Quote of the day:
“It was a robbery that didn’t go well for the robbers.” — San Antonio Police Chief William McManus
Seems as though a man went to draw money from an ATM, whereupon two choirboys approached him to ask him to donate to their church fund*. Apparently, they used the wrong terminology and body language, because our ATM cardholder shot them both dead on the spot.
*according to their relatives, no doubt.
Aaahhh, nothing says “SUMMER!” like Wimbledon:
Yeah, it’s that time when one needs to prepare oneself for the unexpected… unexpectedly bad, that is.
I kinda prefer the more-modern versions, myself.
Now get going, with or without a backseat driver. The week awaits…
Somewhat more modern, Stella Stevens is still a classic beauty:
Didn’t look too bad in color either:
Of course, there was the Playboy thing:
…and still sexy at 60-ish:
Let’s hear it for the girl from Yazoo City, Mississippi…
…by a beautiful little Alfa Duetto 1750 Spider. And why not? Is he going to buy it?
…and three years later, Mr. Metcalfe drives the Mille Miglia course in it. The bastard. Why is he a bastard?
Because driving the MM corsa is very much on Ye Olde Buckette Lyst (as I discussed here, its extension here, and a discussion on a “pairing” here), and I envy Harry. A lot.
I would humbly suggest that watching the videos and reading (or re-reading) these posts is not the worst way to spend a couple hours on a Saturday. Enjoy the adventure.
I know, there’s a ton (not tonne) of redundancy in the title, but bear with me.
Over at The Divine Sarah’s place, some guy spouts off about the foul Napoleonic metric system, and of course I agree with all of it.
Engineers (of whom there are a few who will read this) will strongly disagree, but I live in a world of my own stuff and am not making things for other people. And in that world, I can certainly see this:
If you had to estimate the dimensions of a room without the benefit of a tape measure, you might walk its perimeter heel to toe, counting your steps.
I cannot tell you how often I’ve done this, either for the above purpose or to see whether a carpet will fit into a room whose dimensions I know in feet and inches. Ditto when installing shelves on a wall, or estimating a smaller space (my hand, with fingers fully splayed, measures just over eight inches from pinkie to thumb tip). I have small (8.5 shoe size) feet, which measure ten inches long from heel to big toe, or just over eleven inches if wearing my Minnetonka moccasins. I can measure distance because my step is about a yard (and I have no idea what that is in meters because a meter is much longer than my step). I’d rather use arshins or schritten than meters because they make more sense (about a step, in each case).
In other words, I don’t need to carry a frigging tape measure inscribed with inscrutable and meaningless units because I already have measuring devices on hand, so to speak. (And yes, if I know inches but am presented with centimeters, I can multiply / divide by 2.5 as needed because I’m not an idiot, and I don’t care about the missing .04 cm because I don’t have OCD.) I know that my measurements are somewhat approximate, but in my world that does me no harm. If it’s likely to, then I’ll use a tape measure (in Imperial/U.S. units*) for the precision required.
And yes, I know that some of the Imperial measurements are loony — gills, furlongs, chains, pecks and so on — but when last did anyone use those?
Engineers, scientists and drug dealers can use all the grams, milliliters or centimeters they need. The only time I “need” the metric system is when I’m looking at bullet diameters, and I’m okay with that. (And on the same topic, grains make more sense than milligrams.)
Otherwise, those stupid French measurements can kiss my ass. Bloody Europeans are just a bunch of poxy control freaks, and I want no part of it, or them**.
*I have no idea why the U.S. gallon is smaller than the Imperial, but even then I can live with it. When I’m in Britishland, it requires less adjustment in my thinking than it takes to drive on the left vs. the right side of the road.
**except when it comes to cheese or goulasch.