Atomic Nerds

So, this afternoon, feeling peckish, I also apparently felt ambitious. Knowing that there was a leftover chicken breast and also some leftover mushrooms, I thought to myself that I’m A Big Girl Now and I’d make myself a fast stir-fry for lunch.

I did not intend to turn this into a CN post, because I thought that this would be an extremely simple, straightforward, and therefore boring endeavor. Yeah. I think this constituted a taunting of the kitchen gods. So since I wasn’t taking the mental notes I do when I intend to blog something and it wouldn’t be that interesting anyway in painstaking detail, here’s a set of Lessons We Learned Today.

1. Stir-fry recipes that tell you to add garlic before you add meat are full of lies.
2. If the recipe wants you to let the pan get as hot as it’s going to before cooking, it will tell you this. IMMEDIATELY start adding stuff after you flick the burner. Don’t take this opportunity to wander around debating seasonings.
3. If you burn garlic, it really doesn’t matter what else you added to the pan. Carbonized garlic is the flavor of the day. It is neither appealing nor healthful.

Also, I burned my hand on the pan and damn near broke my butt slipping on a puddle of water next to the doggie dish. Awesome.

Yeah, I know, I said the mashed sweet potatoes would be next, but other planned activities tonight, we needed something relatively quick. I’d planned to do the mashed sweet potatoes next to a roast leg of lamb, and that takes time, so I picked another recipe to go with bacon and eggs- coconut pancakes from the MDA forum. It’s another entry in the “shredded stuff fried up” genre I like so well, and they looked pretty straightforward as well as tasty. Let’s take a look.

1 cup finely shredded coconut
1 cup almond flour or meal
1/4 tsp salt [table or finely ground sea]
1/2 tsp baking soda
2 eggs
1 tsp pure vanilla extract [next time i’ll probably up it to 2 tsp for more flavour]
1 tsp cinnamon [think i’ll do the same with this]
1 tsp lemon juice
2 tbsp coconut oil, melted

I’m pretty iffy on cinnamon as a flavor- it’s not that I *dislike* it, but there are far more instances in which a recipe that includes cinnamon where I find it a distracting or overwhelming flavor than when I enjoy it. I’m reliably informed by Stingray’s entire family that I’m just plain strange this way, but there you go. I also decided to omit the vanilla because I almost always tend to prefer savory-enhancing flavors to sweet-enhancing ones- that, and I wanted to have this come out fairly basic first so I had something of a neutral flavor platform to build on if I decided these were worth a repeat.

I found the coconut oil in the “you crazy health nuts that will pay a premium” aisle of the grocery store, and the coconut in the baking aisle next to the candy, chopped nuts, and mini-marshmallows- be sure to get the unsweetened kind. On to the cooking!

1. The package says “flake”. The recipe says “finely shredded”, and we’re going for a pancake texture. Time to drag out the food processor again! Pour the entire bag of coconut into the processor on the premise that there will be more “finely shredded” coconut in a cup than there will be “flake”, and you can’t really think of a use for the thicker texture that would be hurt by having a finer shred instead. Cap down, turn on, set to “pulse”, and go for that earth-shattering “low” setting.

2. Your first clue that the bowl of the food processor is not properly affixed and aligned to the motor will be that the coconut is not shredding any finer despite furious activity on the part of the motor. Your second clue will be the faint smell of cooking coconut and the fainter smell of hot plastic. Your third clue will be your spouse coming in wondering, from the noise, what the hell is wrong with the food processor. Again. Stop jamming the button and fiddle the damn thing into place before trying again.

3. Much better. Extract a cup of the finer coconut and pour the rest into a plastic bag to throw back into the cabinet.

mix all the dry together in a large bowl. mix wet together. pour wet into dry and stir until combined.

4. Locate your medium-sized mixing bowl, which is clean when you want it for once, and dump in the coconut. Locate the almond flour and dump in that, too. Interrogation of the spouse will eventually, with no waterboarding necessary, reveal the location of the baking soda- in it goes, along with the salt. Grab a mixing implement and poke at it until it looks reasonably well combined.

5. Cheerfully forgetting the middle step of the recipe mere seconds after reading, measure out the lemon juice and put that in. It’s all going to the same place, right? Crack in two eggs. Lucky for you, your stinginess on running the central air means that the coconut oil will be liquid at room temperature rather than the solid it was at the grocery store! Yay! Two tablespoons of that! Whisk to combine.

