Why aren't protestors who glue their hands to the pavement charged with "Unlawful Imprisonment"?

 

So, why aren't the protestors who glue their hands to the pavement and cause traffic to stack-up charged with "Unlawful Imprisonment"? The occupants of the vehicles at the front of the line were detained without due-process.

Another day in paradise

One of the up-sides to the Inkbird 226 temperature controller is that I can play around with sous vide cooking of meat. I currently have two pounds of chuck roast packed into a one-quart, mason jar with the controller set to 54.5-to-56 degrees C. I have been keeping an eye on the temperature and have seen the temperature go as high as 58.5C. "Real" sous vide heaters probably have forced circulation whereas I am relying upon convection, that is, warm water rises while cooler water sinks. I am looking forward to the results.

Running notes:

I repeated Saturday's 2.5 mile distance. While in church Sunday morning, I had a lot of lower-leg pain in my left leg. It mostly tracked along the bone rather than muscular when I massaged with my thumb.

One of the things I did Saturday is that I went up-tempo in my pace for 75 yards. I wonder if that is what caused the pain.

Today I tested that assumption. I changed the last half-mile to alternating 75 yards of sprinting and 75 yards of walking to reoxygenate.

Don't get excited when I say that I "sprinted". Sprint is a stride or a pace.

Trotting or jogging involves the heel striking the ground and your body's center-of-gravity bobbing up and down as you "roll" like a gin-pole with your planted-foot as the center of the pivot. Sprinting involves the heel NOT hitting the ground as your body's center-of-gravity glides parallel to the ground. Sprinting challenges your upper body (throwing those arms forward-and-upward), buttocks and lower legs.

Trotting is energy efficient but the speed is limited. Sprinting uses a lot of energy in a short period of time but the speed can be much higher than trotting. 

Zoodystopia 

Oddly enough, I saw two coyotes or two coyote-dog hybrids today while I was running.

I had been seeing canine "poop" at the 1.25 mark of my run. The various stages of weathering/drying/oxidization of the coprolites suggested that the animals were regularly toileting on the gravel road.

I saw them from a little less than 400 yards and was baffled by how tall they were. Most animals I see are crows, vultures, woodchucks, rabbits and squirrels.

I kept expecting them to run. As I got closer it became clear that they were the mystery canines. They were "lanky" for lack of a better word and they were clearly larger than foxes and their tails were less full. The bigger one had a "mask" and sort of a brindle look to him. The smaller one was shyer.

At fifty yards, the larger animal challenged me. That is, it moved 10 yards toward me and it started barking like a dog. Not a typical coyote behavior. Then as I continued to jog towards them, they leapt into the brush beside the soybean field. 

Bonus pictures

Worth considering. Sent by a friend.

A bowl of Stupice tomatoes. I picked deeply into the "orange" because of slug damage.

Our first Ace 55 tomato. Salt shaker included for size reference. It is destined to be part of the season's first BLT sandwiches.

The Inkbird controller currently in use for the sous vide chuck roast.

Hazelnut seed harvest. To be sown in edge habitats near the Hill and Upper Orchards.

Four jars of pickles in my low-temperature, crispy-preserving processor from a day ago.

Flowers of mystery mustard species.

These leaves are not a match for Sisymbrium altissimum (Tumbleweed). Now tentatively identified as Brassica nigra

A large deer track. I wear a size 11 shoe. She was hauling the mail as she crossed the road. Her toes splayed under the load.

Small town, rural drama

For reasons that I will not elaborate upon, Mrs ERJ and I sallied forth to the J.C. Penney's store in the Lansing Mall (Vacancy rate of 18%) after attending the last Mass of the day.

It was like visiting a funeral home on a Sunday afternoon.

We found the suit that social conventions mandated that I buy. The price was acceptable. It was even better after the lady checking us out very cheerfully applied a 30% discount after I asked "We didn't bring any codes or coupons. Are there any discounts you can offer us?"

On the way home, our minivan puked. OK, maybe "puked" is overly dramatic. It informed us that it was overheating. The drama was compounded by the fact that I never carry my phone to church and today Mrs ERJ followed my example.

A million years ago and in a land far, far away; engineers at Oldsmobile drained the oil from one vehicle with a gasoline powered V-8 and drained the coolant from another vehicle with a gasoline powered V-8. Any guesses as to which one locked up first?

The one without coolant did not even make it to Potterville while the one without oil made it to Charlotte-and-back. That would be 9 miles and 35 miles respectively.

After the DIC (Driver Information Center) pinged, I pulled over as soon as it was safe, maybe 1/8th mile.

While the engine did not smell "hot", there was the distinctive smell of coolant. Squeezing the upper radiator hose revealed that the system was not pressurized. The coolant over-flow tank was bone dry.

If I had to guess, I would guess that the mini-van had a catastrophic coolant loss due to a ruptured hose, cracked fitting or blown clamp.

All was not lost. A passerby stopped every 8 minutes and asked "Is everything OK?" The first couple took Mrs ERJ home to retrieve phones and get remedial action in motion. I stayed with the vehicle and waved off every 10th driver who attempted to render aid.

