog, do it as early as possible, then you don’t have to spend your day dreading eating the frog.

I called the client and said “I’m terribly sorry, but I’ve just learned that your crew is tied up on a job that will run over by a day, and will arrive 24 hours later than scheduled. I am so sorry to disrupt your plans.”

Braced for a stream of invective, I was astonished by his response.

“Oh, okay. Great! Hey, Rita, thanks for calling and letting me know! I’ll be here on Thursday. I’m all ready.”

I was astonished. He sounded happy. I could not resist the urge to remark on it.

“If you don’t mind me saying, I am surprised you are not angry. We worked out so many details and I thought you’d be upset.”

“I found out a long time ago that life is better when I recognize that things don’t happen to me, they happen for me. There’s a bigger picture I can’t see yet, so I try not to get bothered by a change in plans.”

I wish I’d kept a record of his name, because this startling conversation has come to mind hundreds of times since that day. I’ve spent so much of my life thinking that by running in one direction I could affect a particular outcome that would see me happier, more prosperous, and safer in an unpredictable world. However, all my planning and running in whatever direction kept bringing me to unexpected corridors and places I didn’t recognize, places I would not have intentionally chosen. I would question how I could have been so wrong. Second-guessing oneself is simply too easy.

The truth is that more than anything, the Bible admonishes us over and over to not be afraid, to not succumb to fearful living. Human effort and resilience is not what gives us strength. The grace and power of God is what carries us, even when we don’t recognize it. What I’d been doing most of my adult life was living according to my whims and not considering that God had plans and purpose for my life. I will not now succumb to regret, but instead I feel energized by the fact that He brought me through my terrible choices and missteps for a real purpose, and that there is more to come.

I’m flawed, and a sinful person, but the Lord is working on me. Thankfully, I have His grace to give me what I could never be good enough to earn. It’s been astonishing to look at the worst moments of my life, mostly in the past 8 years, and see His hand at work, helping me to recognize that even if things don’t make sense from moment to moment, I can rejoice that “all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8:28)

I am not perfect, never have been, never will be. I am, however, responsible for how I choose to perceive my life and how it unfolds. I can be hard and brittle and insist that the world go my way, or conclude that because it’s not all going my way that it is flawed and less worthwhile than the lives of others. Or I can bend like a tree bends in the wind, letting the tempest temper and knit its bark more tightly to prepare for future storms, twisting and springing back stronger and more adaptive. This is what I am choosing for my life. I can celebrate the fact that I don’t have to have all the answers today, and that I’m not the arbiter of all outcomes: I am the beneficiary. I think I’ve only been an adult for about five minutes, but don’t hold me to that. I’m still capable of setting a foot wrong.

For now, I’ll keep resting on Blessed Assurance, and trying to recognize that things are happening for me, and not to me. I’ll leave you with my favorite poem by C.S. Lewis, in which he gives thanks for the way his flaws have fallen to shambles, and left him to move forward with a clearer understanding of what really matters:

As The Ruin Falls

All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you.
I never had a selfless thought since I was born.
I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through:
I want God, you, all friends, merely to serve my turn.

Peace, re-assurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek,
I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin:
I talk of love –a scholar’s parrot may talk Greek–
But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin.

Only that now you have taught me (but how late) my lack.
I see the chasm. And everything you are was making
My heart into a bridge by which I might get back
From exile, and grow man. And now the bridge is breaking.

For this I bless you as the ruin falls. The pains
You give me are more precious than all other gains.

~C.S. Lewis

Something to think about on a summer’s day.

Rita

Great Britain used to be a nation of customs, and by ‘customs’ I mean ‘laws’. English Common Law is the basis for much of American jurisprudence; and England gave us Sir William Blackstone whose book Commentaries on the Laws of England was the first methodical and systematic examination of law, and did so in a manner that could not only be read by non-lawyers, but understood by them.

These days … not so much.