6. Okay, that seems to be more or less a batter- at least everything is now clumped together. Including the substantial dough ball that has accumulated inside your whisk. Give it a shake, hoping to have it fall out in chunks. Huh, I guess the dough is sticky, because continued shaking is only turning into a more perfect sphere. Shake it a few more times as if that will help. Shout for advice.

7. Spouse tells you to just pry apart the whisk wires and let it fall out. They’re that flexible? Oh.

heat some extra coconut oil in a pan on medium heat. pour your batter into preferred pancake size and cook to desired brownness, flipping once.

8. Grab an acceptably medium-sized skillet (not the cast iron- Spouse will be wanting that for the bacon and eggs later) and pour in a small lake of coconut oil. Preheat the oven to the lowest temperature it will go to to hold a tray full of the finished pancakes during the rest of the cooking since at this altitude they’ll be colder than the tapwater within minutes otherwise. Set flame to medium and stare for awhile. Figure when the oil starts moving on its own it’s hot enough.

9. Using a spatula and a spoonlike implement, extract a chunk of dough and deposit into the pan. This is the time to discover that while it is sticky, the dough is also kinda dry- the pancake will need to be folded, spindled, and mutilated into a roughly flattish roughly disclike shape. Repeat, going a bit smaller this time to make for a more easily manipulated dough piece. Repeat going a little bit smaller still- and that’s about all the pan can hold.

10. Now is the time to stare and fidget for awhile wondering what constitutes a desired degree of doneness, what constitutes done in a pancake too dry to fork-check for internal wetness, how you determine the degree of browned on a side you cannot see, and exactly how ARE you going to flip them without major error. Fortunately for you, the fretting time is roughly enough time to turn the side down to a light golden brown, at least when you finally get one more or less intact up with the spatula and spoon to check the underside. We didn’t break it! Hooray!

11. The self-congratulations turn to ashes as you break off a quarter of the first pancake turning it. And then the second. Managing to flip the third just barely intact will tell you something about the upper limit of easily manipulatable coconut pancake size. Now’s a good time to ponder the meaning of life, the universe, and how much it matters how much these cook through and the question of how you can tell. Take them off the pan and transfer them to a sheet to put in the warmed oven at some point before they burn.

12. Apply the lessons learned from the first three pancakes and make them just slightly again smaller than the one that didn’t break when flipped. These will cook faster since the pan and oil have had time to get hotter, so it’s a good thing you can manipulate them without a third hand and some calculus notes. Brown on each size (amazing how fast that goes this time), then transfer to oven. Bugger off for a few minutes so your spouse can do the bacon and eggs.

13. Cut off what seems like an adequate hunk of butter from a stick and throw in the microwave to nuke until melted. Wash the fresh blueberries you picked up at the last minute. Apply butter and blueberries to the pancakes. Scurry off with some bacon and eggs and nom.

For these I’d give high marks to taste- they were just all-around more interesting than flour pancakes with a background nuttiness you’d expect from something made half from almond meal- and lower marks to texture. They were a little too dry, crumbly, and a little bit too chewy; while the chewy might be a built-in, I’d experiment more with the quantities of the wet team to deal with the dryness. Stingray and another poster in the original thread recommended a bit of milk to bolster the wet ingredients, and that’s probably the first place I’d go- perhaps even buttermilk. That same poster also mentioned a few whipped egg whites, and that would probably also help with overall cohesion.

Use more butter than the adequate-looking hunk. It’s not adequate. Enjoy.

Most people are aware that it’s a good idea to bring enough vehicle to pack out whatever it is you’re hunting. This has frustrated more than a few sports car enthusiasts who cannot find a good way to combine their interests. Fortunately, BMW owners who enjoy the tasty, tasty flesh of deer now have a new option.

How to pack a 150lb deer into a BMW Z4.

Tam may have to improvise slightly for the differences between a Z4 and a Z3, but for everyone else, happy hunting!

So today began early and was filled with busy before it was filled with tiredness, and all because things were also filled with awesome.

