Month: March 2007

Indiana is, in spite of its location, largely similar to the deep south.

Indianapolis is much like any other large American city, and northwest Indiana is essentially Chicagoland.

But aside from that the state is pure, unadulterated Alabama.

When folks make the drive to visit me in Bloomington they are often amused by an establishment on Route 67 called Bradi's Super Discount Guns.

When they mention it, I point out that Bradi may in fact offer guns at a discount that could be described as superlative. But no one in Indiana – nay, possibly America – sells guns with the passion, enthusiasm, or disregard for sound business sense of Don's Guns.

To wit (if the website isn't enough to prove his passion for selling firearms):

Indiana, folks.

Guess who's going to take a pounding (figuratively as well as literally, depending on where he's incarcerated) for the sins of the White House? Why, none other than Lewis I. Libby!

Scooter, come on down!

I have long maintained – and let's face it, the lack of competition makes it hard to dispute – that the At the Drive-In classic "One-Armed Scissor" is the finest song ever written about an astronaut losing his shit on a space station and killing everything including himself. I did, however, assume that the subject matter was largely borne of an overactive imagination, too much sci-fi, and a hell of a lot of cocaine.

Apparently, either NASA does just as much cocaine or they listen to a lot of ATDI. They have taken Cedric's warning seriously enough to have developed a detailed plan for dealing with astro-psychos in space. Let's just say it involves a lot of duct tape (!!!!) and Haldol. Either NASA has very little confidence in its psychological screening procedures or there's something about being in space that they assume can crack just about anyone. They know something we don't! Solaris was not fiction!

"End transmission" indeed.