In 1850 General Sir Charles Napier was the British Commander-In-Chief of India, and apparently had quite a case of the red-arse at the Indian practice of sati — the burning alive of widows on their husband’s funeral pyre.

The Brits declared that sati would stop, most ricky-tick, but the locals had other ideas.

I’m not quite sure of the actual date — some sources indicate February of 1850 — a delegation of Hindu priests gained an audience with Sir Charles, to plead the case that they should be allowed to continue sati. Their ace in the hole — their ‘gotcha’ — was that Sir Charles had, in the past, argued vehemently for British colonial officials in India to allow locals to continue their customs.

They laid out what was probably a very practiced argument, and waited for his response — which was very articulate, very fair … and very, very Britishly savage:

“Be it so. This burning of widows is your custom; prepare the funeral pile. But my nation has also a custom. When men burn women alive we hang them, and confiscate all their property. My carpenters shall therefore erect gibbets on which to hang all concerned when the widow is consumed. Let us all act according to national customs.”
~Governor-General Sir Charles Napier

The priests looked the Governor-General in the eye … and by all accounts the open practice of sati ceased immediately.

Sigh.

In these “enlightened” days, it certainly appears that the judicial and legislative political critters seem to think that certain barbaric acts are excusable due to foreign customs.

Huh.

This is the West. We have had the unspoken “Napier Doctrine” from before Sir Charles so eloquently stated it, and it’s time that we reaffirmed it.

If your religious, cultural, national, or ethnic custom is that “women are no more worthy than a lollipop that has been dropped on the ground”, well the custom in the West is that women are precious; and to be treasured and defended. You act according to your customs, and we’ll act according to ours — rape is a felony and you get decades in prison.

Your religious, cultural, national, or ethnic custom may be that women and girls must be modest, and you’re just following your custom by assaulting them “for their own good”? Be it so. Our custom is that fathers, husbands, and other male relatives get to practice corrective phrenology if they catch you being stupid. Let us all act according to custom.

Your religious, cultural, national, or ethnic custom may be that dogs are unclean filth, but our custom is that they are beloved companions. Want to kick at them? Ok, but our custom is to beat the brakes off of you when you do. You follow your customs, and we’ll follow ours. Deal?

Want to practice barbaric customs due to your religious, cultural, national, or ethnic origins? Ok, but your religious, cultural, national, or ethnic origin should have absolutely zero impact on any corrective actions.

If 20 years is sauce for the goose, then 20 years is sauce for the gander. It’s only fair.

Ian

I love tomatoes. I grew up eating tomato and cheese sandwiches; and I have happily wandered around a garden munching tomatoes right off the vine. Tomato-based Italian sauces are glorious, and I will founder myself in spaghetti, lasagna, and anything else swimming in a tomato sauce.

Mexican and Southwestern tomato salsas make anything better, ketchup covers a multitude of sins, and very few dishes can’t be improved by a can of Rotel.

Caprese salad is a signal that spring has started; stuffed maters is a meal fit for a king, and tomato-garlic confit spread on toast is amazing.

That being said, while I adore tomatoes in soup … I cannot stand tomato soup.

Don’t judge me — you knew I was weird when you showed up.

However, a proper grilled cheese sammich begs — no, cries out — for a good mug of soup. So …

Take:
1.5 pounds of chicken thighs
1 yellow onion
1 bell pepper
2-3 stalks of celery
3-4 cloves of garlic
6 tablespoons of butter
1/4 cup of flour
4 cups chicken broth
1.5 cups milk
2 cups of cooked rice
Cajun seasoning of your preference

Melt a couple of tablespoons of butter in a pot, dice up your chicken, sprinkle it with Cajun seasoning, and then brown it in the pot.

While the chicken is browning, chop up the onion, celery, and bell pepper. When the chook is brown, remove it from the pot, pop in a couple of more tablespoons of butter, and the bung in the veggies. Stir them for 8 to ten minutes until they’ve softened nicely.