Las Cosas is a cooking store in Santa Fe that also runs periodic cooking classes. The owner (at least I think he’s the owner) is a retired restaurant chef who has figured out one excellent way of getting his store’s stock moving- host classes inside the store, let the students buy the niftiest gear used in class plus whatever else they might suddenly find tickles their fancy (and discount for gear used in class)… and count on the delicious smells coming from inside the store to drag mall-browsers into the store to find out what could possibly be going on. Not that I’m unhappy in the least about this business model- I loved the class and I’m sure we’ll get great mileage out of that pie plate and that nicely marked down All-Clad skillet in just-right-for-eggs size. Also the stovetop grill we had to backorder. Yeah. That marketing model works really well.

Anyway, the reason we went down there is that unlike most of the classes, the feature of the day was the head (and I think only) chef at our favorite restaurant. We can only afford to drop so much of the “fun” budget on that dollar range of food, but when we do have anything disposable in that budget plus a reason to live it up, that’s where we go- I’m sure there are other restaurants in the city with just as good food and maybe also just as good service and even just as good atmosphere, but… with a continually updating menu and folks that know us and what we like, why would we bother? Suffice to say we are fans- so when Stingray polished off the last morsel of his brown butter berry pie the last time we ate there and proclaimed to the waiter that if he knew how to make that he’d weigh four hundred pounds and the waiter said that actually, he’d be at a class at Las Cosas in a few weeks where just that would be one of the items being instructed… well hell, we called and signed up before the listing even went live on the website.

I will confess to having been more than a little nervous about the fact that the students would be cooking, because as those of you who’ve been following along know, my kitchen skills are still pretty, um, basic. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep up; I needn’t have been, the students were split into teams to tackle separate dishes, sides, and sauces, so that the burden of prepwork was evenly spread. The teaching being provided for skills that might be new, like roasting and skinning peppers, was also excellent. I stopped worrying and started having fun as soon as that portion of class began, after the rundown on everything we’d be making plus helpful information like where to actually GET some of the more exotic ingredients in Santa Fe, which was extremely helpful (Although the answer on some of it was basically “suck up the price on mail-order if you really want it”. Oh well.). Naturally, we elected to be on Team Pie, which thanks to previous conversations on the subject with a friend almost immediately became internally known as Team PAH!

Team PAH! operated like a well-oiled or at least adequately lubricated machine; drys got blended, fats got distributed, and Stingray, as the person with experience making actual pie crusts rather than purchasing them, held sway over the combining and working of the pasty dough. The pie was assembled as rapidly as chilling, cooling, and browning phases allowed, and popped into the oven to bake as the most time-intensive feature of the class. In the meantime, casting my eyes about, I learned a fair bit about grilling and julienning vegetables, how to not only wake up the palate but also give it a shiatsu massage with your seasoning, and that really fine food really is fairly simple- all you really need is good ingredients, a really developed palate, and a good working knowledge of food. By the end of class I felt like I could go home and make anything myself of what I’d seen, even the spring rolls, which I predicted I’d manage to stick to my eyebrows or something but actually managed to roll adequately without disaster or disgrace.

The pie turned out awesome, by the way. The crust was so perfect it was the inspiration for buying that pie plate- we’ve never managed to achieve that pleasing brown on the bottom crust before without risking burning the filling. Simple to make with only one slightly difficult to obtain ingredient. And no, you can’t have the recipe. Sorry.

….PAH!

So today I’ve been so busy arguing over at Kevin’s that I haven’t even responded to my own comments, let alone come up with any of my own content.

So for those who were curious, I’ll post a quick little review of the Vibrams, a whole two days into using them.

These things are neater than kitten toes. Regardless of any touted biomechanical benefits or possible drawbacks, they’re just plain fun to walk around in; you can feel what’s under your feet without pain, and it really does improve proprioception; it’s a bit like taking a blindfold off a sense I didn’t know I had. It makes me want to hop around like a kid. I’m sure the “ooh cool” factor will wear off, but in the meantime I’m enjoying it.

Today’s effort at “off my butt” included prescribed running, so I tried that, and yes, on pavement. No, my feet and joints don’t hurt except for the incipient blister at the back of my heel, which is more a breaking-in and callus development issue than a problem with the shoes. I did do surprisingly well given I haven’t done any running at all in months- at least as well as when I was keeping up with the fitness thing more intensively for longer, if not better. It definitely improved my stride to something more efficient and less hard-hitting, but my overall form has a long way to go anyway, so someone who actually DID like running and had adapted to running shoes would probably have a different experience.

