I just pulled the brisket off the grill, and wrapped it in foil, and it rests on my kitchen counter, smelling up the entire cabin. Frank is not the only mammal drooling around here.

Must. Let. It. Rest.

An hilarious comment thread on property values and the stolen election in 2000:

• Is the correlation really this perfect? Every last Gore state has at least as much appreciation as the best possible Bush state?
• Restaurants are better in Blue States.
• Better art in blue states.
• More open-mindedness in bleu states (French spelling) - as in - I believe my property value can increase, don’t you? Here’s 17 reasons why…
• So, conservatives are more “on edge” than liberals, and so feel more uneasy in high population density areas.
• Trailer parks make up a disproportionate share of the housing in Bush states, and my guess is they do not appreciate very much, hence the solution to the mystery.
• If the bookend real estate is so valuable why is it that they are populated by blue voters and not red? I would think that the hard working republicans would be over represented in the high dollar real estate market, while the loser democrats would be living in the trailer parks of Fort Wayne.
• People don’t generally leave NYC to live in Oklahoma, do they? And that’s not to knock OK, but the liberal urban centers are where people go to come of age and make their marks in the world — if they can.
• I just returned from a couple of weeks in Scandanavia, and have been wondering if a similar analysis could be performed in which various quality of life indicators were compiled for societies with a progressive political orientation vs. societies with a dominant rightwing ideology? I’d be willing to bet that in such a comparison the progressive societies would stomp the right-leaning societies, no contest. So why does anyone subscribe to a right wing ideology? Where is the evidence that it produces a desirable state of affairs?

Whoops! That last one is instant Severe Tired Head, isn’t it? It even invokes the Fjords of Socialism. For the record, here’s my answer to Professor Drum’s question:

Prettier women in bleu states. Cheaper gasoline in bleu states. Shorter lines at the grocery stores in bleu states. Polite freeway driving in bleu states. Colder ice in bleu states. Handsome postmen in bleu states. Smarter neighbors who keep their lawns nicer in bleu states.

Don’t tell them that us Red-Staters like being in places where we can see the sky without tilting our head to a 90° angle. It’s our secret.

Yes, of course! It has no context. Still good to know that all us Bushies are living in trailer parks. And that our art sucks.

Once more, I am astounded by the depth and breadth that some people will go to in their search for the meaning of the universe. I am humbled, well and truly, by the mental and verbal gymnastics on display here. I’m betting that they aren’t even trying hard.

The best I can do, is, I think to notice how much of that is of value in human life has to do with an engagement with the natural world and a recognition of the uniqueness and (sorry about this word) the ‘otherness’ of the world beyond the human. I’m not just thinking about raw untamed nature here (Lear on the heath) but also about the way in which an artist has to work with the natural properties of pigments, a gardener has to work with plants and their distinctive characteristics, and a cook has to work with ingredients. Architects too have to work with materials, with stone, wood and so on.

This is a post about genetically modified foodstuffs. Hence, the (very involved) audience is discussing fertilizer and it’s natural (to a farmer) lifecycle. Or, in less rarified circles, shit. I’m not quite sure they realize this (”Lear on the heath“?), but there’s enough philosophy in that one comment thread to fill up sixteen post-war Norwegian universities.

Or at least what one hayseed thinks sixteen post-war Norwegian universities might be full of.

ColbyCosh.com explains some important bits of the recently-released Congressional 9/11 report (yawwwwwwwn!). Colby, should anyone ever bother to ask me, is Example Number One on why the world still needs capital-J Journalists.

I am trying to imagine these frontline intelligence officers who “had only a passing familiarity” with Osama bin Laden on September 10, well after the USS Cole bombing. Maybe my perception has changed after the fact, but I seem to remember waking up the next morning, seeing the towers in flames on TV, and thinking, somewhere in amongst the holy-shits and sweet-Jesuses, something very like “Well, that crazy son-of-a-bitch Osama bin Laden has to be behind this, doesn’t he?” I mean, I wasn’t an intelligence agent–just a habitual reader of newspapers and such. I’d have thought taking out a U.S. warship by means of two guys in a powerboat would have gotten someone’s attention. Perhaps I knew more about O.B.L., from reading Taki’s Spectator reminiscences of seeing good old “Harry” Laden at White’s, than the average CIA man did. We must trust that they’ve learned a thing or two since, and that an infusion of counterterrorism funding has–like a C-note waggled in the face of a stool pigeon, Rockford Files-fashion–jogged some memories.

Yeah, me too, buddy. I remember the morning just as clearly. I was riding in a truck over some swamp in Lousiana on my way to Baton Rouge. My driver was my partner, who happened to be a Marine, and was now a successful salesman in a niche high-tech industry. Two normal red-state schmoes, without degree one between the two of us. He said Riyadh, I said OBL, and we argued all the way to the Waffle House, where we got the teevee piccies. We were both right.

…who he’s talking about here:

Nice to see that the folks at Esquire and Jane run high class operations and don’t try to bring in the readers with mere freak shows. How long before they start featuring Bat Boy?

I just wish I could eff up big time on a national stage, so I could get a book & movie contract, and have people throw me money and ask me to host teevee shows, just because I effed up. That’s your American Dream these days.

That last bit is a fairly depressing post and I don’t want to leave THAT on top for any length of time, so here’s a picture of this week’s brisket. After the disaster two weeks ago, I adjusted some parameters, and here we are 10 hours into the smoking of Sr. Brisket.