Let this be a lesson to those of you who might be tempted to drive to The Big City and purchase fancy, new clothes. Nothing good comes from the exercise. 

Caleb Hammer, Financial Advisor

Most of the Caleb Hammer videos are "Membership Only". The one I have shown above is an Asmongold Clips reaction video where he dissects Hammer's guests.

Caleb Hammer is a cross between Dr Phil and Dave Ramsey. He is also much younger and more "hip" than they are. Based on his body language and the high percentage of LGBT+ guests who he hosts, there is a 95% chance that he is gay.

Not that being gay is an issue. Everybody needs help with finances and diet and if somebody who identifies as LGBT+ cannot hear it from somebody who is straight, then God bless Caleb Hammer for being somebody who can have those tough conversations with them.

Tangential to the work Hammer does, this video brings out the cult-like appeal the Disney theme parks and products hold for many LGBT+ people. The couple Hammer is counseling dropped $10k in a month and go to a Disney theme park once a month for an all-inclusive experience. Based on some LGBT+ people I have worked with, they are not unique.

...Disney’s theme parks do their best to use design and urban planning to distract from the problems of the real world. They’re hyper-engineered to create an environment that’s as pleasant as possible, altering and improving upon the horrible, boring reality of life outside their walls to be a little more palatable. Waterways are dyed to be a more appealing color, ugly things are painted in a shade that makes them hard to notice, and the parks’ Main Streets are still American “Main Streets” that have yet to be decimated by the opening of a Walmart. Because of local zoning restrictions that prevent building anything over a certain height within half a mile of Disneyland, you can't even see the outside world from within most of the park.     Source

Incidentally, Hammer HATES Doordash.

Many of Hammer's guests just want to argue with him over minor details. They want to quibble over pennies while dropping hundreds, sometimes thousands of dollars a month for convenience and status services.

At the 0:59 mark the blonde woman goes into a series of micro-eyerolls, a sign that she holds Hammer in contempt. Interesting that she goes to him for help but holds him in contempt. I doubt that his advice will help them if they choose to not act on it.

Pratfalls

Today was one of those days where I stumbled from one pratfall to the next.

It started out promising. I knocked out a 2.5 mile run this morning.

One of my neighbors planted a Hibiscus moscheutos between two ponds. It is lovely. All parts of this species are edible, including the flower petals.

 

A very tall (maybe 8'!!!) "mustard" plant. I have to take a closer look at this tomorrow. This MAY be the same species as the western "tumbleweed'.

Few Christians appreciate the the species of mustard Jesus was (probably pointing at) when he shared the parable of the mustard seed was the same thing as a tumbleweed.

Getting ready for making crispy pickles

I made my brine. 

I pulled out my "Inkbird" temperature controller and fiddled with it. The breakthrough was that the sensor which is enclosed in a stainless steel bullet on the end of the wire-lead IS waterproof. Dunking it in the water bath calmed down the temperature excursions.

"The IP67 waterproof temperature probe can be inserted into the soil or submerged in water"

And then I sallied forth, into the garden to pick pound upon pounds of cucumbers only to find that they were overly mature. So, I snapped them off the vine. The shoots are still extending and they SHOULD set more cucumbers.

The upside is that I am all set up to make small lots of a few pints at a time if that is how they trickle in.

And then the phone rang...

One of my children had a vehicle go Tango-Uniform in the middle of a busy intersection, busy by the standards of Eaton County, that is.

By the time I arrived, helpful motorists had pushed it 40 yards past the intersection and the vehicle was well off the pavement. That particular child had house-guests who were expected to arrive in the early afternoon. 90 minutes of Keystone Cops activity followed. Alas, the vehicle is still beside the road as I type this.

Fiddling with 16 gauge reloads

24hourcampfire has a 16 gauge forum.

Contrary to my assumptions (Translation: I was wrong), most older 16 gauge single-shots are not overly stressed by pressure. Rather, their stocks are the weak link. It is recoil that does them in.

Early 1900s 16 gauge or 20 gauge single shots are a joy to carry. They weighs little more than an umbrella and they grace one's arm while afield with no more effort than you might expend slipping your arm around your beloved and resting your hand upon her far hip.

The blackpowder loads in existence when those firearms were designed were pedestrian in the extreme. They pushed 1 ounce of shot in the 16 gauge or 7/8 of an ounce in the 20 gauge at a sedate 1000-to-1100 feet per second. Those load slayed rabbits by the railcar, dove by the hundred-weight, passenger pigeons into extinction and cleared the skies of migrating waterfowl. Early smokeless loads mimicked those statistics.

Game laws drastically shortened the hunting season. There was a LOT more competition. Ducks were smarter. Payloads and velocities grew to give hunters an edge over the people in the duck-blinds to either side of them.

That 4-1/2 pound single-shot that could be carried with the ease of a pack of Wrigley's Spearmint Gum was suddenly not the tool for the job. The recoil of the souped-up loads was punishing. Follow-up shots were slow...and...the heavy recoil took a toll on the stocks.

The fix is two-fold.

First, the crack must be repaired with low-viscosity epoxy.