So so far they’re “as advertised” for those benefits I can immediately perceive. I do not regret the eighty-five bucks and my cushioned sneakers feel weird now.

ETA for those thinking of trying this: If my feet tend toward any morphological extreme at all, it’s high, tight arches. I usually have to buy longer laces than the ones shoes come with because of this, and if I walk through water onto concrete my footprints have only a slim line on the outer edge between the ball and the heel. Someone with flatter feet- especially someone who hadn’t spent all in-house time barefoot for two months first- would probably take a lot more time to adjust.

…With apologies to e.e. cummings.

There’s a fair bit of overlap between my commentariat and Kevin Baker’s, basically because I probably have a bigger wordcount in comments there left over the course of this decade than I do here. For whatever combination of luck, personality, and topicality, the folks there tend to make me wordy from time to time.

For that reason, some of you have already encountered Markadelphia, who essentially functions as Kevin’s reactive target range. (Or, depending on your mental image generator, the site’s gimp. That’s what usually plays in my head when he pops up in a thread for the first time.) The simplistic way to describe him would be as an extremely stock liberal idiot, of the sort that would get accused of being a ridiculous political strawman if he were a fictional character, but it doesn’t really do him, liberals, or strawmen justice; he’s really much more like an Eliza program fed a string of the most commonly occurring search strings and phrases on Daily Kos.

Now, the thing is, despite my politics and despite who I generally congregate with in the blogosphere, I do not actually dislike liberals. I’d have to check a lot of friends off my list if I ever decided to, and generally become a much more paranoid and generally angry person. I have this cute, heart-dotted belief that for most people, if their politics are actually well-thought-out to any degree at all and not just based in raw tribalism (and this may be the most default mode for “political” people on both sides), most differences boil down to a combination of fundamental philosophical differences in how you understand the world, and the priority ranking you put on your values. This is fine. I can solve all of these problems, when they come up, by applying enough beer to the situation at hand. Camaraderie between people that otherwise get along is usually much stronger than politics.

I don’t even, when you get right down to it, usually get all that exercised about people who are assholes and express their fundamental rectum nature through the medium of politics. Assholes are encountered every day, and usually, when I feel like bothering with batting them around at all (which is rare on days I have anything whatsoever better to do with my time), it doesn’t get to me. Their arguments and assertions are usually pretty standard and they behave more or less like normal people, except with a lot more gratuitous insult and general primate agonistic display, text format edition.

What it takes to get me genuinely, britches-burningly furious- and willing to write off the other person as a waste of perfectly good carbon- isn’t an insult to me, or to my politics, or my nonreligion, or what have you. They have to prove they have absolutely no value above that of scoring rhetorical points for their side. Sometime roughly a year ago, Markadelphia managed to do this by equating having to work for a living and be in contracts that require you to uphold a financial obligation (otherwise known as “a boring job” and “a mortgage”) with slavery- not metaphorical “wage slavery”, not even indentured servitude, actual honest-to-$deity kidnap you from your tribe and whip you and sell your children slavery. See, you have to pay your bills and fulfill your contracts, so it’s like the system owns you! It’s slavery! So we should end it, because we should be opposed to slavery!

I should never have had to explain to anyone why this comparison wasn’t just disingenuous, wasn’t just cheap, wasn’t just stupid, but amoral. In order to say that and have any excuse other than having been raised in cardboard box with no exposure whatsoever to history, you have to sit there, and think about slave ships and slave auctions and slave-catchers and whips and chains and shattered families, and you have to think “Well, I’m kinda stuck in this mortgage and I don’t really like my job, I guess it’s kinda like I’m a slave too!” And THEN, having had time to sit there and decide on the argument you are going to construct to criticize the oppressive system, you have to actually type out word by word that they’re really the same thing. And stand by it. You have to consciously summon up all the horror and gravity that this word carries and use it to try and make the point that modern middle-class first-worlders just don’t have it easy enough and this proves we’ve not gotten beyond, have I used this word enough that it no longer sounds like it means something real, SLAVERY.

