On Grammar Nazis.

While reading Jeff Cooper's Commentaries, I come across this gem:

"I find it curious that various people find time to write me to the effect that popularity equates to rectitude. This has to do with my expressed annoyance of the barbarism of using the word 'decimate' to signify 'devastate.' It seems to me essentially presumptuous to publish a lexicon in the first place, and, of course, we find that lexicographers disagree amongst themselves. The notion that if enough people do things wrong that will make a wrong into a right is essentially immoral. To say that a good many people use the word decimate incorrectly, and that therefore it is all right, is to justify such other phenomena as lying, infidelity, and public indecency. A decimal is a decimal. See 'decimal point.'"

Heh. "Evolution of language," Mother Theresa's ineffable left tit. The same applies to grammar.

It's Uncanny.

People have been wondering about Subcommandante Marcos' identity for more than a decade now. In a flash of brilliance, I realized that I had seen at least one of those distinguishing characteristics somewhere...


Yes, don't deny it.

On Lagunitas A Little Sumpin' Extra! Ale.

Safeway's selection of inebriates is underwhelming, to say the least.  About the only local color present were Lagunitas IPA and another selection, the Little Sumpin' Extra! Ale.  Because I've yet to drink a Lagunitas that is less than exceptional, and I had already drunk about three cases of their IPA this year,  the choice made itself.

Short verdict: Why are you still reading this?  You should have your keys in hand, headed to the local Inebriation Bazaar.

Long version:

An approximation of Little Sumpin' Extra! would be:

2 parts Lagunitas Maximus IPA.

1 part Darjeeling tea, brewed triple strong, so your teeth feel like they've grown a layer of shag carpet.

1 part lemon juice.

The phrase "wall of flavor" describes this sort of beer perfectly.  In fact, anything with less body and kick (which means just about everything but Arrogant Bastard) tastes like making love in a canoe.

On Undead.

I saw Undead last night. I suppose I could write out a synopsis and full review, but there are only two things you really need to know about this film.

1. There is a triple quadruple pump-action shotgun.* (As seen on the poster.)

2. A fisherman punches a zombie trout in the face, then shoots it with a 1911.

Is it actually a good movie? I was somewhat consistently entertained for 106 minutes. There is a noticeable absence of things that high-falutin' critics like (such as, for instance, characterization), and the brisk pace almost covers up the lack of coherent progression. There isn't consistently funny enough to file it next to, say, Bad Taste on the ANZAC horror-comedy shelf, but the tongue stays firmly in the cheek the whole time.

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* That seems to be made out of Mosin-Nagant and SMLE parts, but never mind.

On Perspective.

So Tam linked up a piece over here about Australian gun laws. RTWT, and all that.

Here in the People's Republik of Kalifornia, any law-abiding citizen* can walk up to their local gun counter, pick out a handgun, haggle up an appopriate price, fill out a 4473, and come back 10 days later to pick it up. Sounds like a Libertarian paradise by comparison. Hell, if you are forced to shoot someone in self defense you're nominally in the right, if a jury of your peers thinks so, which is a damned sight better than that fetid 'equal force' codswallop.

Oh, sure, Sacramento's stacked to the gunwales with people who think the Aussies are doing it right. But as it is, I feel pretty goddamned happy to live here. Even if we have the highest Brady rating in the country.

(Which surprises me, really. Shouldn't the Bradys be in love with the Illinois and Massachusetts FOID schemes? Nothing like having a GP to certify you sane and providing character references to exercise a right. Anyway...)

Time To Join The Human Race.

Halfway through Easy Rider, my 360 stopped being a statistical anomaly. C'est la vie. (Though I think the hippie compound had something to do with it.)

Oh, wow.

So I was playing Forza the other day, and...

Oh, hell, I'll just cut to the chase. 380 bhp in a 2400 dead sexy pounds? Going on the Powerball list.