Add two more tablespoons of butter to the softened veg, and when it’s melted, throw in your flour. Stir continuously for two-three minutes. We’re not making any sort of dark roux here, so don’t worry.

After two-three minutes, add your chicken broth and the milk. Chop the heat down to a simmer, and stir occasionally for another ten-ish minutes. You should see the broth start to thicken up a little. If it thickens up more than your preference, add some more broth, or maybe a little water.

Toss the browned chicken in there, cook for about 15 minutes, then follow up with your cooked rice. Stir it for a couple of minutes, pop it into a soup mug, and serve with a sandwich of some kind … preferably grilled cheese.

Voila! Chicken soup.

Ian

Blessings on the hand of women!
Angels guard its strength and grace,
In the palace, cottage, hovel,
Oh, no matter where the place;
Would that never storms assailed it,
Rainbows ever gently curled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Infancy's the tender fountain,
Power may with beauty flow,
Mother's first to guide the streamlets,
From them souls unresting grow—
Grow on for the good or evil,
Sunshine streamed or evil hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Woman, how divine your mission
Here upon our natal sod!
Keep, oh, keep the young heart open
Always to the breath of God!
All true trophies of the ages
Are from mother-love impearled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Blessings on the hand of women!
Fathers, sons, and daughters cry,
And the sacred song is mingled
With the worship in the sky—
Mingles where no tempest darkens,
Rainbows evermore are hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

~William Ross Wallace

Happy Mother’s Day 2026.

Ian and Rita

You know what I'd like to see?

Red Flag laws for Congress.

Any Congresscritter says, or does, something unConstitutional anyone should be able to file a Red Flag violation and have that politician's powers to write bills, attend sessions of Congress, vote, draw a taxpayer-funded paycheque, live in a mansion in Washington DC, enjoy tax-payer-funded benefits, or anything else tied to the privilege of being a Congresscritter immediately suspended.

There would be a hearing within fourteen days before a judge in their home district, where the Representative or Senator would be given the opportunity to show where in the Constitution what they said, or the law they proposed, or the action they did, was explicitly authorised, and if they can show that, their privileges to all the goodies of being an elected representative of the People would be restored.

If they can't, then they can sit at home for a year and twiddle their thumbs. Not allowed into the Capitol, no drawing a paycheque, no voting, no proposing bills, nothing added to their pension funds, no taxpayer-funded healthcare, zip, zero, NADA to do with being an elected official.

And their party doesn't get to fill that slot. Their party doesn't get to cast a vote on their behalf. Their party doesn't get to help them with re-election.

No, that Congresscritter, and the seat they occupy, goes into the penalty box for a year.

After a year, if their term in office hasn't expired, they can take up their duties again.

Unless, and until, they mention violating the Constitution again, and someone files another Red Flag complaint.

Bastards.

Ian

Convention season is almost upon us, and since a lot of the conventions we will be attending aren’t even on the soil of the Republic1 there’s going to be a certain amount of air travel involved. While we will be taking our own vehicle for some of these, a couple will involve air travel. Which means ground transpo will have to be arranged at the location.

In the main there are five different varieties of transportation available, so — in no particular order — let’s discuss my feelings about each.

Public transit

This is your local bus system, local light rail, that sort of thing. Basically run by local government, using taxpayer funds. I dislike public transit intensely. Public transit is, for lack of a better term, nothing more than game trails on the Serengeti of crime.

Not only are your local commuter rail, and local busses oft times filthy, and inhabited by trustees of modern psychiatric pharmacology, the fact that they are a subset of government means that the local government can not resist dabbling their idiot fingers into the mess by adding Rules, Ordnances, and other government bushwa.

There will be limits — limits you won’t know about — on what you are allowed to carry on their vehicle. There will be taxpayer funded agents watching to see that you aren’t Running Afoul of The Rules — and a middle-class white male or female is a lot safer to Field Interview than a gang-banger, or someone having a psychotic break.