How much do the words “fascism” and “Nazi” and “Hitler” mean to you anymore? They get thrown around so much that “fascist” now just means “a political system I don’t like”, and “Nazi” and “Hitler” are both almost jokes now, to the point where there’s a law of internet forum discussion about it and Iran can trot out “Israel is just like Nazi Germany” and everyone just sort of sighs and rolls their eyes. It’s lost nearly all meaning now except those who lived it, and those who saw it. There are no fucking words for how much I hate that this is true, but it’s the end point for this syndrome. You want to score a cheap emotional point in a debate you’re maybe not doing so well in, you borrow something horrible and claim that what your opponent supports that you don’t like is JUST LIKE THAT and how could you support such HORROR.

You eat meat! You’re part of something just like the holocaust!

Your mom didn’t abort you! You’re just like a holocaust survivor!

Heterosexual intercourse is penetrative and married women are tacitly expected to have sex with their husbands! Marital sex is just like rape!

This crap proves to me, with no further evidence needed, that the person or organization who uttered it has lost all sense and perception of right and wrong and are no longer worth even remotely humoring, let alone engagement.

That is my line. Call me an angry conservative or an angry liberal or an angry libertarian or just plain pissed off, but that’s my reason, and I think it’s a good one.

So, back in April Peter posted a link to an article in the Daily Mail about how more than just hippies are starting to question whether running shoes actually help protect you from injury or whether they may actually be more like the cause of frequent injury in runners. I kind of doubt the latter- from what I’ve seen watching the running community the most common cause of running injuries is the fact that cardiovascular conditioning comes much faster than conditioning of bone and connective tissue and runners push their training schedule to the former rather than the latter- but it’s an intriguing notion.

The place where I hang out when my “want to be physically capable of enjoying life when I’m eighty instead of just right now” side is ascendant over my hedonist side is very big on shucking the expensive, hyper-engineered shoes and going barefoot or close to, so this was not a new idea to me. I’m not particularly rigid on the whole “living like a caveman is good for you” thing- for examples admonitions to avoid sunscreen because of the “chemicals” don’t impress me much when relatives living in the sunny band of the country who eschewed it as children seem to be getting incipient skin cancers lasered off once every five years or so- but it seems the crazy barefoot people have more actual research backing them up than the “motion control super duper space shoe” people do. Since they tend to keep up with nutty trends anyway, I also began to notice more of the fitness community I hang out on the sidelines of picking up the trend as well. They’re about split down the middle whether it’s only good for sprinting or the best thing since protein shakes.

It also does have a certain straight up evolutionary as well as biomechanical logic to it; our feet aren’t really evolved to constantly be encased in what is essentially a cushioned rubber rocking surface, and it essentially blocks a lot of the proprioceptive (that’s Science for “your body’s sense of where your bits are in space”) feedback that the toes are essentially there to provide, as well as providing minute adjustments for balance. So some of the more overheated-sounding hooey about protecting joints and balance the barefoot runners (who, frankly, sometimes DO come off as crazy in the same way the raw foodists do) does have some logical foundation.

I’ve always been very much “shod”. I didn’t do much running around barefoot in summer as a kid because in Phoenix, the paved areas are too brutally hot for it, and the unpaved areas tend to be very heavy on non-foot-friendly sharp things, animate and inanimate alike. Inside, well… let’s just say that I had reason not to blithely trust my dogs’ housebreaking at the time and no desire to be finding lapses with my exposed little piggies. Eighteen years of this plus four more of “I can’t go barefoot here, I’ll catch a festering foot fungus”, and the habit of wearing some kind of foot covering was deeply ingrained.

So this summer I decided to only wear shoes when necessary- i.e. going anywhere further than a few feet outside, the hostile ground is just as bad here in NM- and it’s been interesting. I was very definitely biomechanically dependent on the support of the shoe- having my feet give me screaming hell just for spending two and a half hours standing and cooking was proof enough of that. I’ve also found that on a non-biomechanical level I just plain enjoy being able to feel what I’m standing or walking on; it’s kind of like the difference between driving a car with a stick shift and an auto, once I learned that- the extra degree of feedback and control is nice. I find myself regretting it a bit when I have to put my shoes back on to go out.

I’m nothing if not willing to undertake an experiment if I’m curious about something, and I am now eighty-five bucks worth of curious. My Vibrams- shoes designed to be as close enough as possible to barefoot except with a layer of protection for your soles so the sharpies don’t get you- should get here tomorrow. If they’re sized right (which they might not be, ordering online is always exciting like that), starting then I’ll be wearing those instead of regular shoes wherever socially permissable by dress code that isn’t snake territory. (Hell if I’ll ever hike in something that doesn’t provide many inches of thick leather between me and a rattler.) About a month in I’ll give a review- how long it took to adapt and if I did at all, if it hurt and how much, if running doesn’t actually go better in the things after all (I hate running, so this may be missing from the review), and if I really did get the claimed benefits of better balance and coordination.