Some important points:

• I poured the smoke on all day long — roughly four pounds of soaked mesquite chips. The last chunk is finishing up right now.
• I put foil around the tip trying to avoid the dreaded “dry brisket.” This is THE WORST thing you can do to the King of BBQ. My last brisket ended up being preserved to make “chopped beef”, kind of the dog food of smokers.
• That would also explain the big coffee can of water in the upper-right corner of the picture. It started 3/4 full, and it’s close to being gone. I have no earthly idea if it will help. I’ve read stories of champeen smokers who mist the inside of their grill every few minutes with a spray bottle. All my spray bottles are full of bleach and water, so that would definitely ruin the taste.
• I started the process about 8:30 this morning with precisely 10 coals. That’s the amount required to raise the internal temp to 200°F, which is precisely where I want it — for the next 14 hours.
• The above means I have to throw a handful of charcoal, about five briquets worth, on every 45 minutes or so. So, it’s a LOT of fussbudget stuff. What the hell else am I gonna do with myself?

That beautiful hunk of cow was part of a “Buy One, Get One Free” brisket promotion at the Albertsons in Cleburne. Essentially, provided I don’t ruin it, that’s some fine, smokey, delicioso toro at 83¢ per pound eatin’, and every last lip-smackin’ ounce of it is edible. No wonder Frank wants to hang out on my front porch.

Well, I figured an update was in order. The big California interview has so far been a bust. The CEO is hung up on me living in Texas and covering the Bear State. Understandable, of course, but why waste my time and everybody else’s if a Cal residence is a must-have? I mean, my resume DID say that I live in Texas. I can guarantee him, though, that he won’t find a better man than me, no matter how long he looks, so it probably wasn’t a waste of time. I’m not giving up on it, because I’ve got a good champion over there, but it sure as hell is frustrating. I got this bit of news yesterday over lunch, and it did nothing for my mood, let me tell you.

I’ve got two other good leads: one with a small, independent and the other with HumongousCo in this space. Either one is attractive, if there is a salary attached, and they have benefits. I’m still young enough (I think) to go through the grind of what is basically a start-up and do battle with the big guys. At the same time, the basic financial security of a HumongousCo has it’s own appeal. Except that NOBODY is safe these days, it seems. Who knows, though? The hell of the whole job search is the grind of waiting, waiting, waiting.

So, while I’m not wearing the dress blues right this minute, I have the ironing board set up and the iron plugged in and I’m looking for my shoulder boards. Thank goodness the CNN.com article came out when it did. We’re booked solid through the festival, and September and October are starting to fill up. The Tiny Bidness is spinning enough cash to pay the grocery bill and the light bill, but not much more. A real pisser is that without this lovely little Day Job Dry Gulch, why, we’d be putting up another Luxury Tent. I’ve got enough business to do it — had to turn away two requests so far this weekend. I just wonder how long it will last.

Still, thank the good Lord for this place and something to do, or I’d probably be up in a clocktower somewhere by now. There’s no way I can just sit around, reading blogs. OK, I can do that for a while, but sooner or later, it’s just too much. Going out and selling program ads for a few days has been a welcome diversion, and I’ve actually generated a few pages worth. Every nickel counts these days.

Welp, better get back to Photoshopping ads. How come it is that I only have to use Photoshop every 18 months? Every thing I learned from the last go-round has vanished into the darkened recesses my massive brain. Oh, well — at least I’m unemployed and I can start drinking any time I want. And right now, I want me a cold beer.

Look at this absurd animal that showed up on my doorstep last weekend. He’s like a cross between a collie, a fox, and a deer. You can’t see the ten-inch beak he’s sporting, thanks to the full-on picture, nor can you see the twelve-inch neck that bobs up and down just like a whitetail deer on the run. He’s purely goofy. No collar, and hence, no tags. He looks like he’s been living rough. I gave him some water last Sunday when he wandered in, and now my brother tells me that he’s been eating out of the other dogs’ food pan. He’s doing it politely, too, and not causing any problems.

My nieces love him, so we named him Frank. All he’s done so far is lay on my porch, away from the other dogs, and pant. And drink and slobber all over the place. And get up every five minutes to look through the screen-door window. It could be worse — he could be a mean dog that barks all the time. He just lays there.

Just what I need — another mouth to feed.

Jonah Goldberg on National Review Online

After all, the scientists in question performed “ten meta-analytic calculations” to come to their conclusions while conservatives like me spend most of the day opening and closing the refrigerator door applauding when the happy-fun light magically turns on. Moreover, we conservatives need “cognitive closure” and we are “intolerant of ambiguity.” When something complicated or unexpected happens we leap about the room shrieking like a chimp who didn’t know the jack in the box would pop out or Alec Baldwin after learning that you shouldn’t put your car keys in an electrical socket.

Sorry, but I thought that whole paragraph was genuinely hilarious, no matter your political persuasion.

I don’t know if I agree with Jonah or not, since I’m a Tighty Righty, and I believe in Baby Jesus AND the grown-up Jesus, too.

Trust me, there’s plenty more there for yucks. For example, for the first time in my soon-to-finished intellectual life, there is the phrase “terror management.” Since I’m naught but a dupe for Shrub, I tend to think of that in terms of what we are in the middle of in Iraq and Afghanistan. I suspect the Berkely Ph.D.s don’t think so, though.