Public transit is canalized, inflexible, inefficient, and worships at the altar of appearing to solve public transport issues, instead of actually solving public transport issues.

On top of which — in the Name of Safety — video surveillance on public transport is becoming ubiquitous. I dislike the modern stampede towards the Panopticon, so public transit is a mode of last resort for me.

Taxis

Somewhat better than public transit — but that’s damning with faint praise. A taxi is more flexible and efficient than public transit, but it also tends to be a lot more expensive. Overseas taxi drivers sometimes find a lucrative side-hustle being spotters for local theft rings — they know which hotel you’re at, what sort of luggage you’ve got, and whether you’re a woman travelling alone. All important intel for thieves. Some taxi drivers go further and will participate in driving you to the scene of your kidnapping for a cut of the proceeds.

While the kidnap gangs so prevalent in the Third World aren’t Stateside — yet — they’ll arrive sooner or later.

The theft rings, I’m afraid, are already here.

Taxis also tend to be … less clean than I’d prefer.

If I get into a taxi, and I can’t reach the driver due to a partition, channeling, or any other reason … I don’t take the taxi. Your mileage, as they say, may vary.

Uber, Lyft, or other rideshare

My #2 preferred transport option. Usually — but not always — less expensive than a taxi, they’re also usually cleaner, and they offer the same flexibility and efficiency of a taxi.

Unfortunately they also share with taxis the opportunities for the drivers to have the criminal side-hustles, but the real-time tracking inherent in the system limits the worst of these inclinations — kidnapping. However, bear in mind that if the driver is tracked, then so are you. Plan accordingly.

Rideshare vehicles, given that they’re the driver’s personal vehicles, don’t usually come with the police-level partitions common to taxis in major metro areas. If I call an Uber, and the first thing I see when I open the door is a cage to climb into, I find another mode of transport.

Rental cars

Ugh. The level of Administrative Stupid required to rent a car these days, plus certain habits of the Criminal Class, make this a non-starter for me.

Drug mules love rental cars. If — when — they get busted, the vehicle that gets seized isn’t theirs, so they don’t care. Unfortunately — especially if they are clumsy with their personal product — this means that Bowser the Wonder Mutt can add an hour or so to any traffic contacts you may incur after sniffing the cargo from the previous occupant.

If a rental car is required, select an agency that doesn’t mark their vehicles with company branding. A rental car is a mark of a tourist, and criminals look for that sort of thing.

When you go out to the lot, the first thing you should do is conduct a walk-around of your rental car. Look for puddles under the engine, wear on the tyres, cracks in light housings, stuff hanging down from the undercarriage, stuff like that.

Next pop the hood, check the fluids — oil, water, that sort of thing — and the condition of the belts and hoses.

Finally, start the engine, and — this is the most important part that folks routinely leave out — check to see if you have fuel. You’d be surprised at the number of people I know who have complained to me that the Low Fuel Light clicked on halfway between the aeroport and the hotel. If the Check Engine light comes on, get another car.

Then get out, and check that the headlights work — including high-beams — plus the turn signals, and brake lights.

Unless, of course, you enjoy spending months arguing with the rental company over who should actually pay the ticket you got for an equipment violation. Some folks do.2

I know some very switched-on people who prefer to rent a car when they’re outside their usual area — I’m just not one of them.

Friend or trusted acquaintance

This is my preferred method of transport, especially in unfamiliar urban areas. A local friend or trusted acquaintance will be familiar with local traffic conditions, and will be comfortable with — or at least tolerant of — your security habits and/or foibles.

I shouldn’t have to mention this, but: Do try to select the friend who doesn’t have outstanding warrants, an adversarial relationship with local law enforcement, or driving habits that are outside of your personal comfort zone.3

Anyhoo, some thoughts on a Tuesday morning.

Ian