Stay tuned.

I am no huge fan of the ACLU. I don’t think they’re the agent of creeping evil that many conservatives do, and I DO think they sometimes do what needs to be done and stand up for the rights of the obnoxious to protect the rights of all (it takes institutional balls to defend the right of Klansmen to wear their hoods), they are most definitely marching in step to their biggest donors- which tend to the left-liberal end of the spectrum, and thus they have decided that they’re not going to touch some “rights”. Note the double fudge irony in that their position is that second amendment rights are a “collective” right- even though basically their entire existence as an institution rests on defending violations of the rights of individuals, under the principle that that’s a violation of a right, period. Suffice it to say they are mostly only interested in defending the “rights” of those that play well with their donors, although they occasionally manage to take a stand on principle rather than politics*.

That said, an organization that apparently exists as its counter-point, if it exists at all beyond the minds of a few people and their lawyers, is getting it wrong on an epic scale. The basics of this story: a couple of older folks who were especially blue in the nose lobbied their local library to get a Young Adult book banned, which they alleged to be sexually explicit and traumatizing. (If it IS explicit, that somehow managed not to come up in the reviews.) The local library, taking the traditional library position on censorship, voted 9-0 to tell the bluenoses to bugger off. The bluenoses lawyered up, and a Robert C. Braun of the “Christian Civil Liberties Union” filed for a couple hundred kilobucks’ worth of damages for the supposed mental suffering the exposure to a book with gay people in it caused to his clients.

I haven’t gotten to the civil rights part yet and how, one presumes, this came to be a case for a civil liberties union of any stripe.

He’s also suing for the “right” of his clients to take all copies of this book from this library and burn them in public. Quoth one of the bluenoses:

Ginny Maziarka declared, “We vehemently reject their standards and their principles,” and characterized the debate as “a propaganda battle to maintain access to inappropriate material.”

Well… she certainly made the flat out propaganda battle angle clear, though I’m not sure she knows entirely what she’s saying.

In a final not-really-an-irony, here’s what else the bluenoses want:

Citing “Wisconsin’s sexual morality law,” the plaintiffs also request West Bend City Attorney Mary Schanning to impanel a grand jury to examine whether the book should be declared obscene and making it available a hate crime.

Restrict free speech for the Nazi across the street, and don’t be surprised when someone else comes along and stamps it out against any minority they don’t like, even if you do. Nothing could make the reason for defense of individual liberties regardless of individual any clearer.

*I would like to note that I think the accusations that they’re institutionally anti-Christian are misguided- they’re quite interested in being a pain in the asses of the overly PC on the subject as well as the god-squadders.

First I was betrayed by a major organ that jumped out of the bushes and beat me into uselessness, then there was a surprise swarm of breeding ants in the office, and then there was a raid.

Yeah. I actually have something to say for once, it’s just that now I don’t have *time*. Hopefully tomorrow I will, providing all my bits obey.

And strangely it wound up being more for mom. For the first time in I-don’t-know-how-long, we had a range trip with my folks. They’re finally getting serious about picking up CCW cards, and since NM has a requirement that you carry something larger than a .22 (I believe this is what’s known as a “common sense” gun law), she wanted to try a few things out. Dad hauled along his 1911 and a couple revolvers (didn’t get the models, unfortunately), as did we.

A few rounds went downrange of .357 through a Ruger Something while everyone else plinked. Nah.

A few rounds went downrange through the various 1911s (she was much more accurate with LabRat’s… go figure). More comfortable, but still nothing wild. And just about everything going low and right, so there’s some work to do regardless.

Finally, the part that just tickles me pink, she agreed to try the revolver we hauled along on the grounds of “ought to try it all”. As it turns out, my mom kicks ass with a .45 Colt Smith & Wesson 25-5. Everything in a very respectable group right in the 8-9 rings on a vintage 90s target of Saddam Hussein.

Yes, she’s going to borrow it for the revolver portion of the qualification shoot. Doesn’t that just bring a smile?