I am thinking that Professor Emily “Litella” Oster (hat tip to NeoNeocon) did not expect so furious a reaction as she has gotten, by writing this particular article in The Atlantic Magazine. After having done her stalwart best for the Covid Crusade for more than two years demonizing those who refused to get the vaccination or wear masks everywhere, or see our children locked out of school, or who suggested that ivermectin or chloroquine might alleviate the symptoms Professor Oster now is suggesting that … really, it was all just a silly misunderstanding, she and her pals just got carried away but they meant well and didn’t know anything for certain, and why can’t we all just all forgive and forget?
To which the instantaneous and outraged reply is not just no, but hell no. Hell no, with a napalm-degree flaming side order of very personal reasons why not.
Retrotech Event – West Coast Edition
On September 28th, David Foster posted about the Retrotech Event in New England, with the New England Wireless and Steam Museum firing up its steam engines for the public.
I mentioned that I attended a similar event on the West Coast a couple of weeks earlier.
He invited me to make a guest post on my visit.
On September 10th, I went with my car club to one of the most interesting places I’ve visited – in California’s Sonoma wine country.
One might say it was a journey back in time to 1914 to see a working lumber mill from that era. Even more mysterious, like the fictional Scottish town of Brigadoon, it only opens 4 weekends a year (versus once a century!). There was one visitor who made the trek of 550 miles from San Diego to Sebastopol just to see these machines.
Halloween (2)
Chicagoboyz are doing research.. . .
(Additional pics are below.)
Halloween
From the hag and hungry goblin
That into rags would rend ye
And the spirits that stand
By the naked man
In the Book of Moons, defend ye!
That of your five sound sense
You never be forsaken
Nor wander from
Yourself with Tom
Abroad to beg your bacon
The moon’s my constant mistress
And the lonely owl my marrow
The flaming drake
And the night-crow make
Me music to my sorrow
I know more than Apollo
For oft, when he lies sleeping
I see the stars
At mortal wars
And the rounded welkin weeping
With a host of furious fancies
Whereof I am commander
With a burning spear
And a horse of air
To the wilderness I wander
By a knight of ghosts and shadows
I summoned am to tourney
Ten leagues beyond
The wide world’s end
Methinks it is no journey
(Not specifically a Halloween poem, but it certainly sets the mood, doesn’t it? This is Tom O’Bedlam’s Song, dating from sometime around 1600. There are lots more verses, and many different versions.)