Second, loads that match the blackpowder's ballistics and recoil must be used in that firearm for the rest of its natural life.

Those velocities were delivered using Fiocchi 16 gauge hulls and primers, 15.0 grains of "Universal" non-canister grade powder, Claybuster CB0100-16 wads, one ounce of #7 shot, 1/4 teaspoon of uncooked oatmeal (filler). Fired from a single shot, full-choke 16 gauge with a 32" barrel.

This "lot" of powder might have a slightly faster burn-rate than the Hodgdon's Universal powder that you would buy at a retailer. When in doubt, start low and work your way up. If you look at the "book", loads start at about 19 grains of Universal and deliver 1165fps. The 15 grains the chronograph led me to is a LOT less than 19 grains.

I don't claim that these reloads are magic. They are of value to me because I have a modest supply of that non-canister grade powder and now I have a use for it. I am sure the local Red Squirrels and Cottontail Rabbits will not notice that the payload left the barrel at 150fps less than "modern" ammo. 

Ruminating on the purchase of chickens

I wasn't planning on buying chickens when I walked into the Family, Farm and Home store in Charlotte at 10:45 this morning.

I hopped out of the truck and was walking toward the front door when I saw a mother with two boys walking out of the store toward their vehicle. The older boy was carrying the unmistakable box that baby chicks and ducklings are packaged in for the ride home. 

Being nosy, I asked "What kind of birds did you get?"

The mother answered, "We bought the $1 chicks."

That piqued my interest. Earlier this year I paid over $65 for ten chicks.

I wandered back to where the chicks were incarcerated and found the sign advertising the $1 chicks. Unfortunately, they were all exotic, niche breeds that I had little interest in.

But then what did I spy with my  little eyes? A beaten down sign advertising $0.75 chicks. Barred Rock and Gold Lace Wyandottes. Both breeds have their own charms and neither breed is a mistake.

In spite of my super-human self-control, I left the store with an immodest number of chicks.

***

Before I made my trip to Family Farm and Home, I had negotiated a deal to purchase three, fully grown ISA Brown, laying hens. My intention was to "gift" them to Southern Belle and Handsome Hombre. Three ISA Browns (perhaps the best-of-the-best for home chickens) can be expected to produce at least two eggs a day if the farmer does her part.

While I really didn't need them, after all I had just purchased enough chicks to fill the student seating section of MSU's Spartan stadium, a deal is a deal.

It was a treat to meet the 11 year-old boy who was running the 200 hen egg laying operation. It was also a treat to meet his fifty-year-old dad who was the senior partner in the operation.

I know that con-men exist and I don't have any special abilities to discern them. But both individuals were a joy to work with. Oh, and those three hens turned into five hens...just because. Maybe they liked me.

As I was driving home with Southern Belle's windfall, it occurred to me that a likely outcome of Trump's tariff policies is a Renaissance in US manufacturing that equals the expansion before and during World War II. While there were bottlenecks and shortages at every turn, one that touched every industry was the shortage of management talent. A good, high-level executive has an amazingly diverse portfolio of skills that he or she can seamlessly activate as events demand. People like that are a rare commodity.

That fifty-year-old dad? He gave me that vibe. And even though his day-job is in the public sector, it seemed as if he had the potential to thrive in the time-urgent, results-oriented environment of manufacturing.

Bonus Link 

A 60W equivalent, LED bulb for every 100 square-feet emits about 8 lumens/square-feet or an average of 80 LUX which is WAY more than the minimum of 10 LUX.

The Emperor's New Clothes

This article was published in Essence, a lifestyle magazine whose target audience is primarily young, African-American women. I cherry-picked out some meaty bits of the article.

"According to Deloitte, only 6% of Gen Z professionals express any desire to reach executive leadership.

Gen Z’s hesitation comes down to three things: burnout, endless red tape, and losing touch with the work they actually love.

For a lot of young professionals, the math isn’t mathing. Take for example, a marketing coordinator making $55,000. They might see a promotion to marketing manager paying $70,000, but if that role requires 60-hour weeks instead of 40, the hourly compensation actually decreases. Gen Z has watched millennial managers navigate impossible expectations, constant reorganizations, and the mental health toll that comes with middle management responsibilities. Whether or not it’s actually worth it depends on the individual, but if you look at the facts strictly on paper, it’s looking like a hard no for most.

For millennials (waving a yellow flag as an elderly millennial myself), the case against management is equally compelling. Many entered the workforce during the Great Recession and now question whether traditional career advancement is worth the personal cost. To say that we are stressed, overworked and underpaid is an understatement. Those who pursued management roles during the pandemic found themselves managing remote teams through unprecedented challenges while dealing with their own stress and isolation. 

The article has the obligatory jabs at the Trump Administration. That seems ironic because the red-tape and nonvalue-added tasks were heaped on private enterprise by Obama and Biden's Administrations.

It is telling that even the True Believers can see how regulations are strangling managers and, ultimately, private enterprise. Now they need to connect the dots that private enterprise is the engine of economic growth and if they collapse because nobody with a brain wants a role in middle-management, then there will be no more tax-donkeys to bleed.